My Brother’s Keeper
“Come on!” I shouted in whisper as I stared from the utility room window at the yellow Jeep parked in the driveway. It was Christmas Eve in the early 1980s. My dad and oldest brother Robbie had parked a while ago but hadn’t gotten out and come in the house yet. All day I had been fixated on the presents under the tree, trying to decide which one I would open. It was our Christmas tradition that we got to open one present on Christmas Eve. Finally, the doors on the Jeep opened, and I ran back into kitchen.
“They’re coming!” I said excitedly, and bounced into the living room, ready to open presents.
The back door opened, and Robbie and my dad came into the house. Robbie joined us in the living room, and Dad took a seat at the kitchen table. Something was so off, though, that even a child of seven or eight could pick up on it. Dad sat silently at the kitchen table, not even bothering to take off his coat, and stared at Robbie, who was sitting on the couch in the living room. Suddenly, Dad stood up and overturned the kitchen table in one movement and then launched himself at Robbie.
What happened next was a blur. The Christmas tree got knocked over, as did our houseplants. Garland, ornaments, and potting soil were trampled on the floor. I was whisked away by my older sister Karen and her boyfriend and taken to my Uncle Ira and Aunt Shirley’s house.
