Day 350: Childhood Christmas memories and my brothers go hand in hand. My big brother, Steve, taught me how to make a snow ball. He taught me never to touch my tongue to the metal ice cube trays. He taught me to wrestle, called me Butch for two years after I got my hair cut, and basically teased me nonstop throughout my childhood.
However, he also mowed the lawn, helped Dad in the barn, and slept in the basement bedroom so I wouldn’t have to go down there, since I thought it was the scariest place, ever. He left the light on for me when I was scared. He gave me rides everywhere. He pushed me on the swings. He was a good big brother to a little straggler sister, and I love him with all my heart.
After I got my license, Steve let me drive his car. It was a cool car, and I felt cool driving it. Steve built his two-story home himself. I was in college at the time, and I called him a show-off. Who can build their own home? My brother, Steve. That’s who.
Steve trusted me to babysit his children, who were the cutest little kids, and now they’re adults with cute little kids of their own, and when Steve catches us up on what’s going on, you have never seen a prouder grandpa as he fills us in on the latest.
Steve has always had this mischievous smirk. My son Taylor has it. So does Taylor’s son, Landon. I have a suspicion that they all inherited it from Mom.
Steve took apart Mom’s vacuum when he was little. He used his toy hammer to break the panes out of the French doors in the living room. He was also reportedly the recipient of coal for Christmas one year, but that’s just a rumor, I’m sure. It couldn’t have anything to do with that smirk.
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