This Kid I Knew

When I was growing up there was this kid. He was always around. When I went to the basketball court, he was there. When my Mom gave me money to go to the pizza place, he would always be there. We were always in the same school, we rode the bus together, and we were even on the same little league team year after year. Time went by and we got to know each other pretty well. We didn’t see eye to eye on anything.

When we were in elementary school we had a little run in just down the street from my house. We were walking around the neighborhood talking a little trash. I had recently gotten angry and picked my plastic skateboard up over my head and slammed it on the ground, smashing it into three pieces. It was one of those skinny, little yellow boards about as wide as your foot that some of us referred to as banana boards. He was making fun of me in front of my friends and I wasn’t having it. I charged toward him with a rage in my eyes. He became the matador. I was the raging bull, but there was no artistic near miss here. Contact was made and we hit the ground.

A crowd gathered as we got on our feet. We stood facing each other angry and breathing heavy. I hated this kid and I wanted to pummel him. I wasn’t certain that I could take him but I didn’t really care. We stood strong and continued talking trash. Suddenly the kid swung and caught me square in the nose. I fell to the ground in a heap. The crowd erupted in cheers and it was over. I stayed down and people began to leave when they realized nothing more was going to happen. Nose bloody and utterly humiliated, I stumbled to my feet and made the shameful walk home.

Surprisingly, I never heard anything about that fight ever again. That was the kind of event that could ruin a reputation. This kid was a grade behind me and technically he was the victor.

Years went by and our differences grew. There were more harsh words spoken and yelling and the occasional food-throwing incident. Perhaps I was learning patience by having such an annoying person in my life that seemed to be around all the time.
During my freshman year in high school we were talking trash at my house, which started out pretty innocently but there had always been some animosity between us. Once again we reached the boiling point and this time I swung first. Again just one punch and it was all over. I gave him a quick, strong left-handed punch in the gut. He looked stunned as the blow landed. His eyes opened wide and the punch had knocked the wind out of him. He fell and hit his head on the corner of a toy box.

My family had this toy box that my father made and painted to look like a dog. It was a pretty cool thing as I was growing up and we kept it even after I had outgrown my GI Joes and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures. Well, it was positioned right where this kid was falling. When he fell his head hit the corner of the toy box and there was blood and tears. He lay on the floor clutching his head and writhing in pain. I was stunned and had no idea what to do. As he got up I saw the huge lump that had already formed. He muttered some incoherent tear-filled words and disappeared. I was the victor this time. He would recover from his wounds without stitches and was fine by the next day, except a gash and a little lump.

Many more years have passed since these incidents and that kid and I still don’t see eye to eye on much of anything. We keep in touch in spite of it all and there is one thing that I know for sure. I would do just about anything for him. You see there is nothing like a brothers love. While there were monumental battles, times of protesting silence, and some of the harshest words, there were also times of compassion and love like none other. We truly are apparent opposites. He went to big public universities and became a liberal and a lawyer in Las Vegas. I went to small private Christian college and seminary and became a conservative, a future preacher, and hopefully will settle down in the Midwest. Regardless of our many differences we share a common upbringing and understand what the other has gone through over the years.

You see, after he gave me that bloody nose and knocked me on the ground… he walked me home. After I punched him in the gut and he smacked his head on that toy box in the hallway… I sat up and worried until he got home from the emergency room. I wouldn’t be who I am today without him challenging my thinking and without his support and encouragement. He is my brother and I love him deeply. We were there for each other in all the moving that accompanied our military family, through broken hearts, and failures.

It is the chiding remarks when I made a mistake that made me see things differently. His challenging my anger by adorning me with the nickname “Raging Bull.” Which made me more angry back then, but I did see his point.

I tried to help him reattach the screen door he didn’t see and ran through at his girlfriend’s house before her mom got home.

Once we were riding bikes at Brill hill and he got a little off track and jumped into the middle of a thorn bush. Everyone else sailed past and down the hill for the thrilling ride and I stopped to make sure he was all right.

One time, fear filled my heart when we shut him into a couch bed and couldn’t get it open again.

More recently, he flew out from Arizona to my wedding in Indianapolis the weekend before his law school finals. He wouldn’t have missed my wedding for anything.

Through all of the craziness of a young boys adventurous and rebellious life to becoming a man and trying to make it in through the struggle that is adulthood, the love of a brother is a wonderful blessing.