I’ve often remarked that we kids more or less raised ourselves, but I was lucky to have Bob and Kathy to help look after me. Kathy nursed my wounds and wiped my tears while Bob taught me things that every little boy needs to know, like how to use a pocketknife to make a bow and arrows without cutting my fingers off.
In addition to his pocket knife, Bob always had other “tools” in his pockets, things like a piece of string, a nut and bolt, a rubber band, and maybe a bobby pin or two. He taught me that sometimes you have to improvise and use whatever is close at hand to repair something on the spot.
This was just one of the life principles I learned from Bob. Another was learning to overcome fear. He did this by encouraging me to follow his lead to climb to the top of a 15 to 20 foot sapling then ride it to the ground as it gave way to my weight. He also taught me that sometimes you have to take risks to get where you want to go. I remember the first time he told me to cling tightly to a large vine then leap in the air and swing across a ravine. He did it first, of course, to show me it could be done.
Bob was a natural leader. Without fanfare, he confidently led the “little band of Indians” that included me, Kathy, and our three young cousins who often stayed with us during the summer. Like Daniel Boone leading the settlers through the Cumberland Mountains into Kentucky, Bob led the way as we roamed the woods and hillsides around our home in search of adventure. Sometimes we were Indians, sometimes we were cowboys, and sometimes we were both.
My earliest recollection of Bob’s leadership was the “jelly jar adventure” that occurred when he was six and I was three. Bob courageously led the way as we (including Kathy and our cousins) lifted the heavy cellar door then snuck down the steps into the dark shadows of the basement and slowly felt our way to a dusty shelf that was lined with jars of jams and jelly. We brushed some cobwebs away then grabbed a few jars of jelly and quickly made our exit, scurrying off to the woods where we popped the paraffin loose and ate the jelly with sticks. It was a brave act of leadership by Bob, and we all happily shared in the reward – with no tummy aches as I recall.
By example, Bob taught me that life is an adventure to be enjoyed – have fun – laugh easily – don’t take life too seriously. I can’t remember ever hearing him say a cross or unkind word. Instead, he led his little band of Indians with patience and a quiet disposition. Arguments seldom arose among us, which I credit to Bob’s kind spirit.
Bob and I drifted apart as we reached our teenage years. He dropped out of high school, joined the Navy, and proudly served on the aircraft carrier USS Wasp. After leaving the Navy Bob became a registered nurse, a career he enjoyed until his retirement a few years ago.
Always a quiet and reserved country boy, Bob and his wife live humbly in the hill country of Southwestern Missouri. Their little country home is located at the end of a long lane, off a gravel road, a good distance from the nearest paved road, and nearly 20 miles from the closest town – just the way they like it. It is a perfect setting to tend a flock of chickens, chop firewood, raise a vegetable garden, and go to town for supplies when you have to. The simplicity of their lives, close to nature, reminds me that relationships and simple pleasures are the most important things in life.
Distance and the business of life have kept us apart, allowing opportunity for only occasional visits over the years. But memories of our childhood and the lessons I learned from Bob remain firmly fixed in my mind and heart. Bob, I’m glad you are my big brother.
George Brown is a freelance writer. He lives in Jackson Township.