Aight

When we moved to Alabama, my brother was a lot younger than I was.  It was 1983.  August 1983.  That means I was 13, and he was 9.  Subsequently, he ended up sounding a lot more Southern than I have.  I say "iron"and "all right." He said "arn" and "aight."  I have always hated to hear "aight," but now I'd love just to get to hear him say it again.  I can see the expression on his face, how he would hold his shoulders. . . all of it.

My brother was one of the most honest people I have ever known.  I remember how when he was little, he would eventually always tell on himself.  (My children have that trait as well.  I think it's beautiful).  I guess part of it is because he wanted so badly not to be a hypocrite.  I think that's one reason why he didn't go to church all that much as he was older--although I treasure memories of when he went to The Fire Escape (a local church, comprised mostly of teens and twenty-somethings) with me.  He was real.  What you see is what you get--like it or not.  I think he had gotten to the point where it didn't hurt his feelings if you didn't like what you saw.  Funny. . . I think he got to that point much sooner than I did.

I'm not sure that I realized this about him until his friends mentioned it at the viewing, but he also didn't judge you.  He accepted you just as you were--all your faults and imperfections.  It just didn't matter to him.  He could listen to you recount the dumbest thing you've ever done and not judge you for it.  He made you feel like you had worth as a person.  He really listened.

I sure wish he had made some different choices in life.  I will always think that he was supposed to preach.  I've thought that since our Fire Escape days.  Unfortunately, he felt imperfect--like it would be hypocritical for him to do so.

I really miss him.  He was pretty aight for a little brother.  Matter of fact, he was pretty aight no matter what.