As Promised here is the first of Many stories about my Brother Phil.. Some pre notes and such:
1. I am writing as the memories come to me not in any specific order.
2. These are my and memories and may not be the same as actual events or how anyone else remembers them.
3. I welcome enhancements to the stories, If I forgot something remind me of it.
4. I encourage everyone to write their own versions as we are trying to tell one Man’s story and no One’s story can be told by just one person.
5. I reserve the right to change any of these when ever I want.
6. If you can’t read this with out scrutinizing my writing style, spelling, grammar, or anything else that should be followed in proper literary fashion you may want to stop now.. This will probably give you fits. If you wish to be my personal editor let me know and I can send you advance copies for chop.
I am only four years older than Phil and Kathy is only 2 so our early memories are fuzzy. I don’t remember him coming home for the first time. I don’t think that our house was finished yet at this point. I have seen pictures of us three together when he got home but as I said have no recollection of it.
My first prominent memories of Phil are of him being sick. I am not talking about a cold but really sick. I am not sure about Kathy but I sure as hell didn’t understand how sick he was until very later in life. I remember he was small, I would now call him frail. He had allergies and asthma really bad. Mom spent what seemed like weeks sleeping with him for fear he would not be able to breathe. We had a futon in the family room/kitchen that they would be on. He was allergic to almost everything and anything would/could and often did set off a terrible reaction in him.
It scared me to hear him wheeze and labor to breathe. It scared me so much that all I wanted was for him to stop. He would still bring up the fact that I would threaten him if he didn’t stop wheezing or breathing loudly whenever we shared a room. Kathy will tell you that he loved to torture me with how much I picked on him when we were young and was a little proud of himself that he learned several ways to take care of his big brother if the need ever arouse again. To this day I cannot sleep if someone in the room is snoring, wheezing, or even breathing heavy.
I don’t know how long it was before he started getting shots but the attacks got fewer when he did. He had to have shots every day for a while then it went to weekly for what seemed like ever but was probably most of Elementary and Junior High school. I was gone by this time but think he was still getting shots in high school.
I will tell you I resented him a little bit because while growing up he couldn’t do anything that may set off an attack. He was allergic to almost everything so he couldn’t be around dust or pollen. Any hint of wheezing around my mom and he was protected from anything and everything. While we were young I don’t know how much he played it but in my head I know he played it. This meant that he couldn’t help clean the house (my memory wants to tell me not even his room) or help with any thing out in the yard. This left chores up to Kathy and I. Now they were not hard chores really but to a couple of kids this was not fair and I am sure you are all aware of what happens when children don’t think it is fair.
As Kathy tells it, after I had left the house and he got older our Mom had a “let him suffer” kind of attitude about it so it wouldn’t “handicap” him and almost tortured him sometimes making him mow the lawn and get him to run around. She wanted him to out grow it. When he started playing soccer she never gave him an inch to whine and would actually yell at him to “get up and cry about it later”, but that was usually after a slide tackle that would have him lying in pain and at
the chiropractor that week. Phil would look at her like she was crazy
and get up and finish the game. Kathy looks back at this as the true Boot Camp Phil went through.