How memory turns to reality as we age |
I remember when I was a boy thinking my big brother Digger was just tall, dark, and mean. He was nearly a giant in my memory, cruel and uncaring to others. Thankfully time and reality made me understand the things that were buried deep within. He now stands only a bit taller than me, with big carpenter's hands, graying hair, and a scarred heart full of love. One day Lois Mae and I came home from the Air Force to visit, and though he had more work to do, and more burdens to bear than any man should, he paused his hectic life. We sat and shared love and tears and more than I ever knew he could keep buried deep in his amazing heart. When we left to return to our respective stations in life I carried a new understanding of the remarkable man he has become. Years crept by as they often do, and though we talked once in awhile, we drifted upon the tides and lost the closeness we had built. It was seven years before once again prodigal sons returned to the home fires left burning. Lois and I again returned for military leave, this time two years after September 11 canceled a planned trip. In summer we sat beside a roaring camp fire recounting tales in a mini family reunion. The evening wound down, and I saw Digger crying without a sound. The tears rolled down his ragged face, and soon he came to hug me and tell me how scared and proud for me he was, knowing that as our country called I was there to stand tall, despite the dangers that could have come. I was reminded again that there was so much more to him than I knew when I was but a child. I remember when I was a boy thinking my big brother Digger was just tall, dark, and mean. |