Blog 10: Tribute to my Brother, Darrell

             Finally…..we get to talk about my brother, Darrell. Darrell was two years older than me, and because of that, we had to share a room most of our childhood. He was my closest friend and my worst enemy. He past away at age 47. We had not been able to be together for a few years before that with the exception of the summer before he died. Darrell, his wife, and their youngest son made a trip to see me while I lived in North Carolina.

          That summer, we rented an apartment on the coast, and had a terrific visit for a week. It was their anniversary and we went all around the coast including going around Wilmington, Cape Fear, took a ferry boat to see the Aquarium, and just have a blast at the beach. Les, his wife, is like my real sister, and I enjoyed my nephew. (He got soooo  sunburned!) If I am correct, they always went to Golden Coral for their Anniversary and we found one on our way back from Wilmington. It was perfect. I thank God that they came because that was the last time I saw Darrell. It thrilled me that we parted ways with that visit. It is my fondest memory of him. These stories are in celebration (though they may not sound like it) of his life with me. They will not be in any special order.

              For people that thought Darrell was not a bright person because he made bad grades, always got into trouble, was over-weight, and he had a hard time making friends, let me tell you that Darrell was the smarter between the two of us when it came to IQ tests. Twice out of three times, he surpassed 140 points which was considered a genius. He made bad grades and did stupid things in class because he was bored. They would not advance him because of the grades, but they should have done so. I was jealous because my highest IQ was 133. My lowest was 124.

(When it rains….it pours!)

        Darrell had a bed wetting problem, like many people, for many years. We had to share a bed. I hated it. There I was, having a great sleep when all of a sudden I would wake with this warm, wet feeling up and down my body. I would jump out of bed and wake him to go to the bathroom. We would have a set of sheets waiting by the bedside for such an occasion. It would not have been so bad except Darrell slept “au natural”. I learned to sleep at the edge of the bed and to this day, I cannot sleep in the middle of a bed. He sweated, too. It would drive me crazy if he turned and touched me. For a few years, we had our own bed. then we had the tape across the floor with, “This is MY side, That is YOUR side’ which most siblings went through at one time or another.

(A stitch in time….means 9, stitches that is.)

        It was no secret that our home was probably the filthiest in Seagoville. With my parents hardly ever around to enforce things, our bedroom was hideous. My dad had from Saturday morning until Monday evening off every week. So if he came home drunk and in a foul mood on Saturday, it was chaos for us. One such weekend had Darrell and I stuck in our room until it was spotless. As always, we played around, as well as, cleaned. 

        During a scuffle, I dropped a glass and it broke on the floor. For the time being, I swept it up and placed it into a shoe box top. About that time I was called to the phone to take a call. Darrell got mad at me for taking so long so he came into the kitchen and hung up the receiver. I got so angry that I took the phone handle and bopped him across the head fairly hard. (BAD MISTAKE and I knew it.) I dropped the phone and started running from him. I ran into our room and tried to make a dive across the bed. But, I had left the lid with glass on the floor. My left foot landed directly into the middle of the box! When I pulled it out, there was a huge piece of glass lodged in my foot. I pulled it out and it was so deep, I saw the inside of my foot before it started bleeding. My dad had to rush me to the Emergency room in Kaufman where they placed 10 stitches inside the cut and 9 outside. I was on crutches for three weeks. Darrell and I both still got the wrath of my dad when we got home.

(I need some air, someone open a window!)

        One day the family was playing cards at the dining room table. There were not enough chairs, so I stood at the end of the table in front of a floor to ceiling window. I could not stay still, so I was using my hands to rock back and forth on the table. I said something about Darrell losing, or similar. He timed it just right to THUMP his end of the table so that my hands slipped. You guessed it, I missed grabbing the table and next thing I knew, I had fallen THROUGH the window. Luckily, I was not hurt. This was one of those times that, after dad got hold of him, Darrell hurt worse than I did.

(There are different ways to score in Darts.)

        Darrell and I were playing darts and I was winning. After one of my turns I was gathering my darts from the board. When I turned around, Darrell was in the process of throwing a dart at me. He hit me in my forehead right between my eyes. The dart stuck there just hanging. I went running to my dad while Darrell was begging me to yank the dart from my head. I refused and kept telling him “This is my proof!” Of course he got in huge trouble from dad!

(The spoon Tattoo)

        On another occasion, whatever I did to make Darrell mad, he chased me around the dining table. He kept yelling, “stay still!”, but I kept going around. Finally, he picked up a spoon and with full force, he threw it hitting perfectly on my right upper arm making a whelp of a spoon. No one was home at the time. So, i took a pen and traced the whelp into a perfect spoon. I left it there until I could tell on him and I had the proof to show. (having proof was my best ammo.)

(Did he really do it?)

        Now, I was not the victim all the time, but since Darrell always stayed in trouble, mom and dad believed me. I did many shameful things. I would tell Darrell to just wait. When my chance came, I would hit MYSELF in the chest or slap my face leaving finger marks,(remember, for the proof.), and run crying to my parent saying Darrell did it. The other way to get him in trouble was to say that Darrell took dad’s gun and pointed it at me! That was always the best one. When we got old enough, all of us were in the living room confessing about things we got away with doing. When I confessed that I lied many times to get Darrell in trouble, my dad began to weep,(because he BEAT, not just spanked, when he was angry.) He apologized to Darrell, then took him out to eat.

(Justice gets its reward, kind of) 

        Finally, one day I was babysitting Del, but I was in my bedroom while Darrell and Del were in the den watching TV. Del came screaming into my room and jumped behind me on my bed. Darrell followed with a belt in his hands telling Del he was going to beat him.(it was something stupid). I blocked his swing and his belt hit me. (Darrell was twice my size and if he got a hold of me, I was a GONER). I lifted my legs and was able to kick Darrell into the hall and get Del underneath me. To protect Del, I had to just lie there over him allowing Darrell the ability to beat the devil out of me. It was the worst beating Darrell ever did to me, as well as his last. But, he never got to Del!

I could go on and on about Darrell. Even though they were mean stories, we had our times that we protected each other and had great fun. They just are not as fun to tell in stories. I Love and Miss him very much.

• 7th Aug 2017
• mylife
• 9 Comments
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