My Brother
Every trucker has a list of fears. Near the top of my list is that phone call. It came about 18:00 on May 7th. My sister was in tears. Our brother George had died. May 8th would have been his 67th birthday. I was looking forward to calling him. We always had a great time on these calls. We would laugh and joke for about an hour on Sundays. George was a big NASCAR fan. I have been learning more about the sport. My favorite was if Kenseth won. So- I could ask “Hey how did the Cheesehead do?” Last Sunday I didn't call him. I was waiting for his birthday.
It was on his 65th birthday that I renamed him in my contacts list. He retired that day. He asked me to guess what he was going to do. I did. He replied “ Anything I want. Ask me again.” I did. He replied “Anything I want. Ask me again.” Instead I told him that I was changing his contact name in my phone. From now on his contact name was going to be As***le. He thought that was great because it moved him up the alphabetical list and he could still do whatever he wanted. That was just our sense of humor. From that point forward he liked to answer my phone calls with “This is As***le guess what I am doing now.”
We had a silly 6 of one half dozen of the other debate on the fastest way through Indianapolis and Lexington, KY. George would insist that his way of using I74 – to I275 to I75 was better. My way was to take I75 to I64 to I75. According to mapquest my way is 5 miles shorter and 3 minutes faster. We were brothers. Why ruin a good debate with facts. He ran a shipping department and would tell me dumb trucker stories. I ran my little trucking company and would tell him dumb shipper stories. We were both born story tellers like our dad.
George was 11 years older than me. Our brother Chuck was in between us. Chuck died back in 1987 and it brought George and I closer. Maybe we realized our own mortality. We age. The difference between 56 and 67 isn't nearly as far apart as 7 and 18. I will always remember the day when George and our cousin Steve bought me a lunch when I was 7. They were about to hitch hike to San Diego. Their plan was to join the Marines and then go to Vietnam. As a 7 year old I thought that was about the coolest thing ever. At dinner it was mom, dad and Chuck and I. George wasn't there. Mom was worried and said “Where's George?” I blurted out that she didn't have to worry. George and Steve were hitch hiking to San Diego to join the Marines and then go to Vietnam. Mom burst into tears and left the room. Dad just looked at me. I didn't understand the problem.
It looks like George had a heart attack. So did my dad and other brother Chuck. None of them liked to exercise. I do. I need to get better at it and lose some weight. Maybe, I should work a little less. I also need to call my sister more often.