Brother Jim

This is my not-so-much-younger brother Jimmy, Uncle Jim, and he is fantastic: beautiful, creative, loving, and generous.

When he was a baby, I cut his hair. I had learned, from the way people went on and on about his curls, that I did not have them, so I decided that must not be good. I honestly thought that if I cut his curls off, they would not grow back. I was wrong. Meanwhile, through my childhood, I was subjected to many perms. Oh, how I hated those perms.

I also once cut the toe of one of Jimmy’s boots with the lawn mower. He was standing right in front of me, trying to force me to go around him while I was making perfect lines in the yard. I warned him. I told him that if he did not move out of my path, I was going to keep going. He would not move, so I pushed forward, and the end of his boot got clipped. He screamed, and I got a spanking.

Here is another story about him. One day, Jimmy was playing outside in a muddy field and came into the house with one boot missing. He told Mom he had lost it in the mud. Mom sent him back out to find it, and since she was raised Catholic, she told him to pray to Saint Anthony, the saint who helps you find lost property. Now, our mother’s best friend at the time was Joyce Anthony, so you can guess where this is going. Jimmy came back in crying. Mom asked if he found his boot, and he said, “I’ve been praying and praying, but Mrs. Anthony won’t come and help me.”

Like me, Jimmy has been singing since he could talk. He also took drum lessons, like almost every drummer in the city did, from Jim Blackley. He has been playing since his school days, and he played at the Harrison Hot Springs Hotel for twenty-four and a half years before he retired.`

I won big time when I became this inspiring human being’s sister.