Blood Brothers
Thursday, August 19, 2010 at 7:46AM I didn’t know why my big brother Scott was leaning across the ripped vinyl seats in our 70s station wagon with a goofy smile plastered across his face. But when he pushed up against me and buried his mouth and nose in my chest, I knew in my nine-year-old mind I shouldn’t fear getting hit. From there, muffled by my shirt, I heard him sing, “Come on people now, smile on your brother …”
He was actually doing that, smiling on his brother.
Neither of us really understood how to smile on someone or what the song actually meant, but he took the initiative and gave it a whirl in the back of our puke-yellow car with the impossibly garish fake wood decals along the side. I gave him credit for trying.
My relationship with Scott has always been a sociologist’s dream. He was the youngest in the family for six years until I bumbled out of the womb and spoiled his streak. Securing the role of middle child, he fought equally hard against Dean, our oldest, and me. The battles with Dean were epic, as the two were pretty evenly matched only being 14 months apart. One time I showed up in their bedroom and heard pounding and yelling. Somehow Dean had shoved Scott into their closet and jammed the door shut with a spare crutch leftover from the time Dean’s plan to karate kick the medicine cabinet door didn’t work out exactly as planned.
Scott’s battles with me were more like the Nazi’s invading Poland, only I didn’t have the international community in an uproar over my beatings. Surrender was my only option.
I always knew Scott had my back though. The neighborhood bullies didn’t seem to come by for a second round of mayhem at my expense once he paid them a visit. And I can distinctly remember a long-ago adventure in the park at the end of our street next to the chemical factory. The place was packed and my big brother was actually a bit shaken up when he thought he’d lost me to the crowd of kids who’d gathered in the summer night to watch somebody do something — lost to time — but invariably wrong or illegal.
As we got older though, a real respect for each other began to take hold and — shock upon shock — we found out we actually enjoyed being in each other’s company. Whereas we used to pass the time goading each other until Mom or Dad yelled at us, (usually yelling at him because I played the victim card ALL the time), now we golf. He still beats me though, only now it’s with the number of swings it takes put the damn ball in the cup.
I’d say we’ve progressed up the socially acceptable ladder a rung or two.
When I got tackled by leukemia a few months ago I could see the pain in my big brother’s eyes. I don’t know this for a fact, but it seemed to me they were saying, “Come on Rodney, how am I supposed to protect you from this?”
He’s often stopped by my hospital room or swung by the house and mowed my lawn for me. He’s done what he could, lifting my spirits, talking about the Tigers, telling jokes, having his bone marrow tested, that sort of thing.
We’ve known throughout this disease that my prognosis, if everything goes according to plan, is very good. We’ve also witnessed things not going at all according to plan. For the past several weeks we’ve been on the course from remission to a cure by doing more chemotherapy and knocking leukemia completely and totally out of me forever.
The best way to do that, we’re told, is by replacing my bone marrow with someone else’s. Several people have been tested, including my brothers and a cousin and there have even been folks in the national registry, friends of mine, who’ve sent me their anonymous code numbers in case we were a match.
A couple days ago one of those anonymous numbers hit. I was told I won the Lottery. It actually was my brother Scott’s marrow which at this point looks like a perfect match for my own. He had been in the national registry years earlier for a firefighter friend of his and due to our similar genetic makeup, he appears to be the perfect donor for me. In the crass words of a couple buddies 30 years ago, “you and your brother are fucking clones.”
My creative brother figured out yet another way to smile on me.
“So Scott, how are you feeling today?” I asked when I phoned him, “how do your bones feel?” I told him the news and he was extremely happy for me and I think a bit for himself too. Upon further conversation, when he learned all he had to do was basically just give blood and not go under the knife or pickax or corkscrew he seemed even happier.
He was happier still when I agreed that a meal at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse would be the perfect way to prep his blood for sharing. The dude’s giving me his stem cells; the least I can do is order him a New York Strip.
Reader Comments (10)
fantastic read and loved the Jesse Collin Young and the Youngbloods song as the unifying thread. were you aware that the name of the group was that?If not, i love the entry that much more. If so, i still love the entry. be well, Rodney, i am pulling for you and your family from my hospital bed and am feeling pretty pretty pretty good(love that Larry David line).
Thank you Darryl. I hope you leave your hospital bed pretty, pretty, pretty soon. I was trying to work The Youngbloods reference in once I realized who sang the song but I couldn't make it fit. But yes, it was just one of those fun, happy coincidences that seem to dance around us. It made me smile when I YouTubed it and saw who sang the song.
The coincidences I notice are the musical ones. Like driving over a bridge at the moment Tom Petty sings the word "bridge". These have become great fun for me and Rodney gave me that. I hadn't thought about them until I heard about his ideas a few years ago and then I began to notice them and enjoy them. At some point, I began jotting them down on whatever was handy. Now I have little notes in my truck, on my desk, in the lab, like obscure little shopping lists, "Rodney-decided to put on my sandals before I got out of the car, opened the door to find broken glass at my feet, and "Sensible Shoes" was playing."
...but what's with the economical strip steak? Get the guy a Porterhouse. A giant T-bone. Spring for the shrimp cocktail. Heck, I'LL buy him the shrimp cocktail...
Nice post about brotherhood and love, Rodney. It's a grand thing to have in your life!
That's AWESOME news, Rodney. Keep the updates coming ...
Hi Rodney,
Sorry to here about you leukemia. My aunt had it almost 20 years ago now.
She can't have kids but is well. My uncle donated marrow. Stay strong and keep that wonderful attitude. It helped for my aunt and so it will for you. -Nicole Goodhue Boyd
So, I suppose if you guys misbehave, you'll be bad to the bone (thanks to George Thorogood and others for that one).
Proud to point out that Rod made good on his offer of dinner. WOW! Great conversation & good food. An experience that will be long remembered. Oh, by the way, I did get a shrimp appetizer out of him. Paula, you owe him somewhere in the neighborhood of $10.