My brother died three days ago. Seems longer because so much has happened. Mostly I've had to put up with family and friends being extraordinarily loving and kind and even hugging me.
His wife and daughter are the ones truly suffering so I understand where my friends are coming from because I just want to get these two women in a big old group hug and take the pain away. But I cannot. And you cannot either.
It's normal to travel backwards when we loose someone. And that's what I've been doing with my brother. Because that's what we had together, our childhood.
We lived with our dad on the corner of Bloyd and Jefferson in Indianapolis. We had an older sister but I don't remember her being there much. She was mostly shipped out to other relatives. There were very few houses on Bloyd but Jefferson Avenue, just over the railroad tracks, one block long, was filled with small, and, unlike ours, mostly well kept houses.
And that's where we spent most of our time. Although the term had not yet been invented, we were "street kids." Jefferson Street kids. We knew almost every family on the street. The Hortons had a house full of kids and the best back yard ever. Mr. Horton worked for the power company and somehow had telephone poles and ropes all up and down their deep back yard. The first "ropes course." And they were the first on the block to have a television set. Paul and I would arrive at their house at 4:00 P.M. and watch the test pattern until a program came on. It's the first place I ever saw Milton Berle.
Next to the Hortons lived a man named Mr. Dillinger. He was what we would now call a recluse. One day the police and someone from the hospital came for him. It was much later when we learn Mr. Dillinger was the half brother of the infamous John Dillinger.
On down the block was my friend Ruthie Curry, and further, on the other side of the street, my friend Charlotte. Also on the other side was a rooming house. A little boy lived there who was funny and sweet but very strange. I think he might have been what we would call today, transgendered. But that identification had not be invented in the 40s.
I left home when I was barely 17. At that age I was thinking only of saving myself. I left Paul behind. A few years later I moved from Indianapolis to Florida. Paul bloomed where he was planted.
Paul and I lived very different lives. But we both overcame our childhood to become whole, healthy humans beings. I truly don't know many people who are as loved as my brother, Paul. I don't know how that would have turned out without having each other as little kids and without loving neighbors. I don't remember our friends or their parents ever questioning why we were on the street so often. But I remember them being good to us. I suspect that some of these parents realized we needed a warm place to sit and watch the test pattern.
***
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| Paul and Cess, late 1940s |
It's normal to travel backwards when we loose someone. And that's what I've been doing with my brother. Because that's what we had together, our childhood.
We lived with our dad on the corner of Bloyd and Jefferson in Indianapolis. We had an older sister but I don't remember her being there much. She was mostly shipped out to other relatives. There were very few houses on Bloyd but Jefferson Avenue, just over the railroad tracks, one block long, was filled with small, and, unlike ours, mostly well kept houses.
And that's where we spent most of our time. Although the term had not yet been invented, we were "street kids." Jefferson Street kids. We knew almost every family on the street. The Hortons had a house full of kids and the best back yard ever. Mr. Horton worked for the power company and somehow had telephone poles and ropes all up and down their deep back yard. The first "ropes course." And they were the first on the block to have a television set. Paul and I would arrive at their house at 4:00 P.M. and watch the test pattern until a program came on. It's the first place I ever saw Milton Berle.
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| Paul and Cess, two weeks ago. |
On down the block was my friend Ruthie Curry, and further, on the other side of the street, my friend Charlotte. Also on the other side was a rooming house. A little boy lived there who was funny and sweet but very strange. I think he might have been what we would call today, transgendered. But that identification had not be invented in the 40s.
I left home when I was barely 17. At that age I was thinking only of saving myself. I left Paul behind. A few years later I moved from Indianapolis to Florida. Paul bloomed where he was planted.
Paul and I lived very different lives. But we both overcame our childhood to become whole, healthy humans beings. I truly don't know many people who are as loved as my brother, Paul. I don't know how that would have turned out without having each other as little kids and without loving neighbors. I don't remember our friends or their parents ever questioning why we were on the street so often. But I remember them being good to us. I suspect that some of these parents realized we needed a warm place to sit and watch the test pattern.
***
