You might think we are different.

i mean we grew up together, shared a bedroom until we left for points beyond. He was smart, really smart. His older brother, aka me, was not so smart. i was called “mighty mouse”, and “junior jock,” which translates to being a fairly decent athlete but too small to do much. So not being too smart, that’s what i hung my star on. The star fell out of the night sky.

The younger one graduated from Vanderbilt and got his theological degree and philosophy masters from Boston University. Smart.

One of us went to sea: me. The younger, he, became a Methodist minister and by my account, one of the best because he cared for his flocks.

The older, me, settled in the Southwest corner. The younger, he, settled in the Northeast, New England, about as far away from each other as we could get and remain in the U.S. of A.

He looks like his father. i look like my mother.

Pretty different, alright.

But we were both a bit goofy. Still are goofy.

Today he turns 70. We are once again in the same decade.

And we think a lot alike, and along with our sister Martha, we remain as close knit as two brothers and a sister could be spread across the country as we are.

And he is my brother:

Happy Seventieth Birthday, Joe. You, as someone gave the highest compliment to our father, are a good man.



2 thoughts on “Different?

  1. I miss Jim Jewell’s stories in Democrat. When he
    wrote about the Navy and San Diego which I loved both being a Navy wife and San Diego being first port away from Lebanon

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