Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?

The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where, who knows where
But I’m strong
Strong enough to carry him
He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother

Bob Dylan from He Ain’t Heavy, He’s my Brother

Happy International Brothers Day everyone! Yes, today is the day when those of us lucky enough to have a brother or brothers (whether living or deceased) should all stop and think about how our brothers have enriched our lives. We can also look back on some of the funny and not so funny moments with our brothers and reflect on how all of these experiences helped in small or maybe big ways to shape who we are as adults.

To my older (and less handsome) brothers David and Kevin I thank them for the memories of growing up as the youngest of three boys. We lived in a household that had a “rub some dirt” on it mantra which was largely passed down to the children from our mother more than our father (if you ever met my mom you’ll understand).

I remember the good and bad of being the so-called “baby” of the family. The good being that when I was very young my mom would often shield me from the verbal and often physical onslaughts of my older brothers. The bad was that this protection had a finite timeline – eventually my mom would cut the cord (if memory serves it probably ended around the time I was ten) so-to-speak and it became survival of the fittest; the law of the jungle; natural selection; welcome to Thunderdome or whatever other term you like to invoke the idea that you have to fight your own battles.

I have too many stories to tell about growing up as the junior member of the Shapiera clan so I will just share this one. Just remember, no persons were harmed (well, not that much anyway) in the story I am about to tell.  I call this story…

The Clothesline

My parents decided when I was about five years old that the suburban life was not for them and their young family so they packed up the Nobleton homestead and moved the clan north to Haliburton. (just an aside, our home in Nobleton stood across from what would become Nobleton Lakes Golf Club. Back in the early 1970s when we left the area there was nothing but farmers fields for as far as they eye could see.).

Adjusting to a new town and school was pretty much standard stuff for three young children – it sucked! However, like most kids we survived and were none the worse for wear (well, almost as you will see from this story) as the saying goes .

My parents were extremely busy trying to run a small resort (which they had zero experience in doing when they took it on) to be the doting parents. This was great news for me and my two brothers! This meant we became like feral children after school and almost 24/7 in the summer months. “Look after your little brother” were words spoken by my mother that my brother Dave probably got tired of hearing. I was like a shadow to my brothers when we lived at  the aptly named Paradise Lodge on, you guessed it… Paradise Lake.

Remember this is the 1970s. There was no internet; no malls (at least not in Haliburton – population 1000, give or take); no cell phones. Should a kid want to have fun it was up to their imagination… and nothing else. We learned very soon that having fun may often involve taking risks. Sometimes those risks were in the form of engaging in an activity which could cause bodily harm, or dare I say, without exaggeration… death. Now, sometimes the harm (both real or possible) caused by the activity would pale in comparison to the harm our mom would inflict upon us if she ever discovered what mischief we were up to – but that may be a story for another time.

Me and my brothers were always looking for new and more risky forms of entertainment. Some of these activities were destructive, others may be viewed as cruel by today’s standards and still others were just straight up zany kids being kids fun. The other category was of the thrill-seeking variety. Think of a 6-10 year-old’s version of base-jumping or sky-diving.

My brother Kevin was always the kid among our small group of young ruffians who was looking to one-up anyone else on the risk-o-meter. If one kid did a front flip off an elevated platform into the lake he would surely set up for a back-flip. He was not always successful when he pushed the envelope but it was almost always worth the price of admission for all in the audience of usually pre-adolescent boys.

One day in the summer when I guess we must have exhausted all the fun in our world for that particular day, Kevin decided to step it up a notch. A summer neighbor who was conveniently not at their cottage that week offered the perfect staging area for Kevin’s latest death-defying (at least it was in the eyes of an eight-year old) stunt.

Back in our youth, clotheslines were almost as common as an electric dryer is today. Every backyard had one. The chosen method of drying clothes came in various formats. Some were at ground level and easily accessible. Others were situated in higher positions, usually set up off a balcony so that they took up less valuable backyard space which was often used for family entertaining and activities.

The aforementioned neighbor owned one of these elevated clotheslines. One end was on a second floor deck and the other was attached to a backyard pole. Like clotheslines, telephone and hydro poles were extremely common. This particular clothesline was tailor-made for a young boy to enjoy a little adrenalin-pumping fun! What a waste to use this device for something as mundane as hanging clean underwear (yes, mothers hung out our unmentionables for the whole world to see. We just prayed that our mom didn’t purchase the ones with seahorses or teddy bears. It would mean some serious ribbing from our buddies if they caught a glimpse of our gitch dangling from the family clothesline)!

You can probably guess what the imagination of an eight-year old boy dreamed up to use a clothesline for which was probably 10-15 feet off the ground. This was not a clothesline in our eyes at all – it was a zipline! How cool would it be and how much of a legend would Kevin be with the local hooligans… I mean boys. He was still only eight so impressing girls never probably crossed his mind yet. Being the man with his friends was far more important.

So that is how my brother Kevin discovered that a thin piece of wire encased in plastic which was used to hold a few pounds of wet clothes was not designed to hold the weight an eight-year old boy. The idea was a great one but the equipment and the execution of the stunt was what was lacking.

My memory is of Kevin barely getting clear of the balcony when we all heard a discernable “snap” as the clothesline broke under his weight!! With legs and arms flailing for what must have seemed like an eternity my brother crashed to the ground below. Writhing in pain he probably didn’t notice the gathered throng (ok, I use the term “throng” loosely. There were probably six or seven of us present) of neighborhood boys were howling with laughter, initially unaware that our local pint-sized Evil Knievel was in a degree of distress.

After we composed ourselves and wiped away the tears from laughing so hard one of us (probably my brother Dave. he was usually the responsible one- plus he was the oldest so he would catch the most heck from mom if one of his brothers was injured on his watch.) ran and told my mother.

I am pretty sure my mom was not thrilled to be dragged away from work during the busy summer months. However, my memory is that mom was far more reserved than she often was once she realized her middle child was hurt in a way that looked more serious than the typical “rub some dirt on it” scrape.

My mom gathered Kevin up and carefully put him in the family car to take him the ten-minute drive into Haliburton presumably for medical attention. We had no idea what the extent of Kevin’s injuries were. Boys are prone to exaggeration so I am sure more than one of us speculated that he would return with a missing arm. I do still remember one of our group saying wouldn’t it be funny if Kevin returned with a cast on his injured arm (Kevin had the sense to use one of those flailing arms to break his fall or surely his head would have bounced off the ground like a super ball). Well, maybe that kid was Nostradamus because that is exactly what happened!

The stunt had gone awry but hey so had numerous ones attempted by the aforementioned Evil Knievel, right? Despite the failed attempt Kevin still achieved legend status – at least for that summer – among the local boys. The moral of the story today would be to show caution and don’t take risks. Back then it was that legends break bones too!

Happy International Brothers Day Dave and Kevin! Love you both!

One Dad With a Blog