For those of you who don’t have little brothers….well, you probably won’t get as much out of this as those of you who do. Now, all of you who have been blessed with the presence of the aforementioned Thing, know what darling little beetles they can be. You also know that small boy plus water equals: mud! And mud plus boy plus older sister equals major trouble! Few know what wonderful things you can learn from the grubby creatures though. So, here is the story of what I learned with mine.
It had all started that extremely warm day while I was comfortably burning myself to a crisp on the front lawn. My Algebra book lay in front of my nose, reflecting sun and complicated problems up at my squinted eyes. The clouds rolled around in the sky creating weird shapes and prehistoric monsters for me to decipher and contemplate. My sister lay gently rocking on the garden swing with her pants legs rolled up and a book in her hand. All was peaceful; the soft spring air was alive with the sounds of birds chirping and the occasional buzzing of the unwanted yellow-jackets that had taken up residence in our neighbor’s pine tree.
As I said the air was alive with sound, but not all the sounds were as pleasant as the ones I just mentioned. Around the corner, came a creature of hideous manifestations; it appeared to have at one time had blond hair, but that of course was now layered with wet grass and cat hair; streaks of white skin shone out from behind several layers of mud; ripped shorts and a make-shift hunting spear completed the little savage’s various adornments. Anybody not used to such ridiculous spectacles of uncivilized boyhood would have, in all likelihood, jumped up and fled as fast as their legs would have allowed them, but as it was, we only yawned!
“Oh look, it’s Jerry.” I sighed, more intent on figuring out why on earth I would want to know how many cubic feet of water rush over the Billingville Dam (wherever that is) per second. If I had been more alert or awake instead of dozing in the sun trying to turn my skin to brilliant lobster red, I might have been able to see what was coming on my own, but I didn’t. Thankfully, I did have my personal alarm system up and ready.
“What out!” my sister yelled from her post on the swing. I turned just in time to see the little child flinging his wet and muddy self straight at my head.
“Ahh!” this was all I had time for because immediately I was forced to fight for the safety of my scalp. The only thing that accomplished was one scratch along the arm and a muddy foot print right in the middle of my book. Away went the howling savage leaving me to fume over the unexpected raid. Scarcely one minute had gone by before he was at it again.
“Shove off, Beatle Boy!” I gasped under the weight of his continued bouncing’s on my spine. The only reply was a shriek of laughter at my predicament and another thud on my back.
“That’s it!” I announced after I had regained sufficient wind to speak, “Come back here!” and I jumped from my blanket to pelt after the grass covered heels of my adversary. Upon rounding the corner of our lovely little house, I discover the source of the problem, one green hose had been left running, creating what every little boy longs for on hot spring days: a patch of muddy earth, just the right kind to go tromping through until your legs are covered up to the knees. The little beggar was just reaching for the end of the hose when I reached him. The battle that ensued for the control of the coveted water was not a pretty one let me tell you. The icy liquid pouring from its opening passed dangerously near the hem of my shorts and only after managing to divert its coldness onto the knuckles opposite was I able to gain superiority. Away went the child, running from the shower of icy droplets that I sent his way. I turned the spicket off, feeling that I had drowned out the rebellion sufficiently, and made my way back around the house to dry off my feet and finish the dreaded Algebra.
The rest of the afternoon proceeded rather peacefully, albeit there were a few moments were I was forced to set the boy back in his place, but nothing major. Around three o’clock, the real battle began. I had moved on from Algebra to Biology and was doing everything but looking at the diagrams of the nervous system that decorated my textbook’s lovely pages. Around the corner raced the child, his sword that the ready. Fortunately, I was prepared, Pampas grass fronds make excellent boy deterrents and I was wise enough to have at least one on hand. Around and around the yard we flew sometimes with him before and me at his heels, sometime the other way ‘round. Up to the mailbox; down the gravel driveway that was just waiting for me to step on every sharp rock in its possession; back around the house until we finally collapsed on a blanket in the grass.
I thought he’d leave me alone for at least one minute so I could catch my breath, but oh, no! Over, around and on top of each other we rolled, our various battle techniques getting more and more savage the longer we were at it. Pulling and climbing no longer were sufficient; yes, the teeth and claws were being more steadily employed in an attempt to win the battle. I was sure I had the little goose now; over one shoulder he flew. When he finally landed, I was there, ready to use the worst kind of torture I know on his dirty little body. I TICKLED him; tickled him as I never had before; every tickling muscle I had was employed in a keeping him firmly planted on the ground. His shrieks were coming gasps and moans now, and I let my fingers relax for a moment. Once again, I had underestimated my opponent; the moment I let up, he was back at it. I wonder why it is that children under the age of seven never seem to get tired except when you don’t want them to. Anyway, I pushed him back to the earth using sheer will-power and a wonderful thing called the shoulder to continue the torture.
Suddenly a searing pain shot through me; it was my turn to lay gasping on the ground, writhing in pain and begging for mercy. The little villain opened his jaws with a wicked smile and released my poor shoulder from its relentless pressure. Throwing him off me, I sat up to nurse my wound and contemplate my revenge. He ran off around the house shrieking his victory laughter to the sky like the goofy hyena that he was.
“Don’t even think about coming back!” I hissed him with one hand on my shoulder and the other gripping a pecan to use as a missile if the need arose. It did, racing back toward me was the little brute with the pampas grass frond gripped in his grubby hand. I was determined to be ready. Leaping to a crouched position, I waited, watching him get closer; hearing his battle roar and answering it with my own. The tip of the frond was just in reach and I reached for it, only knowing that I had to somehow get it away from him before had the chance to use it on me. I tore it from his grasp and with a yell of victory I prepared myself to cover his face with itchiness. The look on his face stopped me; one hand was clasped to his chest with the other clamped tightly over it. The big blue eyes were filling with tears and I let the frond fall to the ground.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, but the only answer I received, was a little boy’s version of “I think I hurt my hand.”
“Ahh!” I rolled my eyes and scooped up the yelling figure to carry him in to the office of Mother Dear, D.M. The doctor wasn’t in so I set myself up as head nurse. Setting the child down on the nearest solid surface, which happened to be the toilet, I attempted to solve the problem. My efforts at discovering the source of his discomfort has been detailed in the following conversation--

“Ok, what’s wrong?”
“Ahh!”
“Tell me!”
“Ahh!”
“C’mon, Buddy!”
“Ahh!”
“Jerry!”
“Ahh!”
“What’s wrong!!!!!”
“Ahh!”
“Ahh!”
“Ahhaha!”
“Hehe!”
“Ahh!”
“For cryin’ out loud!
“AHH!”
“Calm down!”
“Ahh!”
“Hold still!”
“Ahh!”
“Stop squirming!”
“Ahh!”
“Ahh!”
“Ahhaha!”
“Goofy thing!”
“Ahh!”
“Do you want a band-aid?”
“Ah-mn,”
“Ok, now hold still so I can put this medicine on.”
“It hurts!”
“Does not!”
“Ahh!”

Well you get the picture. After much screaming, sprinkled with bits of laughter here and there, I managed to extract a small splinter and had the little chap back to normal in no time. So besides learning how to defend myself against angry natives; wrestling a running hose away from a five-year-old without soaking myself, and discovering all the different functions of the Binomial Theorem and its ways of torturing young high-school students, I learned something else. Even if you are constantly at odds with someone, if you show them just a little bit of kindness, they will (most likely) be your best friend forever. Brothers can be bothersome things; running through your room at six o’clock in the morning or jumping on your head while you’re working on writing a story, but if you have a truly loving relationship with them, they will always be a chum.