In my last installment of The Sandwich Kid, I introduced you to my younger brother, Brad. He was for all of us a life changing experience. Brad didn’t then, and still doesn’t now, know the meaning of the word “calm,” “slow,” or “take it easy.” Always on the go, something always cooking, Brad is a man of many talents and uses them constantly.
Did I mention that he was our dad’s pride and joy? You see Brad was Dad’s first boy born to him. Our older brother, Gene, and Dad had a tremendous relationship. Gene always referred to Dad as his father too, but Gene was the product of mama’s first marriage.
So, Brad comes along when Dad is 53. Yes, you read that correctly — age 53! I remember Dad telling everyone that God had blessed him like Abraham, in his old age. For a long time, eight-year old me wondered what that meant.
he promised: Sarah became pregnant and gave Abraham a son in his old age,
and at the very time God had set. Abraham named him Isaac.
When his son was eight days old, Abraham circumcised him just as God had commanded.
By 1959, at age five, Brad was firmly ensconced in his boy persona — a rough and tumble cowboy lived out under the sycamore tree, while the house was filled with vroom, vroom! and all forms of cars and trucks. Not to mention, a Lionel train lived under his bed.
Not only was my life being impacted by a five-year old brother, our older brother had his own son, now seven years old. Where had all the girls gone?
I had no interest in the games boys played. I liked my dolls, roller skates, Nancy Drew and Anne of Green Gables.
Whose idea was it that I’d be stuck in the middle of so many boys? What could I do but try to exist? Well, I made the best of it, as you’ll see in the next installment of my life as a middle child.
I hope you’ll come back and continue this journey with me.