Pondering brotherly love on the longest day
It’s Summer Solstice time. The longest daylight day of the year. And I know you’re probably out frantically buying your last minute Solstice gifts, the Solstice tree, and all your yummy Solstice treats. But relax. Because it’s the longest day. So, you’ll have plenty of time to pause and read my story of brotherly love that faded away. Sounds fun, right?  

Who wants to hear about fading brotherly love on this first day of summer?
Probably nobody. So, I’ll write this to get it out of my head. And I’ll move on as though it never happened. Sound good? Great.
It all started several decades ago. My parents split up when I was only about 4 and my brother was only about 2 1/2. And they both remarried and eventually moved two large states apart. Dad moved to Texas. And Mom moved to Kansas. And when my brother and I were old enough, we’d be put on the train, in Houston (at the end of each school year) and make the 18 hour ride to Kansas City. There we’d meet Mom and stay in Kansas for the summer. Then, she’d put us on the train, around Labor Day, and we’d return to Texas.
So, the only person I saw year round was my “little brother.”
And I remember each time a parent would put us on the train, there’d be tears and heartache. And they’d tell me to “watch out for your brother.” Which wasn’t easy. Because he could be quite the little mischief maker. But I’d do my best. (sort of, I was a kid, too) And somehow we always made it to our destination safely.
As the years passed, and as my “little brother” and I became teenagers, the train trips became routine and fun. I still remember the real silver utensils, and the white, cotton tablecloths in the dining car. It seemed like dinner was usually somewhere around Oklahoma City. And a porter would come through each car, ring a dinner bell and say, in a deep voice, “Dinner is served.”
Anyway…
Then, after my junior year in high school, my Dad agreed to let me drive us to Kansas. In the first car I bought with the money I made as a grocery sacker/carry out guy. My $265 1965 Plymouth Fury. Engine was 363 cubic inches of raw horsepower. And I later found out it had been a cop car for a while. That was after I found some bullets behind the glove compartment.
Anyway…
I can remember Dad took me to the side and said,
“Watch out for your brother. Drive the speed limit. And check your oil every time you fill up.”
There it was even then. “Watch out for your brother.”
Then, in a flash, school years came to an end. And my “little brother” and I were out on our own. And I recall, for a brief time, we lived in the same apartment complex, in Houston. Our apartments were in separate buildings. But not far apart. And one day I went to his place  for one reason or another, and we got into a heated discussion about something. Don’t even remember what it was. But I remember something (in brotherly love) led to me saying, “Hey, I’m just trying to watch out for my little brother.”
And he yelled back, “I’m not your little brother.”
So, I had to adjust my thinking. And I never called him that again.
But there were plenty of times when I still tried to “watch out” for him. And every single one of those times turned into something awful. Without fail.
He and I even started out our full time professional musician careers together. We were a popular duo in the Houston area for a couple of years. But even that went sour, due to an increasingly apparent difference in our worldviews.
Eventually, after moving to different areas, my marriage, and his marriages,