Brother Hannibal

There are many things we regret as we get older and I just turned fifty years of age. So regrets can be many and can overwhelm you like a never ending stream of hive minded Lemmings marching to the sea to throw themselves into it to drown. I was happy to see that a chemist has actually developed a drug to alleviate this behavior but getting a lemming to take them twice a day is problematic as well as them not qualifying for health insurance. This is another horrid problem we over look in life and turn out backs on, Lemming manic depression.

I have a younger brother by the name of Brian. I was a very strange little tike in the fact that I was always interested in say all the bottles in the medicine cabinet but I, even at such a young age, knew I should not imbibe in anything found I was not familiar with. Brian was always my guinea pig. I am sure at times Brian saw a small Satan standing next to him, exuding the smell of brimstone even though it could have just been I had crapped myself, whispering. enticing promises of sweet tasting elixirs and nectars I would pull from the medicine cabinet and the hall closet. Nothing was childproof in my house. I would always figure out a way to obtain what I wanted. I became a bane to my brother and mother since I had advanced mountaineering skills. I would utilize my blankie to scale mount closet to the fifth highest shelf and obtain my prizes. I was really a prototype for the Indiana Jones character.

Poor Brian trusted me blindly. Whatever I would pull from the cabinet or the closet I would feed it to Brian and see what the consequences were of imbibing in the item chosen. My mother caught me feeding him ear drops, eye medication, spraying RAID into his mouth. One time I placed Alka Seltzer into his mouth to watch it foam out his nose and mouth. My mother thought he had contracted rabies. Every incident led to having Brian taken to the ER and having his stomach pumped which was no simple feat since we lived 35 miles from the nearest hospital. I t never dawned on me to this day why no one at the hospital inquired “Mrs.. Crawford, why is your son in here ever week getting his stomach pumped for ingesting some kind of poison?” Well mom was protecting her little Hannibal Lecter at home.

My favorite story my mother related to me had to do with Brian appearing in the kitchen every 4 minutes while she was entertaining her friend Joyce with Brian exclaiming “Dink of wata, Dink of wata.” After the 3rd time she decided to follow him down stairs where she was horrified to find me having Brian drinking motor oil. Fortunately we did not have to take him to the ER but the Mr. Higgens the local auto mechanic, who proceeded to place him on a rack, drain the oil, cork his sphincter and give him a lube job so he was good for another 25,000 miles or until his buttocks fell off, whichever came first.

He was also very accident prone and had more stitches then the Frankenstein’s monster. I myself incurred many a stitch but not until later in life. If five of us were playing king of the hill on an abandoned smashed car, he would be the one to imbed glass in his knee. If we were climbing a barbed wire fence he would be the one to slip and fall and embed barbed wire in his body. Fortunately we never kept containers in the shower so slipping and falling never included imbedding something up his butt although one time he did complain of an ear ache and when taken to the doctors it was discovered he had shoed beans in his ears and they had germinated.

I remember one time he had cut his wrist to the bone and did not wish anyone to know. We were heading to my grandmothers and my mother charged me with finding my brother so we could leave. I found him sitting on up the hill from the mail box sobbing. I asked what was wrong. He said he had cut himself looking for pop bottles to turn in for money. I asked him to show me the cut. When I had seen what he had done, I think I crapped my pants and ran to my mother with the news. I mean I was perfectly fine with idea of getting some needle and thread and trying to sew him up but I am sure the screaming would have attracted too much attention and I had not perfected my wondrous beside manner I have now when I offer to suture cuts for friends for free!

Needless to say this continued through our childhood and I am very happy to say he survived and is still alive, although the nervous tick is very pronounced, you will almost not notice it at times and his constant screaming at me “I WILL KILL YOU!” does upset me at times, I am still glad he is here.

Brother of mine, please forgive me, I should have waited till you were much older to experiment upon you. Accept that apology.