This was a different kind of scream. Even as a small child, I could tell the difference between the sound that another child could make when he didn't get his way or was "pitching a fit" (the kind of tantrum that would get us into trouble) or the sound that came from a mixture of pain and sheer terror. What I heard that day was the latter. I was inside the house and the scream came from outside. In a heartbeat, my mother had run out of the door in a panic to see what had happened, and I'll never forget the chills that ran over my body as I heard my little brother, Roland, screaming "A snake bit me!!" Fortunately, my uncle just happened to be at our house and he removed his shoe lace and tied it around Roland's ankle before they hurriedly gathered the rest of us kids into the car and we raced to the hospital. After about a day and a half in the hospital, Roland was released to recuperate at home.
That childhood memory of my little brother is just one of scores that have been flooding my mind the last couple days. Like the time when our family went with the Fauss Family on a camping trip in the Colorado Rockies, and one night we were all sitting around the campfire listening to the conversation that the adults were having. When someone mentioned that there were bears in the area, Roland, who was about seven at the time, was sitting there wearing a long-billed baseball cap and he said, "I'm ready to go home." The only time I ever got into a fight on the school bus was because another kid was beating up on Roland. I could sit here and make a book out of all those childhood memories of my brother, but as time passes, children become adults, and the memories continue.
After Roland had married and moved to the hills of Northeast Alabama, he continued to make frequent trips to his beloved Louisiana. It really became a joke as one of us siblings would ask him, "What time are you leaving in the morning?" We would hear the same answer every time: "Four o'clock." Any time he would take a trip, no matter where he was going, his standard time of departure was four o'clock. I've always considered myself to be punctual, but Roland would put me to shame in that area. When he said he was leaving at four o'clock, that didn't mean 4:05...it meant four o'clock, and if you were going with him, you'd better be ready at four o'clock.
I feel like there's a big part of me that's missing now that he's gone, and I can't imagine what life is going to be like without him. The big family get-together at his house on July 4th has become a tradition. Those random calls from him on my cell phone at practically any time of the day or night would give my spirits a big boost. Sitting on his front porch talking about old times was something I could do for hours. But those days are gone now, because this past Tuesday morning, July 27, 2010, Roland made that last trip....at four o'clock.
So....to Roland, my little brother....there's just one more thing that I want to tell you that I didn't say nearly enough: I love you. I'm gonna miss you more than you'll ever know.
Preston
That childhood memory of my little brother is just one of scores that have been flooding my mind the last couple days. Like the time when our family went with the Fauss Family on a camping trip in the Colorado Rockies, and one night we were all sitting around the campfire listening to the conversation that the adults were having. When someone mentioned that there were bears in the area, Roland, who was about seven at the time, was sitting there wearing a long-billed baseball cap and he said, "I'm ready to go home." The only time I ever got into a fight on the school bus was because another kid was beating up on Roland. I could sit here and make a book out of all those childhood memories of my brother, but as time passes, children become adults, and the memories continue.
After Roland had married and moved to the hills of Northeast Alabama, he continued to make frequent trips to his beloved Louisiana. It really became a joke as one of us siblings would ask him, "What time are you leaving in the morning?" We would hear the same answer every time: "Four o'clock." Any time he would take a trip, no matter where he was going, his standard time of departure was four o'clock. I've always considered myself to be punctual, but Roland would put me to shame in that area. When he said he was leaving at four o'clock, that didn't mean 4:05...it meant four o'clock, and if you were going with him, you'd better be ready at four o'clock.
I feel like there's a big part of me that's missing now that he's gone, and I can't imagine what life is going to be like without him. The big family get-together at his house on July 4th has become a tradition. Those random calls from him on my cell phone at practically any time of the day or night would give my spirits a big boost. Sitting on his front porch talking about old times was something I could do for hours. But those days are gone now, because this past Tuesday morning, July 27, 2010, Roland made that last trip....at four o'clock.
So....to Roland, my little brother....there's just one more thing that I want to tell you that I didn't say nearly enough: I love you. I'm gonna miss you more than you'll ever know.
Preston
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