Older brother, first born Scot has been a socially active and intellectual stimulator of many since arriving day one (June 8th) in 1945, a love child of our parents' honeymoon. The first born, they say, takes the lumps of inexperienced new parents. The heightened sense of God's love and humour that I got from Scot from very early on continues to make me feel Scot is the ideal older brother.
The schooling system of the post WW2 Air Force base in Trenton, Ontario in 1953-54, perhaps stimulated Scot to genius by his poor eyesight, when he realized that those blurred symbols of the teachers on the blackboards of the early grades actually were discernible after getting his first pair of glasses at age 8. We also used to walk off to Sunday school with him sharing the cleverness of satirical songs about the We Three Kings of Orient Are, (Tried to Smoke a Rubber Cigar).
Also circa Grade One for me, Grade Four for him, he was on a power trip of keeping me mildly terrorized through my susceptibility to being tickled, which he used to play on me after supper time when we were instructed to go out and play in the verdant backyard arbored spaces of our base houses (PMQs: private married quarters) where he would give me a measured time (2 minutes, 5 minutes, to a count of 100?) to run away before hunting me and then, if caught, would quite often use my fists to pummel me, meanwhile asking me why I was hitting myself although he was doing the hitting, with my fists, being the physically superior (an age-old game of sibling children). When he engaged his neighbourhood friends in this after-dinner scene, it became too much of an imposition, and I ratted out to the parents, who put the end to this after supper activity. (Note to siblings: still ratting here—my oriental sign).
I love the on-going stimulus and humour of my dear brother. Scot has always been willing to share the insights of his intellect, (with me and so many others), including the stimulus of both the contemporary and the classic authors, as shown in this '70s era photograph. Kurt Vonnegut being read here in the photo of him at what we considered Mom's desk, the kitchen table. But growing up the family culture was always rich with Scot's ongoing affair with the piano, and his choice of music when he was having a "play", which might have included him polishing off Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, cover of which is from the copy we had in our family album collection. That is the gorgeous Suzy Parker, top model of the 50s and 60s on the cover.
The schooling system of the post WW2 Air Force base in Trenton, Ontario in 1953-54, perhaps stimulated Scot to genius by his poor eyesight, when he realized that those blurred symbols of the teachers on the blackboards of the early grades actually were discernible after getting his first pair of glasses at age 8. We also used to walk off to Sunday school with him sharing the cleverness of satirical songs about the We Three Kings of Orient Are, (Tried to Smoke a Rubber Cigar).
Also circa Grade One for me, Grade Four for him, he was on a power trip of keeping me mildly terrorized through my susceptibility to being tickled, which he used to play on me after supper time when we were instructed to go out and play in the verdant backyard arbored spaces of our base houses (PMQs: private married quarters) where he would give me a measured time (2 minutes, 5 minutes, to a count of 100?) to run away before hunting me and then, if caught, would quite often use my fists to pummel me, meanwhile asking me why I was hitting myself although he was doing the hitting, with my fists, being the physically superior (an age-old game of sibling children). When he engaged his neighbourhood friends in this after-dinner scene, it became too much of an imposition, and I ratted out to the parents, who put the end to this after supper activity. (Note to siblings: still ratting here—my oriental sign).
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