Brothers

“Brothers will be brothers” as much as “boys will be boys.” Duane and Dwight fit the adage as well as Greg and I. Sometimes brothers are the best of friends and at others the worst of enemies. Many times their relationship exists between the extremes. Generally there is a lot of “one-upmanship.”

Grandma Vesta told stories – lots of stories about the twins.

One story revolved around the time a vacuum cleaner salesman came to the door. The very young twin boys were left to their own devices – climbing to the top of the stairs where the day’s eggs were stored. Over the next few minutes they enjoyed throwing six dozen eggs to the bottom of the stairs. I never found out if there was a contest involved or who won.



Another time Great Grandma (the socialite she and her sister were) had some of the church society out to the house one Sunday afternoon. The twins were told strictly not to get their church clothes dirty while they were outside playing. As the guests arrived, they laughed and commented on how cute the twins were. Much to Great Grandma’s embarrassment and to the delight of Powell’s high society, the twins had stripped naked, folded their clothes neatly and were playing in a mud puddle - obeying their stern warning.


These were two of my favorites.

Dad says they received a daily “swat.” Grandpa Manford said something to the effect “either you did something to deserve it, or you will.” Dad agrees that usually a daily swat was deserved. I am sure these two stories illustrate the need for corporal punishment, but it also seems to show that it doesn’t always take root either.

My brother and I got swats too (reference: Laughter is the Best Medicine, posted Friday August 17, 2007). As brothers would be brothers we often found ourselves trying to avoid the swats by blaming someone else – particularly a sibling. Sometimes a smart older sibling will set up the younger one – knowing they would get the blame. There was always something enjoyable about watching your brother get in trouble – and then receive the swat!

Janet Smith reminded me of a time when we lived in Renton. Greg and I shared a room making the 3rd bedroom available as a “play room.” As she recalls it I was 5 or 6, fully capable of reading and writing. This means Greg was 2 or 3.

I had “hatched” a plan to get my younger brother in trouble. I used the word hatched because of the adage “the best laid plans…” sounds like something “hatched.”

I wrote his name with crayons on the walls of the play room. When Mom noticed, I said “Gregory did it” not fully comprehending he could neither read nor write. While I give myself credit for “hatching” the idea, it was not until much later I learned to fully think out the consequences of a plan.

I am sure I got a swat from Dad.

- Craig