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Happy Birthday Phil


This week my older brother, Phil, celebrates his birthday.  He probably doesn't get as much ink devoted to him on this blog because he was older, his egg didn't split in the womb like mine did, and the folks kept getting him nice cars in High School while the Wombie and I had to share.  But I don't hold grudges.

The above pic can have several captions, your choice:
  • Cubs Win!
  • How's my Mattel stock doing?
  • A bomb threat, in Aledo?  What dumbass could have done that?
  • For Sale: '68 Camaro convertible.  I'll show this to Dad and it's mine!
  • Water sure is cold.  Deep, too.
  • Pants for sale.  Guess I better get me a pair.  
  • Hmmm.  Looks like M & M's.  (Inside joke)

I've had a case of Philip envy all of my life.  There are older brothers, then there are cool older brothers.  Athlete, survivor of airborne car crashes, bull-rider, always ready with a funny comment or at least a comment that helps you get through a moment, Phil has been my hero forever.  If I had had 10% of what he has I could have been really something.  As it was, I trudged through hoping to replicate that easy manner and wit; never ever coming close.  

In fights with one of us he always saw double.  Two-against-one was the Wombie and my mantra, and as best I can remember, our advantage in sheer numbers would usually save the day.  Not always, but usually.  Phil paved the way for our entry in Seaton Grade school,  Aledo High, and Iowa Wesleyan.  He was pretty popular so I'm sure it made our path a lot easier.  I can remember in high school some older idiot and his buddies tried a little Freshman teasing but Phil walked in and they scattered like burnt-assed rats.  I think I would have usually preferred to fend for myself, but Phil was protective of us and made sure we were OK.  Those orders may have emanated from Mom but I kind of think Phil would have come up with it on his own anyway.    

We shared a traumatic event once.  I rode with him in the truck while he delivered grain to a farmer when he was working for Dad at the elevator.  His finger got stuck in the chain from the augur.   It was a wild ride to the hospital in Aledo with him driving and his finger bleeding.  I was too young to drive so I just had to sit there and hope he didn't pass out, hope he was OK, and offer little in the way of meaningful help when he needed it.  Such events can leave lasting impressions and lasting bonds.     

When I was partying too much at college first semester and close to flunking out, he was the one who took me on a little country ride and verbally kicked my ass, but calmly and with feeling.  When I turned toward the audience at graduation to get my academic honors medal, he was the one who slinked down in his chair, convinced I was going to make an unauthorized speech.  But I think it was his ride that night four year earlier that made that medal possible.

When I needed a day of relaxation he'd gas up the boat at Fyre Lake and help me get away from things with a leisurely cruise.  None of us boys are given to asking for help, but I know my ace in the hole is Phil and Mark if I ever I do.   Yes, the folks liked him better, but you can't blame them for that.  As Phil will readily tell anyone, the twins were too ugly to be one.  

As the years get on I see Phil less and less, and I'd like to reverse that trend.   That's the way of it, I guess.  Until I return from exile, phone calls will have to do.  Kids grow up and make their own way.  I was sure happy to have used the same path as Phil for awhile, anyway.  


Happy Birthday, Phil, and many, many, many, many, many more.  

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