Brothers

(May 2007) I’ve been looking at a lot of pictures lately: Del as a baby, Del as a toddler, Del at one, at two, at three.

And then, there were two of us in the picture. Del looking at the baby. Del carrying the baby, Del and me playing in the sandbox, Del pulling me in the wagon. I’m told he was very happy about having a baby brother and that he doted on me. I don’t remember that. I do recall him conspiring with our babysitter to convince me there were wolves in the basement. I turned on every light whenever I went down there, and hurried out of the basement for years.

But I also recall that Del looked out for me. He told me what to expect when I went from sixth grade to junior high.When Del went to college, any time high school had time off when he didn’t, he brought me up to UMD his freshman year to spend the time with him. We’d drive up to Duluth in his ’64 Thunderbird and I’d stay in his dorm room with him.

I didn’t give it much thought at the time, but there probably aren’t a lot of big brothers who would want their little brother hanging around their dorm. Especially since it is part of the Little Brother job description to be a pain in the ass – and I was good at it. But that’s just what he was like, he cared. He cared so much. And he was generous – to me, to everyone.

By the way, Del often regretted he ever got rid of that ’64 Thunderbird.

But I don’t think he had a lot of regrets – he wanted to live on a lake, and have a ski boat – and he got that. He didn't say so in so many words, but I think he loved living on a different lake, in another house with our own ski boat and he wanted that for his girls. He and Pat have two beautiful children that he absolutely adored. (Talk about doting on someone). Family was so very important to him. He also regretted that our Dad died without ever knowing his girls. He would have loved them so. And now, Del is denied the joy of grandchildren.

Not that we always got along. We were boys – brothers. We fought. And he usually won.

OK, he always won.

As adults, we still didn’t see eye to eye on everything. I like Minneapolis, he liked St. Paul. When I moved to California, he told me he didn’t approve of California. I turned hard to the political left during Vietnam. Del landed somewhere Henry David Thoreau and Jesse Ventura. I don’t really know what his politics were, except that he would get as angry when someone mentioned Bill Clinton as I do when anyone says George Bush. So we didn’t go there much.

We hardly talked about our differences. And sometimes, we hardly talked at all. We might go long stretches without calling each other. And when we did, they might be what I call Scandinavian conversations. “How you doing?” “Fine. What’s new with you?” “Same stuff, you know.” “Yeah, me too.” That wasn't the introduction, that was the whole conversation.

Sentimentality was not our strong suit. I called him one day after his brain tumor had taken control of his life and when Pat put the phone to his ear I said "you sound pretty good." He said "well, I feel pretty good." I let him get away with that. Before we hung up I told him I loved him. "Yeah, you always had that problem," he said. This time I was going to have the last word. "Well, not always," I said. We both laughed.

So we may have left a lot unsaid. But we knew. We both knew.

I guess what I’m driving at is that from the day I was born until the day he died, Del was always the best big brother and friend I could have hoped for. And even though I eventually grew taller than Del, I never stopped looking up to him.