Comments on: Phil seeks advice from his older brother…. by Art Dykeman

By: Art Dykeman

Art Dykeman — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 14:41:57 +0000

I left for boot camp on 26 DEC 1984. The first Christmas I was home for was in 1986. I came home for about 3 or 4 weeks. I can’t remember all of the presents but PJ wanted a BB gun. Those of you who knew our mother know she didn’t care for weapons. I couldn’t have a BB gun growing up. Mom and I had long discussions about it. I actually tried to push for a .22 Rifle but it didn’t go anywhere. So after all the discussions and promises to teach him how to use it safely I was allowed to get him one.

So Christmas morning PJ gets his BB gun and is all happy. We go over the important safety stuff like don’t shoot Kathy or the dog (with anything more than a single pump, two if it was a long shot). Just kidding.. But really.. We both took turns shooting at cans and targets and such.

I don’t know how long after this Christmas but it was summer so it had to be at least a year and a half later and I was home on leave again. We were playing with the BB gun out in the front yard. At some point he threw an apple at me which was pretty common at our house as we had several apple trees around the house. Anyway I pumped that BB gun 30 times or more. (I actually lost count and can’t remember but 30 sounds good) I kept threatening to shoot him and he kept running, hiding and throwing apples.

You probably need to be familiar with the layout of our house to fully appreciate this but here is the Shot:

I was at the Maple tree next to the driveway probably 60-70 feet from the foyer to the house. He was in the garage and out of apples. I couldn’t get a clear shot at him as he got through the garage into the pantry. The door into the house was open and there was about a 4 foot distance between the pantry to the house. From where I was standing I only had about a 2 foot gap where I could see him poking his head out looking for an opportunity to bolt across the opening. I was moving to get more in line with the opening to give myself a better chance when he made his move. I saw him start I shot I heard him yelp with pain. I knew I hit him in the but or leg although I didn’t know where until we both got inside.

The BB didn’t go through his jeans but did leave a really good welt on his thigh. Having been hit similarly earlier in my life I knew it stung. He didn’t cry he wasn’t really mad he just said that it hurt. To my knowledge he didn’t tell mom I shot him and although he threatened me with vengeance he never took it. He literally turned the other cheek. I apologized to him of course. I really didn’t think I would be able to hit him on the run with only a 2-3 foot gap with a bb gun at 60-70 feet away. But Every now and again he would remind me that I shot him. As in the first story this was one of the things he would bring up to make me feel guilty and such.

I am not real sure what this says about PJ other than he was a forgiving man.

By: Cheri (Connolly) Webster

Cheri (Connolly) Webster — Tue, 30 Dec 2008 17:20:43 +0000

I was at Brockport with Phil when he decided to join the Marines. When he first told me my response was “OH NO”! As we caught up so many years later I told him how glad I was he was fighting on our side. My husband is a Master Chief in the Navy and I know that these men are strong minded and wouldn’t want to be doing anything else!

By: Kathryn Shoults

Kathryn Shoults — Sun, 21 Dec 2008 14:28:27 +0000

Christmas in our home was a special time. Mom loved this time of year and always made it special. The Christmas party the weekend before Christmas-everyone new when- no invitation was ever sent yet everyone was there. This is how Dad always came to Christmas. In the stories that came with the family and friends. Though everyone always said they missed him, I always found he was the life of the party.
We ate the leftovers Christmas Day so Mom didn’t have to cook. The candies and peanut butter balls. the mint surprise cookies(thank you again Marie).
Christmas morning Phil and I would wake each other up and sneak a glance at the stockings and presents. Though the rule in the house was you could have your stocking when you woke up, Phil and I would wait until we got Mom up. We would start the fire and get her coffee water on and wait until we couldn’t wait any longer to wake Mom up. She’d make herself a cup of coffee and say get your stockings. Santa always put the fun stuff in the stockings. Phil and I would play for a while watching the clock tick til she said we could wake up Art. This wake up call Art always enjoyed-with a little bit of fear Phil and I would jump on Art remove his covers make lots of noise and if that didn’t work I’d get his cookie(a freckle on his heel). He would eventually get up and Phil and I would run to Mom to save us. We’d watch as he opened his stocking and we’d get the big present Santa always brought us. One year he brought us a black and white TV for us kids. It was that year that suspicion arose as the tag had similar handwriting to our Mother. That morning we snuck around on this mission to find the truth– if Mom’s handwriting matched. We had her give us writing samples and just as we realized they did match, She said “you know, if you don’t believe you don’t recieve” and just like that the quest was over and we never questioned it again–to this day we’ve never stopped believing. Though a few years later we did realize that Santa never filled Mom’s stocking or got a big present like we did–and she was definitely on the “nice list”. We decided it was to hard for Santa to do the parents too and became his helpers. In our home we had Santa and the Three Elves deliver presents-that was a good Christmas-Have you ever experienced the real Joy of giving? And so a new tradition was born. We would spend the day snacking and playing games-trying to beat Mom at whatever we were playing and laughing. Christmas is good times.
I hold tight to this thought every year as my brothers and I eventually started spending Christmas with our spouses and children recreating our childhood in the tiniest of ways. A phone call to each other to make sure we know we are thinking of each other. Christmas is for the children. For believing in the unbelievable. Happy times even when a piece of us is missing. And now for the first time in eight years, I am spending Christmas with my little brother’s family. Another piece of me is missing as is a piece of them, but we shall tell stories and laugh and play games and have the merriest of Christmas’.