I saved my brother's life once. I am a good brother. We came home from the lake one Sunday afternoon and my mom said we could jump in the pool because it was really hot inside our house, we already had our bathing suits on and we needed a shower anyway. My older brother George and I ran through the house into the back yard and jumped into the pool. By the time my chubby younger brother Steve got to the back yard George and I were already getting out of the pool so we could jump in again. Steve ran and jumped in.
He forgot that he didn't know how to swim.
We had been wearing life jackets all day at the lake and I guess he didn't realize he wasn't still wearing one. I immediately jumped in from the other side of the pool and swam with all my might toward him. I remember opening my eyes underwater and faintly seeing him on the other side of the pool. Thinking about it now makes me think of that old Nirvana album cover of the baby in the swimming pool. He was frozen with fear floating there. He was in the shallow end of the pool and but couldn't touch.
When I got to him I promptly put my hand under his butt and pushed him up and towards the steps. He coughed a bit but was fine. And thus I saved him.
I suppose that makes up for all the times I almost killed or maimed him, my other brothers, family members or neighbors. Like the time I hit George right above the eye with a hockey stick. One inch lower and he would have been wearing a pirate patch over his left eye.
Or the time George and I pushed my youngest brother Mike down a hill in a wagon as the "test driver" for our "race car." Three barrel rolls and not even a scratch. We did put him in full hockey gear before doing it.
Or the time I let my cousin Matt ride down the same hill on my bike. I neglected to mention that the brakes didn't work. It was only a broken arm... big deal.
Or the time I made Steve bite through his lip on a trampoline. You know how you can make someone's knees collapse if you time your jump just right? Well I did. My parents were on vacation and we were staying a some friends' house. That was the only time my mom ever forgot to leave a release for medical care.
Or the time I almost lit Mike on fire when my friend Ben and I were making a flame thrower with a Bic lighter and a can of WD40. How was I suppose to know he was going to walk through the garage door right at that moment?
Or the time that I almost lit my neighbor on fire when George and I tried to make homemade dynamite with PVC, gasoline and duct tape.
Or the time I performed a DDT (ala Jake "The Snake" Roberts, WWF) on Steve while wrestling on my neighbor's front lawn.
I could go on and on. I was one of four brothers who lived on a street with 17 boys and 1 girl. Nuf said.
