Family Sketches 1.
Burning branches in the front yard, angry at my brother.
The fire blackening the grass there where the driveway met the lawn.
My brother walked up with his .22 rifle in hand, shirtless, handsome face twisted. He checked the chamber and threw the gun in the fire.
I don't know what was said, but you grabbed my brother and hugged him close and he cried. He was Tarzan, a madman, my wild example of what never to do. You were always yelling at him, but only because there was always a reason to.
Yet you hugged him fiercely, held on, let him cry. That fierce, strong Dad hug, that hold on tight son hug, we'll make it, son.
I was much younger and smaller.
I could not imagine you hugging me that way.
It was like watching a scene from a different family.
Maybe that's exactly what it was.