Several years ago, I completed a writing exercise that began with the prompt “I remember when”.  Looking back through my notes, I decided to reinvent it as a blog post, if possible.  Working with one of the thoughts, the result is this week’s post.

I remember when yesterday was today.  I remember climbing a tree and my older brother scolding me and insisting I come down.  I remember tagging along after my brother and his friends.  He was only 18 months older but always acted like he was in charge.

I also remember how he begged me to pitch to him so he could practice his batting.  Terrified of being hit, I refused.  After numerous pleadings and promises that he wouldn’t hit the ball at me, I finally acquiesced.  I must be an amazing pitcher.  I threw the ball over our makeshift home plate and my brother swung.  I heard the ball hit the wooden bat as the bat and ball connected.  Instinctively, I ducked, covered my head with my arms and felt the ball sail over my head.

Shocked, my brother dropped the bat and ran toward me.  After making sure the ball didn’t hit me, he grinned and said, “That would have been a home run!”  I wasn’t as impressed with his batting as he was.  Although I never pitched to him again, in retrospect, I’m sure it was the pitch that was truly impressive!

Growing up, my brother and I were very close at least from my perspective.  To him I was probably an annoyance and a pest.  To his credit, he never actually said as much.

When we were in high school, I backed into his car, breaking both his headlights.  At 16, I was terrified to tell him, but I knew I would have to face it.  I went to find him and let him know what I had done.  I expected his temper to flair but was pleasantly surprised with his response.  He walked to his car, looked at the lights and grinned.  Shaking his head, he simply said, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”   I remember being immensely relieved!

Not all memories regarding my brother are happy ones.  Years after the batting incident, I recall a memory I will never forget.  My plane landed in Washington DC and I turned my phone on to listen to messages.  Returning my calls, I discovered my brother had been diagnosed with cancer.  For several years he fought a tough battle valiantly before losing the fight.

But I don’t choose to remember those years.  When I think about my brother, I remember climbing trees, pitching baseballs and long talks.  Those are indeed very good memories.