28 March, 2012

My Little Brother

My brother, Jimmy, was born when I was 3 1/2.  My mother had a bad time of it, because she had varicose veins. For fear of floating blood clots, she spent a lot of time in bed during the pregnancy. My dad went to law school during the day and worked nights at Oscar Mayers, so he had a friend, called Bozo, come to the house and carry the water for my mother. Bozo would come all times of the day and night. I remember him as a big burly fellow. My father looked up to him, because he didn't care what people thought of him and he was very strong. Though my father claimed he also didn't care about other people's opinions, I wasn't so sure. 

One time when Bozo was stopped at a red light, the guy behind him beeped his horn, so Bozo got out and looked at the back of his car as if the beeper was trying to tell him something was wrong with the car. When the light turned red, he got back in his car and waited for it to change again. My father told this story hundreds of times.
Jimmy at about 9 months.

Jimmy was born in November, and my grandmother came down from Eau Claire to take care of me. My grandmother was good to me, but I could tell she wasn't sure my mother was a good mate for my dad, and I didn't like that. I think my grandmother had visions of grandeur for her family.

My mother told me that when she was coming to after the birth of Jimmy, she heard the doctor say that the baby was the ugliest baby he'd ever seen. She had to agree, because his mouth stretched from ear to ear. But he got better as he got older.

These are very old photos, so their quality is poor.
When Jimmy and my mother came home, my mother told me that I looked at the baby for a minute or two and said, "oh," and walked away. And yet I have a picture of us playing together in the front yard


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