Published Tuesday, September 23, 2008 11:59 AM
Updated Tuesday, September 23, 2008 12:01 PM
Recently a reader asked why I didn’t write more about my eldest brother. “It’s like we know T-Bob and all his pranks, but not Bubba,” she said.
That may be because Bubba, at 58, is prank-free. He’s lived a blameless life. Been married 27 years, takes care of his family, goes to Mass, doesn’t drink or smoke.
Our mother is 79. Most days, her firstborn is the only one she’ll listen to. He paints her house, parcels out her medications, pays for her auto insurance. He’s the kindest person I know. Solid as a rock.
If there’s an emergency, Bubba is the one you want beside you.
As a college student, he picked up a hitch-hiker. After a few miles, the man pulled a revolver from his duffel bag, waved it around and said the world would end soon.
“You may be right,” Bubba said. “Mind if I drop you off at the bus station?”
“That’s fine,” the man said.
As he climbed out, Bubba said, “Is that gun loaded?“?“Naw,” he said. “My granddaddy gave it to me back in ‘69.”
Bubba reached over and handed him 10 bucks. “Be careful, man,” he said.
“Sho ’nuff,” the hitch-hiker said, and walked off whistling.
Bubba was 11 when I was born. He had coal black hair (silver now) and blue eyes so pale they looked transparent.
He gave me bottles and carried me everywhere, slung over his left hip. He was the one who noticed I wasn’t walking.
“Mama,” he said, “Ju-Ju’s legs aren’t right.”
The result of his observation was months of painful orthopedic shoes, the high-top kind with a metal bar between them. When I finally did walk, I toddled straight into his arms. I remember him clapping his hands, coaxing me across the room, as if it happened this morning.
I followed Bubba everywhere. (As I’ve written before, T-Bob was a mean kid. Now we’re best friends, but back then I instinctively knew not to follow him anywhere.)
When Bubba did homework, I played at his feet. When he washed the car, I sat on the grass. When he took a shower, I banged on the bathroom door and screamed. (This is off-topic, but can you imagine six people contentedly sharing a one-bathroom house today?)
After college Bubba worked for the state parks service, taught history, joined the Navy. He’s a brilliant investor. He’s done a lot of things, but I think his most impressive accomplishment is his family. He and his wife--who is a true sister to me--have two sons. Jonathon is 24, Mikey is 12.
Jon has several tattoos. His favorite shirt says, “Jesus is my homeboy.” He still hugs and kisses his daddy, which I think is wonderful. His daddy says nothing about his earrings, which is even more wonderful.
Mikey is our math and science wizard. As an adult, we fully expect him to develop a cure for diabetes or cancer. (No pressure, kid.)
I love all my relatives, but I wish I were more like Bubba. He’s the best part of me.
Sho ‘nuff.
Julie R. Smith, whose sister is a whole other saga, can be reached at widdleswife@aol.com.