gaydadwriter
06-05-2007, 08:45 AM
Soap-on-a-Rope
By R.E. Morin
Remember when you were little and everything seemed larger-than-life? When that old tree you used to climb seemed a million feet tall and the old lady living in the old house down the street was a witch?
Some of my most vivid memories are of my older brother and I playing in the woods and field around our house. We used to go out after the yellow hay was cut and laying flat and build things out of it like cars and forts. We would follow an old logging trail that meandered along the edge of the woods for what seemed like miles. I can still feel the sun on my face and smell the dry air that smelled of pine and buzzed with the wings of tiny bees. The pathway was splashed with colors of Indian Paintbrush in yellow and orange and we wondered if we could follow that trail forever into a wild adventure that would lead us far into the woods and away from our parents.
We had two favorite trees along this path. They were Red Pines or “Scrub Pines” as we sometimes call them; although back then I’m sure we gave them names like “Rocky and George”. Everything had a personality and a life to us because everything was still so new and wondrous. There was an old abandoned apple orchard just off to the side, behind our house. The grass grew tall and the old, craggy trees bent heavy with wormy fall apples. This was one of our favorite places to play where we had each chosen our own favorite trees to sit in. These ancient, wise beings would cradle us in the crooks of their thick, rough branches and whisper words to us through the wind and leaves. Only we knew what they were saying and would sometimes translate it into human language and share the bits with each other. “My tree says he’s older than yours and that he’s grown over a million apples in his lifetime!”
“Well my tree says he’s been here since the Pilgrims landed and he’s got a favorite bird that visits him every year!”
I was always the more sensitive one. My brother was a year older and much faster and stronger than I. He was real smart too. He always seemed to know how to keep us safe and out of trouble. Whenever I’d get into the kitchen drawer where the matches were, he’d say, “No, No, you’ll get in trouble!” When I wanted to pull my father’s shiny trumpet out of it’s case and try to make beautiful music like my father did, he’d say “Don’t do it, you’re gonna get spanked!” I kept my brother pretty busy when we were little. Whatever moral compass he possessed seemed to be lacking in me. I always wanted to do the things that were forbidden to us- play with matches, handle the beautiful trumpet, go beyond our own yard…
Back then our parents dressed us alike. We’d have our stiff “Tuff-Skin” jeans from Sears and Roebuck, with matching striped T-shirts. He’d usually have the reds and I’d get the blues. We were only a year and a day apart in age and very close in size, so many people thought we were twins. He had dark hair, I had blonde. He had blue eyes, I had brown. Once school started, the differences between us became more apparent. Playground chums were more attracted to him, because he was older, smarter and more athletic. I was not.
As kids often do, they started picking on me because I was small and vulnerable. This influence combined with our father’s frequent bursts of rage and/or violence towards me caused my brother to also start viewing me as a “weak link” or liability. He found new friends at school and in the neighborhood, most of who admired him but disdained me. I think he started becoming embarrassed of me and started to distance himself from me. Our safe and exclusive boyhood friendship was coming to an end.
As years went on we hung out occasionally as most siblings do. We grew into very different people and began to lead very different lives. We did; however, both marry neighborhood girls and start families when we were quite young. Even that was different though, because I had “come out” as gay at 18, but my already low self-esteem was turned into self-hatred and terror by involvement with the Pentecostal movement causing me to seek comfort in an “acceptable” relationship with my former high school girlfriend. My marriage lasted six years and produced three children. His lasted more than double that and produced two.
Recently we were at our Mother’s house for a family barbeque. Our children are grown now and leading lives of their own. His were busy elsewhere and couldn’t make it, only two of mine were able to come. I really wasn’t planning on going, but my kids were hoping to see their cousins, whom they hadn’t visited in many years. On the ride there my kids were telling tales of their adventures and play with my brother’s kids when they were little. I could identify with how prominent and fantastic those memories were, still active in their minds. Great memories. I recalled to them one of my earliest childhood memories, which in essence sounds kind of silly but back then it was a big deal to us. Our Grammy used to get the Avon catalog every month and we couldn’t wait to see the kids’ section of toys and bubble bath and stuff. Sometimes Grammy would order us our favorite thing from there and this time it was soap that had a rope imbedded in it. I think mine was shaped like a dragon and I believe my brother’s was a racecar. Our parents had bought a new house in a different town, so we had to move. We hadn’t started school yet, so our special friendship was still intact. I remember when everything was packed and we were loaded in the station wagon, headed towards our new home, many miles away. We had gone several miles when my brother remembered that we’d left our brand new soaps that Grammy had bought us, hanging from the bathtub spout. What a fuss we made! To no avail though, because our parents were not about to turn around and travel back just to retrieve some Avon soap. We were devastated, but eventually got over it. Soon the adventures of a new home in a new town, filled with new friends, would occupy our minds and lives and we would begin to leave many more things behind than that.
I email these stories that I write to my big brother, among others. He quickly responded to my last one and stated that he was glad to read my stuff again. I hadn’t sent him anything in a while and he was worried that I’d stopped writing. We hadn’t seen each other in a couple of years and our kids hadn’t seen each other in more than that. In an unusual twist, my brother actually wrote some heartwarming things to me. He said it would be sad for him if when he went to the family gathering and I wasn’t there. He said he wanted to visit with the brother who was “his closest and best friend” when we were little. I’m tearing up a bit just thinking about it now.
Life brings us all through some amazing adventures and struggles. I am so happy to be alive and well and to sit here writing about it. Nowadays I choose to focus on the happy memories and try to build more happy moments for myself and my loved ones to recall later. It’s those little things that can come back to you and give you a smile or a warm feeling when you need it the most. Boy did I love that dragon-shaped soap on a rope! Or was it an alligator? I’ll have to write my brother and ask him.[/B]“A child said What is the grass? Fetching it to me with full hands,
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.”
Walt Whitman- from Song of Myself
R.E. Morin
p.s. This one’s for you Mike!
By R.E. Morin
Remember when you were little and everything seemed larger-than-life? When that old tree you used to climb seemed a million feet tall and the old lady living in the old house down the street was a witch?
Some of my most vivid memories are of my older brother and I playing in the woods and field around our house. We used to go out after the yellow hay was cut and laying flat and build things out of it like cars and forts. We would follow an old logging trail that meandered along the edge of the woods for what seemed like miles. I can still feel the sun on my face and smell the dry air that smelled of pine and buzzed with the wings of tiny bees. The pathway was splashed with colors of Indian Paintbrush in yellow and orange and we wondered if we could follow that trail forever into a wild adventure that would lead us far into the woods and away from our parents.
We had two favorite trees along this path. They were Red Pines or “Scrub Pines” as we sometimes call them; although back then I’m sure we gave them names like “Rocky and George”. Everything had a personality and a life to us because everything was still so new and wondrous. There was an old abandoned apple orchard just off to the side, behind our house. The grass grew tall and the old, craggy trees bent heavy with wormy fall apples. This was one of our favorite places to play where we had each chosen our own favorite trees to sit in. These ancient, wise beings would cradle us in the crooks of their thick, rough branches and whisper words to us through the wind and leaves. Only we knew what they were saying and would sometimes translate it into human language and share the bits with each other. “My tree says he’s older than yours and that he’s grown over a million apples in his lifetime!”
“Well my tree says he’s been here since the Pilgrims landed and he’s got a favorite bird that visits him every year!”
I was always the more sensitive one. My brother was a year older and much faster and stronger than I. He was real smart too. He always seemed to know how to keep us safe and out of trouble. Whenever I’d get into the kitchen drawer where the matches were, he’d say, “No, No, you’ll get in trouble!” When I wanted to pull my father’s shiny trumpet out of it’s case and try to make beautiful music like my father did, he’d say “Don’t do it, you’re gonna get spanked!” I kept my brother pretty busy when we were little. Whatever moral compass he possessed seemed to be lacking in me. I always wanted to do the things that were forbidden to us- play with matches, handle the beautiful trumpet, go beyond our own yard…
Back then our parents dressed us alike. We’d have our stiff “Tuff-Skin” jeans from Sears and Roebuck, with matching striped T-shirts. He’d usually have the reds and I’d get the blues. We were only a year and a day apart in age and very close in size, so many people thought we were twins. He had dark hair, I had blonde. He had blue eyes, I had brown. Once school started, the differences between us became more apparent. Playground chums were more attracted to him, because he was older, smarter and more athletic. I was not.
As kids often do, they started picking on me because I was small and vulnerable. This influence combined with our father’s frequent bursts of rage and/or violence towards me caused my brother to also start viewing me as a “weak link” or liability. He found new friends at school and in the neighborhood, most of who admired him but disdained me. I think he started becoming embarrassed of me and started to distance himself from me. Our safe and exclusive boyhood friendship was coming to an end.
As years went on we hung out occasionally as most siblings do. We grew into very different people and began to lead very different lives. We did; however, both marry neighborhood girls and start families when we were quite young. Even that was different though, because I had “come out” as gay at 18, but my already low self-esteem was turned into self-hatred and terror by involvement with the Pentecostal movement causing me to seek comfort in an “acceptable” relationship with my former high school girlfriend. My marriage lasted six years and produced three children. His lasted more than double that and produced two.
Recently we were at our Mother’s house for a family barbeque. Our children are grown now and leading lives of their own. His were busy elsewhere and couldn’t make it, only two of mine were able to come. I really wasn’t planning on going, but my kids were hoping to see their cousins, whom they hadn’t visited in many years. On the ride there my kids were telling tales of their adventures and play with my brother’s kids when they were little. I could identify with how prominent and fantastic those memories were, still active in their minds. Great memories. I recalled to them one of my earliest childhood memories, which in essence sounds kind of silly but back then it was a big deal to us. Our Grammy used to get the Avon catalog every month and we couldn’t wait to see the kids’ section of toys and bubble bath and stuff. Sometimes Grammy would order us our favorite thing from there and this time it was soap that had a rope imbedded in it. I think mine was shaped like a dragon and I believe my brother’s was a racecar. Our parents had bought a new house in a different town, so we had to move. We hadn’t started school yet, so our special friendship was still intact. I remember when everything was packed and we were loaded in the station wagon, headed towards our new home, many miles away. We had gone several miles when my brother remembered that we’d left our brand new soaps that Grammy had bought us, hanging from the bathtub spout. What a fuss we made! To no avail though, because our parents were not about to turn around and travel back just to retrieve some Avon soap. We were devastated, but eventually got over it. Soon the adventures of a new home in a new town, filled with new friends, would occupy our minds and lives and we would begin to leave many more things behind than that.
I email these stories that I write to my big brother, among others. He quickly responded to my last one and stated that he was glad to read my stuff again. I hadn’t sent him anything in a while and he was worried that I’d stopped writing. We hadn’t seen each other in a couple of years and our kids hadn’t seen each other in more than that. In an unusual twist, my brother actually wrote some heartwarming things to me. He said it would be sad for him if when he went to the family gathering and I wasn’t there. He said he wanted to visit with the brother who was “his closest and best friend” when we were little. I’m tearing up a bit just thinking about it now.
Life brings us all through some amazing adventures and struggles. I am so happy to be alive and well and to sit here writing about it. Nowadays I choose to focus on the happy memories and try to build more happy moments for myself and my loved ones to recall later. It’s those little things that can come back to you and give you a smile or a warm feeling when you need it the most. Boy did I love that dragon-shaped soap on a rope! Or was it an alligator? I’ll have to write my brother and ask him.[/B]“A child said What is the grass? Fetching it to me with full hands,
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.”
Walt Whitman- from Song of Myself
R.E. Morin
p.s. This one’s for you Mike!