To Forgive, Divine

I’ve mentioned my kid brother Dweebert.* He’s a crazy-ass sombich. We have gotten closer in recent years over the unexpected death of our mom, the care and feeding of The Old Rattlesnake (TOR), his eventual passing, the clean-up and sale of the old homestead, and recently, working on a semi-valueless cabin up in the woods we both now own.

When we were kids, Dweeb was always the poor, well....., dweeb, that got the short end of the stick, courtesy of the FCC (Family Chain of Command). Those of you with siblings know the drill. For the rest of you, or those who had an abnormal childhood or siblings who were body-snatched pod people or something, this is how it Usually Works: For whatever reason, (often, no reason), the older sister/brother kicks the ass of the next one down, then that one goes and kicks the ass of the one under her/him. If there’s more, add "and so on".

The bee-otch about this arrangement is, usually (not always), the youngest DDS (didn‘t do sh**). The middle one may be innocent, but usually PDSS (probably did some sh**).

The oldest often escapes his/her come-uppance unless the middle one gets enough rocks in his/her pockets to dish it out. Unfortunately, the youngest often doesn’t ever get the chance to Even the Score because the older siblings, realizing that they’ve Created a Monster, wisely GTHO (get the hell out).

The point is, the youngest suffers. Usually without any reason other than they were defenseless. And, well....., dweebs. This post is all in aid of describing how things stood between Dweeb and me before the bonding-thingy. We get along very well now.

Sometimes, late at night, when Dweebert and I up at the cabin, and the wind is whistling through the pines, and the coyotes are howling in the canyon, I start having doubts. I begin to wonder, and I remember that revenge is a dish best savored cold.

And there's plenty of Power Tools laying around.

*The promised Post, "Goin' Up Country" has been delayed. Get over it.