The time has definitely come. My brother, Tim, has been gone for a little over 6 months. It’s still hard to believe. I promised immediately following his death, to tell his story here on TommyMom from the beginning. Commitments such as this, I am realizing, are full of dichotomy. For this will at times be incredibly difficult, yet also easy; horribly sad, and also joy-filled; potentially discouraging and also inspiring. Into life intricacies are woven, that provide tremendous opportunities for growth and powerful lessons.
It is my hope that we can, through this journey either learn or revisit them together. Ready? Then let’s begin.
My “little” brother was born in Waukesha, Wisconsin on September 21, 1965.
I would turn 4 in December of that same year.
I honestly remember bringing his cute self home from the hospital.
My father and I went to pick he and my mom up in our 1955 DeSoto.
This photo doesn’t do it accurate justice, as our particular model…
had a more “bubble” effect for a body.
When asking my father about it prior to writing this post…
he launched into the regret he still experiences…
for selling it!
He was out on a walk…
while waxing eloquent on this particular topic…
and I found it serendipitous…
as had he kept it…
he’d still be walking today!
I remember pulling myself…
up and over the top of the front seat…
from where I was seated in the back…
sans seat belt…
in order to peer into his fat little face.
Yes, my mother was holding him while driving.
Depending upon your perspective…
things headed downhill from there.
We were born into an era of turbulence within America.
If and when you disobeyed within your home…
chances were pretty high that turbulence…
on your back side was going to be experienced as well!
Tim was a tank.
There’s no delicate way to express this.
I remember that as he grew…
I would lug him from room to room with me.
He was roughly half my total body weight at the time!
He was an extremely easy-going baby.
Happy, laid back, and always content.
Toddler hood proved to be a different animal.
We lived in a “complex” type of situation…
at the school where our parents trained people…
who were intent on becoming missionaries.
They taught language…
with my father specifically teaching phonetics and phonemics…
which is the basis from which all languages of the world are formed.
And he was darn good at it!
My mom taught actual languages during her “free time”…
with two young kids.
The houses were somewhat like “barracks” in their layout.
Long and thin, they were lined up in rows.
One of my dad’s older brothers and his wife and daughters…
lived across the sidewalk from us.
These were close quarters, man!
Even at this young age, I would trot down the sidewalk…
to my friend Sheri Connor’s house…
with Tim in tow, lumbering behind.
There was just one rather large challenge.
As a toddler, he was a voracious biter!
This complex being nearly square…
afforded complete access to all front doors…
simply by following the sidewalk.
The Abbotts lived on the “other side towards home”…
(typical 4-year-old directions)…
from the Connors.
They had a daughter that was Tim’s age.
Her name was Beth…
but everyone called her “Bethy.”
And believe it or not…
(please refer to the above picture)…
“Bethy” was more portly than Tim!
Not far apart in age, she pretty much lumbered…
wherever she went.
As you all know…
Tim later grew…
to love the game of football!
Let me tell you…
hindsight being 20/10…
I should’ve been able to predict this…
given his nearly perfect…
and always-consistent tackles of “Bethy”…
for the purpose of biting her chubby legs!
It honestly was no laughing matter!
He drew blood.
Skinny as I was…
he obliged me more than once…
when I got in the way of those teeth!
And the horrendous thing…
was that he thought it was funny.
Hysterically so.
It got to the point…
where “Bethy” would run screaming in terror…
if she even saw my brother from afar!
My Southern-bred mother…
was horrified.
And socially marred.
He eventually grew out of it.
These pictures were taken shortly after that.
Hard to believe…
that there was a poor little girl…
walking around with purple and blue legs somewhere, isn’t it?
My point?
It’s really easy to judge everything someone has accomplished…
through the lens of hindsight.
In doing so…
we rarely remember a stage…
a habit…
or characteristic…
that is socially unacceptable.
The lens is skewed once greatness…
covers a multitude of shortcomings…
or even a series of failures.
And yet…
it’s a good thing to remember…
and inspiration to cling to…
when you’re living in those…
“biting toddler-like moments”…
with a difficult student…
a challenging child…
hey…
even an immature young adult!
Don’t give up.
I believe that faith…
coupled with consistent effort…
generally wins out in the end.
Just ask my mom!
And all people…
are born for greatness.
Along the way…
it simply becomes a personal choice.
What are you doing to cultivate and inspire it in others?
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