My first memories are not of myself, but of photographs that my parents took of me. I remember that from the very beginning I felt the love of my parents.
My first memories are of my mother reading to me. My father worked and my mother took care of me and later my siblings. Reading and music were important to my mother and listening to music of all kinds. This was long before television invaded our homes and proceeded to make us illiterate. Mom quickly worked with me to learn how to read. At the age of three after reading a children’s book in the morning together my mother would place on the floor of our house a newspaper. This became the beginning of experiencing the world on a daily basis with my mom. At three my mom had given birth to my brother Brent. He was to become a very different person than me. But for now, I pretty much had her to myself. Everyday my mother would open up the newspaper, those big double pages on the floor and read it from beginning to end. She encouraged me to read the words that I could and by the time I was four years old I was reading the paper to her. At least when my brother wasn’t running over it like a mad man. Don’t get me wrong I loved my brother, but at times he was a bit of a nuisance.
I remember other things clearly about my early years. When my mother and Father were dating and then engaged, my father wanted to get married and move to Detroit to work in the auto industry. My mother being a nice Southern Baptist girl had a very strong faith, and she told my father to go the Detroit and get a job and find a church and then she would marry him and move there. One Sunday evening my father was out for a walk, and he heard a noise. He was curious and walked in that direction. Turning a corner in Highland Park, Michigan he saw a Salvation Army band playing on the street corner. The Corps Officer(pastor) invited those who were listening to come back to the church for the Sunday night meeting. My father, who was not a Christian, decided to go and found a friendly group of people and was convinced that this was the church for him. The next day he called my mom, then his betrothed, and within a very short time, they were married.
My Dad called me Sunshine and my mother used to sing to me to wake me up in the morning. If you never had a person who loves you and gently sings you awake every morning you have not lived. From the beginning of my life and for the rest of his days my father called me sunshine.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey, you’ll never know dear how much I love you, please don’t take my sunshine away.” Every morning for two year she would sing and rub me gently and I would awaken to a lovely smile. What little child couldn’t be happy living with such love?
There it is a perfect beginning to life. I was a very loved and loving little boy. Then my brother came along and that’s coming up next. Let the fireworks begin.
My brother. As I look at that word brother, my mind is filled with hundreds of memories that bring all kinds of emotions. I’m trying my best to describe the indescribable. His life was kind of a mystery to me from the very beginning. As I write this you should know that he passed away a few years ago. Instead of beginning at the beginning I want to relate a story told to me by his wife after his passing.
After my brother retired, he realized he needed to get a job in order to maintain his quality of life. He started working for a shuttle bus company that drove people to the airport in Seattle. After a few years he became a manager of his local area.
One night he couldn’t find anyone to drive the night shift, so the manager, my brother, had to drive. He arrived at the airport and dropped off his passengers. He then had people to drive back to their communities. He began loading their luggage and found out that there were 12 women who had just returned from a conference on the loss of a child. My brother finished loading the luggage and excused himself for a moment. He returned with a dozen roses and gave one to each of them. They asked him why he did such a thing and how could he know anything about what they were feeling. He told them he knew exactly how they felt. He had lost his only adult son a few years earlier. The tears began to flow as they all shared with him about their own loss of a child. The roses for each women not only brought comfort as they shared together, but it just happened to be Valentines day! My brother could be a man of great compassion. I loved him dearly and I’m not sure he ever knew it.
An Ordinary Life 