When I was little, very little, I did not have to go to Sunday Mass. I suppose my parents didn't want to be too outnumbered so they left me at home. Everyone but Bobby went to the ten o'clock Mass. Bobby would have already had been to the eight o'clock Mass, probably alter boying for Father Hess. He would be back home before Mom and Dad had to leave with Crissy, Dick and Sheila. I imagine trying to keep my brother in line for an entire hour was work enough, leaving me home until I could appreciate Mass was just easier.
I have some very clear memories of those Sunday mornings with my brother, Bobby. We had three channels, plus PBS so the pickings were slim for television shows on a Sunday morning. I am guessing that there was some sort of news show and maybe a religious show but the channel we always tuned into was the channel that aired the Skogman Reality Show. In between slide shows of homes for sale, the Skogman Reality Show was actually the Laurel and Hardy / Abbott and Costello show. For one solid hour, I watched slapstick humor at its finest along side my best big brother, Bobby. I am pretty sure that it was closer to heaven than church would have been.
Oh, but it wasn't always perfect. There was the one time, and this is the only time I can really recall Bobby being anything less than kind to me, that he put a noose around Jeffery's neck and lowered him into the furnace. Ok, it wasn't really the furnace, it was the cold air exchange duct and Jeffery was my teddy bear. I may have overreacted, but, seriously, who hangs a little girl's bear?
I recently had the opportunity to watch old home movies and there are very few frames that contain me that don't contain my brother carrying me, kissing me or in some other way, taking care of me. In fact, there are a few times when my little girl face clearly shows some slight irritation at Bobby moving in on my camera time!
Bobby left home when I was nearly eight. He stopped back in a few times while on leave from the Marine Corps and since moving to New Zealand, I have seen him three or four times. We have daughters nearly the same age and he was in the military and I was married to it, but that is where our common ground ends. It is strange how someone I have not known for most of my life occupies so many of my earliest memories. It was Bobby that took me to Tot Lot on his bike. An hour later, he was there to pick me up. Early Sunday mornings hanging bears was spent with him. I learned to roller skate on the other half of his room while listening to Barry Manilow, amongst others, on the radio. And so many of my memories involve nothing more than watching him paint models in his room. I also remember that when he was home on leave and a war movie was on TV, there was no watching it with him. He would point out every weapon and uniform flaw that was on screen. It was maddening to know that someone could have that much odd military knowledge crammed into their brain.
I remember one of the times when Bobby was home on leave and I had come home pretty drunk. I sat out on the front step trying really hard not to throw up all of the night's libations. And Bobby decided that this was the ideal time to impart some brotherly wisdom on me. As I recall, and things were a bit fuzzy, this was not the ideal time for me to hear anything from him. A lot of time had passed and Bobby wasn't my Sunday morning buddy anymore. I remember that making me feel worse than the cheap beer I had drank. I doubt I listened to what he had to say. I was not very open to any one's words, no matter how wise they were during those years and Bobby just wasted his breath.
I clearly remember January 15th, 1991. The air offensive had begun in Kuwait. I was a Marine wife of just over eleven months. I had no idea what was going on with my husband. I only knew that he was over there and I was terrified. Bobby called. From New Zealand, he reached out to me with words of wisdom once again. Bobby's advice and knowledge of all things military set my mind at ease. He was able to define terms for me and break down so much of the military language that was so foreign to me. It was good. We had a common interest again and it felt an awful lot like a Sunday morning.
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