My Brother's Keeper

I was the oldest boy in the family, with my older sister Carol and two younger brothers, Brad and Tom (until 1961 when my youngest brother Bill was born, rounding out the squad to five siblings). The photo to the right is of myself (to the left), Carol, and Brad. Growing up it was Carol and the boys was not easy for me. As the only girl and oldest child, Carol enjoyed perks that her younger barbarian brothers were unworthy of. She got her own bedroom, while we boys had to bunk up with each other. She got her own private telephone line in her bedroom – I am not kidding. She also shared Mom and Dad’s bathroom, while we boys had to scrabble around together in “the boys’ bathroom”. Above all, she stayed indoors all day while we boys were kicked outside after breakfast and told not to come back inside until dinner.

I was the law among my brothers. I have not asked my brothers for their opinions, but as kids they would just as likely have considered me the evil dictator of a totalitarian state. Maybe so, but as the oldest boy, I saw myself as the world’s policeman, the arbiter of all disputes, who spoke softly but carried a big stick. The other two boys looked to me for direction, decisions, and inspiration. I chose the day’s activities for the three of us, whether it be climbing trees, digging a tunnel under the backyard patio, or setting fire to our model airplanes. Sometimes my plans were benign, like playing three-man baseball (a batter, a pitcher, and a fielder), while other ideas ended in stitches – like throwing rocks at each other to see who could come the closest to missing.

My brother Brad was two years younger than me, and two years older than Tom. Brad found himself somewhere in the neutral zone and the advocate of peace. Thanks to Mom’s unique fashion sense, Brad came to feel like the odd man out, in more ways than one. Because Brad and I were close in size, Mom sought to simplify clothing identification by buying Brad’s wardrobe in a contrasting color from Tom and me. For example, while Mom would buy three identical coats for us, my coat and Tom’s coat would be tan in color while Brad’s would be chocolate brown. The same would go for pants, shoes, and shirts. In a pile of clothes it was easy to spot which item was mine, but I am sure Brad did not feel like “a band of brothers”. This visual distinction no doubt contributed to his feeling of detachment. There was Larry and Tom, and then there was Brad.

If it appeared that Tom and I were a unified duo, the truth was quite something else. Four years my junior, Tom knew that he could not best me in actual combat to settle disputes, so he resorted to psychological warfare to level the battlefield. When locked in disagreement, he would taunt and provoke me with words until I could no longer suffer his insolence, and I would haul off and slug him. In righteous indignation, he would run to Mom: “Larry just hit me for no reason!” While Mom scolded me, Tom would stand behind her and stick his tongue out at me. My rage at his impudence only hardened my heart and steeled my determination for a more imaginative revenge.

The age of plastics had not quite found its way to all the little kitchen items we know today. In particular, the standard ice tray kept in the kitchen freezer was made of aluminum (unlike the plastic trays we use today), with a handle you lifted to crack open the individual cube compartments. If you remember these trays, you know how your fingers would stick to the tray if they were wet. Armed with this knowledge, my devious plan to get even with Tom’s wagging tongue was hatched. One afternoon I called out to Tom and showed him the frost that had gathered on the ice trays in the freezer. Pulling one of the trays out, I wondered out loud what the frost might taste like if you licked it off the bottom of the tray and invited Tom to try it. Naively, he laid his tongue on the tray.

Instantly his tongue froze to the tray and he erupted in pain at the shock of cold. Without thinking, he yanked the tray off his tongue, and with it came the entire top layer of his tongue. Blood immediately came pouring out of his mouth and he screeched in horror at the sight of it. Mom came running to the kitchen to Tom’s rescue, and quickly got to the bottom of my treachery. As swift as Tom’s injuries could be tended, my comeuppance was sure. At least Tom’s tongue was in no condition to wag at me while I got the lecture of my life.

With this backdrop of sibling hostilities, the family (minus Dad) was once again off to Disneyland for a day of pleasure. We were all under the age of ten, and Mom braced for the challenge of herding the bunch of us through the park. To help manage us kids, Mom announced the buddy system for the day: Carol and Brad would stick together and Tom and I would stick together. We were to keep an eye on each other to avoid separation. That way no one would wander off alone and get lost in the crowd. The concept was sound and seemed to work for the better part of the morning. That is until Tom announced that he had to go to the bathroom.

The nearest bathroom was located at the convergence of Adventureland and Frontierland, just across the street from the Enchanted Tiki Room. Mom escorted Tom and me to the entrance of the men’s restroom and gave us a thorough briefing. We were to both go into the bathroom together and come out together. Once outside, we were to stand at a specific spot where Mom would retrieve us. “I am going over to the Adventureland Gift Shop,” she told us, “So, if you don’t see me, just wait right here. Don’t go anywhere. I will be right back.” Clear enough to me.

The day saw the usual crowds, and for two kids like Tom and me, the sea of people made the task of identifying a specific person an almost impossible task. So, when Tom and I emerged from the restroom, we went to our assigned spot and looked for Mom. Sure enough, she was nowhere in sight. Throngs of people passed before us to the left and to the right, but no Mom. We stood there for what seemed like minutes, when Tom began to get agitated.

“Where is Mom?” he asked. “Are we lost?”

“No,” I assured him. “Mom told us to wait for her right here.”

“Well, where is she? Shouldn’t we go look for her?”

In that instant I saw my opportunity. “If you would like to go look for her, go right ahead,” I said, as I pointed to the crowd in front of us. “But I am staying here.”

“Well, I am going to go look for Mom,” he declared as he drifted into the haze of humanity. In a moment my waist-high brother was enveloped by the masses. I stood my ground, confident that Mom would be proud of me for following directions. I smiled with glee, certain that Tom would suffer for his actions.

In a moment or two Mom found me, and heaped praises on me for staying put. “Thank you for staying right where I told you to stay. Where’s Tom?”

“I don’t know,” I said righteously. “He just up and left.”

“He what?” she exploded.

This wasn’t going the way I expected. So I tried to put the best face on facts. “He decided to go looking for you. I told him that you told us to stay right here, and that’s what I did.”

“And you let him go?” Her eyes drilled right through me. If I wasn’t mistaken, I could swear that things had moved from praise to blame. With my arm in tow, Mom made a quick search of the immediate perimeter, with no luck. After retrieving Carol and Brad, she continued the fruitless search, and finally collapsed at the park’s lost and found station. For the next several hours we sat while an extensive search ensued. Brad and Carol were none too happy. We did not come to Disneyland to sit in a lost and found room. I felt everyone’s accusing eyes on me. This was not going as planned. Why was I under indictment? I was the one who had followed instructions and stayed put. It just didn’t seem fair.

Finally Tom was found and returned to his anxious mother, and she hugged and kissed him like she hadn’t seen him in a long time. Then all eyes turned to me. And the unkindest cut of all – Tom stuck his tongue out at me.