the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

fam damily!

My "little" brother Wayne called about four times in the past couple of days. I just called him back. And...wow.

First, the background. This is a bit personal and may come across as melodramatic. I apologize in advance for that. But it's real. So suck it up.

Wayne didn't have what you might call an ideal childhood. Our extended family took him from his biological mother because of her demonstrated inability to take care of him (along with David and Robbie, all brothers). They were originally my second cousins; that is, the sons of my father's first cousin, Curtis.

It was a rough childhood. The three of them were moved from one family to the next (all within the family) every couple of years or so, but not necessarily together. Let's face it: three growing boys in addition to your own children is quite a burden to assume.

I've always admired my extended family for taking care of their own like that. I know it was rough on Wayne, David and Robbie, but the family kept the courts out of it and made sure the three of them had a roof over their heads, food in their bellies, a sense of family (not to be underestimated), and self-respect.

When Wayne was 6, they came to my parents and said, "It's your turn." My parents replied that if they took Wayne--which is the only one they'd been asked to take--they would adopt him outright. It wasn't right that he kept being swept from one family to another. If they took him, that would end.

This is another thing I've always respected. It wasn't like they were adopting a stray dog, and as far as I know, they didn't have warning. But they did what they felt was right.

So we got Wayne when he was 6. He was about to start first grade, and he couldn't talk. He'd been born with his tongue bound to the base of his mouth (imagine if the tendon you have there bound considerably more of your tongue down, and you get the picture). Eventually--and I don't remember exactly, but I think it was quite some time--authority figures realized that Wayne couldn't speak. They then took him to the doctor and had the tendon clipped down so his tongue could move freely.

By this point, he was already far behind in learning to form sounds. Such early speech setbacks tend to have a lifelong effect on speech, and Wayne was no exception. He struggled to make the "r" sound, which is easily the most difficult sound in the English language to make.*

* I have a friend (Laura), from long ago, who grew up under the eye of an abusive father. She saw him beating her siblings, and she quickly learned that if she didn't speak, she wouldn't get hit. She thus didn't begin to talk until she was 6. She had trouble pronouncing r's still. As an aside, she'd earned her Phd in neurology before she was 30. I called her Dr. Laura. Not to be confused with you-know-who.

You might wonder how Wayne had managed to go that long without being able to speak. The answer is: David. His little (middle, actually) brother had learned to interpret him. David was Wayne's mouthpiece. I imagine it was quite a shock when Wayne suddenly found himself without David, and in an atmosphere where he had to make himself understood.

Mother worked with Wayne for weeks, maybe months, on his enunciation, trying to teach him to make the "r" sound. She wasn't a trained linguist. I imagine she was functioning under the assumption that sheer repetition would make up for lack of expertise. So Wayne learned to talk, started school....

When David was 8--almost 4 years later--my parents decided to adopt him, as well. While Wayne has always been a quiet, brooding type (even as a child), David was always the sensitive ladies' man. Even as a child.

So Wayne and David are my little brothers (Noel is my older brother). We never adopted Robbie, but I love him like a brother, if that counts for anything and I think it does.

So Wayne knows what it is to be tossed from family to family, to go to court as a child, to have to choose. Many years later, I was living in Colorado Springs when Wayne contacted me. He wanted to come up and get a job. I said ok. He can stay with me as long as he likes. The only stipulation is, we won't fight. I had enough of that when I was a kid, and I won't fight people I love. (Win or lose, it hurts the same.) He said that sounds good to him.

He moved onto my couch on Willamette Street. It was a 1-bedroom apartment. He went to work for Janette, a friend of mine who was a manager of an arcade. He bought my first bike from me, bought groceries from time to time, cooked for me (and this is where Wayne has always had a natural talent--and I didn't eat much in those days, so I needed it), and met Dawn. She worked with him at the arcade.

They decided to get married. Dawn's family, who also lived here (probably still do), didn't think much of Wayne at all. He was a hayseed, in their eyes, every bit a redneck. I wish I could say they were wrong, but the only slant I can put on it is that he is a redneck with a heart of gold.

They decided to go back to Texas and get married. They stayed at my apartment a couple of days before they left, with a pup who was half-wolf and a tiny white kitten they called Coca. They had the car packed with stuff they'd need, and not much room. They asked me to take the kitten. I did and renamed her PITA. In case you haven't been keeping up, that was 19 years ago, and I had to have her put down last May.

They had a daughter, Chelsea, and soon moved back to the Springs. I got to spend some time with them and their daughter, but not a lot. Wayne had a heart attack during this time, the implications of which still frighten me. He was in his mid-twenties.

I moved to Denver and had some personal troubles of my own, but Wayne and Dawn and Chelsea (and David, by this point, along with his girlfriend and her children) were in the area. Wayne et al still lived in the Springs; David et al lived not far from me in Denver. We had the occasional holiday together. Then Dawn filed for divorce.

Wayne didn't fight it, even when she said he would have no visitation rights with his daughter. He said to me once--and only once--that he would never put a child through what he went through. So he dropped it and walked away.

He never said it hurt. He wouldn't. He learned to be tough and not show his pain when he was just a runt. But when he told me that, I understood the nobility of the choice and I felt like someone had stabbed me. I said, "Ok. I understand. I respect that." Or something like that.

Wayne never mentioned it again.

Then, about 2.5 years ago, I was in the Springs (as you know) teaching at the Academy. Wayne had been a long-haul trucker for some time, and had occasionally called when he'd be in the Springs, or anywhere near, so I could go meet him for a meal. One day, he called and said he'd gotten to the Springs, which was one of his drop-off points, and had learned there that the man who owned the truck he drove had sold it. Effectively immediately, Wayne didn't have a job. He called. I jumped in the truck, drove down to Nevada Avenue, and picked him up, along with his stuff.

He stayed with us for about a month. He made several calls, trying to hook up a job or at least "thumb" a ride home. Meanwhile, he did a little work around the place and, of course, he cooked. ;)

During this time, he picked up my phone, and started dialing. He'd been talking about Chelsea. He wanted to see her. He was pretty sure she was still here. He hadn't seen her in years...since she was quite young (5?). He stopped one number short of completing the dial, and hung up the phone.

He didn't say much of anything. I don't remember what came next. I think he went out and worked on the fence or something.

He finally got a ride back home to his family (Jeannie and the kids), and got a job. I hear from him occasionally. We have very different lives.

A couple of weeks ago, Chelsea called him. It seems she's asked about her daddy and Dawn had told her she could get in touch with him if she liked, but Dawn wouldn't help, though. Chelsea found a number to Wayne's step-sister, Terri (who, coincidentally, had just gotten in touch with him the week before, after years of absence). She called and said she was looking for her daddy.

She found him, and Wayne paid for a round trip ticket for Chelsea to come to the Black family reunion in Texas this last weekend. Chelsea went around and met everyone (probably doesn't remember them). Around 2am, when she was completely bushed, Wayne said, "OK. Good night. I love you, Girl."

Chelsea said, "Good night. I love you."

Wayne went to his tent and cried until daybreak.

They went for a walk the next day. Chelsea told him that her mother had never said a bad word about him--and had never let anyone else do so. They wanted her to make up her own mind.

I just got some respect for Dawn I've never had.

And so. Chelsea graduates in May. We'll be there. Wayne and his wife Jeannie, and their kids Devon and Kailin; David; Terri (Wayne's stepsister), her boyfriend, and their two kids; and hopefully Robbie--the brother we never got--and his wife Hope will be here. It'll be a full house indeed.

A whole houseful of rednecks. But you won't find better people anywhere.

Today has been a great day.

d