Edd

Statistical probabilities are you would have loved my brother, Edd. He was one of those over-the -top, "larger than life" types. At his wake, I recall people of all ages,gender,race, nationality,social strata,etc--it was as if a cross section of the world's population had been collected. He never really understood what he was to the people in his life. Ex-biker,Viet Nam vet (Nixon's secret campaign in Cambodia),photographer,bar tender, mechanic extrordinaire,patron of the arts,hopeless romantic in denial, defender of the defenseless--he was intense.

Our Ma went back to work teaching school when I was about a year old, and Edd--then 11, was my primary care giver. Poor bastard! My first vivid memory of Edd is of pistol whipping him when I was 18 months old. WARNING:TERRIFYING TALE OF EVIL BABY ANTICS
It was a weekend afternoon, and Edd was home alone with me. He'd parked me in front of the television with a toy cap pistol in my baby mitt, and an old cowboy serial on TV. Figuring I'd be amused by seeing guns on the tele AND in my wee hand, he went into the next room, book on the floor as he read--head dangling over the edge of his bed. CUE MENACING MUSIC Every time the cowboys fired their pistols in the film, I fired mine. It was a bit dull, as there were pointless bits of people talking and riding horses in between the important, infant amusing discharge of weapons. Suddenly, something new to learn was offered to my budding limbic system. New use of tools--I saw a character pistol whipped.
CUE "THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA" wow! I could do something completely unanticipated with my toy gun--I'd never even imagined it could be put to use in such a way. I recall the process of my thoughts--this is something new--i have to do it to remember it--i'm aware there were things i wanted to remember but lost without a chance to do them. Doing = keeping knowledge of. Better be off to find someone's head lest this be lost,too.
No malice--just pure, blood chilling innocent child development. Tiny baby steps of the lurking menace in booties. Soft snore of the unaware victim, head just exactly at baby shoulder height. Delight at finding convenient cranium so readily. Take a breath, gun in hand, abduct arm from torso, wait for it....aim.....SWING! SWING! SWING! As his scalp parted in an explosion of red, his fist swung up sharply and into my feral little face. He was a stout lad, my brother, so my tiny vicious butt was propelled backwards and slightly UP into the wall behind me, my nose at a sideways angle on my face. In a cartoon, I would have turned into a Picasso briefly before I started howling. I just got on with the screaming. As I'm exercising the lungs-blood spewing from nose--Ma comes home. CUE CARTOON SFX It was like something out of Tex Avery--huge saucer eyes, hair on end--Edd clutching the crown of his head as it oozed, stumbled over to me and set my broken nose in one swift move. Ma nearly died on the spot.

He took his class picture that year with a large bare patch in his scalp--and stitches. There were other class pictures to come ,bearing witness to his rough handling at the hands of his hell spawn ward. He wanted to put me in the front yard on a chain, give me a tire to teethe on, and post a warning sign ATTACK BABY ON GROUNDS

He managed to survive our family, and went on to have many colorful exploits--so many tales to tell.
He was generous to fault-- never turned down a friend in need--and he had many friends.

It's going on two years since he copped the big split.
He died of complications from hep-c contracted during his military duty. He died at home, with his best friend holding him. I take comfort in that.

To this very day, I don't like guns. They make my face hurt.

Miss ya, Edd.


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Missing Delta's words of wit

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