My brother, of all people, has been razzing me to post something new on the blog. I had to tell him what a blog was not too long ago. Here's to you Paulie Wollie...
My earliest memory of Paul was being at the hospital when he was born and being comforted by my Uncle Marv in the waiting room. My uncle offered me a handkerchief and I knew, even at age 3, that a reused kleenex was gross.
Mom would keep candy "Dots" in the cabinet above the toilet for rewards when Paul was potty training. I was better at peeing in the toilet than he was, yet he got the candy. I remember that made me mad.
Paul and I would take baths together and make soapy-oapy. We had little play dishes and a bar of soap. What else was there to do?
I chased Paul one evening while he was brushing his teeth. He promptly ran into the bed and jammed the toothbrush down his throat. Look where you're going next time...that was the lesson learned.
Paul has fat cheeks. Did I say has? I meant had, of course. I was always pinching them with both hands...hard. He never once cried or winced. He would just look at me and grin absently.
I don't really remember the elementary years. Aside from dressing him up in dresses and make-up occasionally, he was too into GI Joe, guns, playing outside with Butch and getting dirty. So I pretended I didn't have a little brother and assumed an only child role in my mind.
After moving up to Colorado, we started to play more together, although it wasn't till late high school that I started to be okay with having him around.
We would play this stupid game on the stairs where he would sit at the bottom landing, and I on the top step. The goal was to get a beach ball past the other person. I always won since he never figured out I had the advantage of gravity. We would play vet and ship-wrecked zoo, where we would bring all the stuffed animals out into the living room and either keep order on an island, or see patients.
He caught up to me in height his freshman year, while I was a senior. He proceeded to get much bigger, and that's all I heard from my parents for the next couple of years..."Yeah, 6'4", who knew we were growing a giant...cannons from a gun show...turning sideways to go through a doorway" and so on. We were in youth group together, so we actually did things together with a common group of friends. He sobbed at my engagement party. He was the man of honor in my wedding.
After Eric and I were married, Paul came out and lived with us in Georgia for a summer. He was supposed to eat a lot to keep weight on for football, so I made him 2 lbs. of spaghetti. Eric brings that up every time I make spaghetti. 2 lbs. of noodles is a lot of noodles. But the kid could eat. He broke up with his girlfriend while he was out there, and Eric and I came home to an empty pizza box and a dozen Krispy Creme doughnuts gone, along with an empty six pack of beer...er, uh soda. At one time, when he was a free agent trying to go pro, he was supposed to eat 7,000 calories a day.
He loved my grandpa. If grandpa said to keep salmon eggs in your lower lip while fishing, Paul would do it. If while hiking grandpa said sh**, Paul would squat on the side of the mountain. If grandpa ate a raw onion from the garden, my brother would eat one too.
We still fight over the stupid raccoon ornament at Christmas, and he requests that I make the kid be quiet when we're talking on the phone. He is very much our mother, but he won't admit it. He would like to think he knows political issues, but he thinks with his heart, so he really has no idea.
I still wish I had a sister, but not instead of a brother, just also.
You happy now Paul? If this were an obituary, the newspaper would have a payday in extra lines.
BNK
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