* * *Life just didn't get any better.
He offered to let me carry the pail.
This was work!
And, oddly enough, he never complained.
* * *Fourteen and I was able to attend my first dance!
I think I danced twice. (One was 'Hey Jude', the customary and interminable last song, which one would inevitably end up dancing with someone who smelled.)
After the dance, George and I stayed in the kitchen and talked until four am.
It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
We never seemed to run out of things to discuss.
Which of my girlfriends had a crush on him this week.
Dating. When I turned 16, this was a new and wondrous world for me. George guided me through some of the pitfalls and heartbreaks. Once, when my date abandoned me for another girl at a dance, George provided a ride home. And a shoulder.
He got me through.
* * *In his twenties, George decided to travel down another road. In black leather, long hair and a beard. And on a Harley.
Once when he was coming for a promised visit, my second son Erik, then six, waited up to greet him. When this long-haired man appeared, Erik took one look and fled down the stairs to his bed.
It was very shortly afterwards that George asked me to give him a haircut.
And not long after that when he decided that he needed to settle down.
For many years, he struggled with relationships and church attendance/standards. Then, just before he turned 50, he decided that he needed to make some serious changes.
Which he did.
And then he met Mikenzie.
She, too had experienced hardships in her life. But, like George, she was ready for something . . . eternal.
I was a witness as the two of them, dressed in white, knelt at the altar and gave their vows to each other. And to God.
I couldn't help but think of my former long-haired, black-leather-clad brother as he took his new wife into his arms and kissed her.
And accepted her daughter as his own.
Today, as always, George is busy, organized, and frightfully clean.
But perhaps for the first time in his life, he is happy.
|Now, with Mikenzie|