I called my mother to ask her if she remembered the year that Bob came to Fordsville. She gave it some thought, tried to place it with other events in our life, but came to the conclusion that she wasn't sure of the year. So as far as I am concerned, he was just always here, no coming or leaving.
I have learned many things from Bob. He introduced me to Broadway music, gave me all of his albums (I still have them all), enabled me to love this music everyday of my life.
While I was in the 7th grade, Bob and my mother would pick me up from school and we would take off on a drive. I never knew where we might be going. Sometimes he would make us close our eyes while he drove fast, made turns, drove in reverse and gave us hints that had nothing to do with where we were going. Occasionally, he would make us wear blindfolds. The destination was always worth the trip, overlooks, riverbanks, hills, valleys, railroad beds, places to eat, visits with strange people. We were often lost, finding wonderful places on those unknown roads, looking for them later but not finding them.
Many nights our house would be full of Bob and his friends, playing guitars, singing, eating, Mama always fed well. My father would say we were all crazy and go to my grandmother's house and go to bed. One night my mother was playing the piano and Bob was reading a poem. As she changed the tempo Bob fell right in with his reciting. There are no words to tell how funny that was and it can never be recaptured. Maybe it was the same night of recitation that Bob said in a loud, clear, professional voice, "A is for navel."
Bob spent many nights at our house and bedtime was interesting. As we would all get settled, Bob or Mama would start to moo, the other would bark. Following a few moments of quiet, one of them would meow, the other respond with a neigh. After a few rounds of this my father would say we were all crazy and go to my grandmother's house and go to bed.
During this time Bob was attending seminary in Lexington. Every weekend he came to Fordsville as soon as his last class was over. He would come in the house telling us that he was going back to Lexington on Sunday as soon as he had eaten dinner. But then he needed a nap after eating and the hour would grow late. So he would decide to stay until Monday morning, but was going to leave early, telling Mama to wake him at the crack of dawn. We would barely get up in time for me to get to school. Then in the afternoon when I got out of school, there would be Bob and Mama to pick me up. He would say, "Now Little Sister, I'm leaving for Lexington as soon as I take you and your mother home." But Mama would tell him to come in and drink some limeade and have a tuna fish sandwich. Of course, at bedtime, more mooing, meowing, barking, neighing. Early on Tuesday morning I would hear him bustling around, bounding off the porch, slamming the car door, flooring the accelerator, gravel pelting the windows of the house. We knew he would roll into Lexington just barely in time for his first class. We waited for him to return on Friday.
In all the years since we have never lost touch, never farther away than an e-mail or a phone call.
I know that I have a big brother who is supportive and honest, listens, confides, guards my confidences, laughs, understands, grieves, applauds, shares, no matter my circumstance. For this, I am quite thankful.
So, Robert, as you read this, I'm glad to be your little sister.
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