This last week I received a very nice reminder of my firstborn. I'll have to look back at my posts because I can't remember what I may have written about Brandon. and I don't want to be repititious. But we tried to raise our 3 the very best we could. We tried to teach them that though there were other kids with richer parents, we were not dirt poor but just plain folks. We drove older cars, got reduced lunches early on, and their Easter clothes were always bought by their Aunt Sugar. But we tried to instill in them that there were folks not as blessed as we were. And to always treat everybody the same. We may have been looked down on in some circles, but we didn't look up to others or down on anyone. Go out of your way to help someone that may need a friend, because someday, you may need that person. I wanted to share the story sent to me because it brougth tears to my eyes, that Brandon was once again remembered by someone. Over the next few weeks I'll try to share some of the stories of our Brandon Journey. I did not ask this young lady's permission to share this, so I won't reveal her name::::::::
I can't remember the exact year, but Brandon had already lost his leg at this point. I was very young, not even 16. Brandon had asked me to go with him to a football game away from PG (Pleasant Grove-fj) and, of course, I obliged. I came home from school, told my dad about our "date" and began to get ready. My dad, as most dad's should, forbade me to leave the house with any boy unless they got out of their car and knocked on the front door properly. This one time, he decided to make an exception. Though he felt that any boy picking up his daughter should show enough respect for her parents and walk to the door, he wasn't trying to prove anything here by making the kid with one leg tromp up the driveway. I was sitting on the couch when I heard the truck pulling into the driveway. I fussed with my hair for a split second and took off toward the door. When I reached the bottom of the steps and could see through the window in the front of our house, I froze. Brandon was already out of the truck and reaching into the bed for his crutches. "Dad, he's already out of his truck," I remember saying because I didn't know what to do next. Should I run out so he doesn't have to trouble himself any further? Do I wait so I don't embarrass him and waste his already given effort. My dad answered me before I could give it much thought, "Get up here and sit down," he said to me looking out the window to see Brandon lumbering up our uneven driveway on his one leg and crutches. "I'll be damned," were his next words. So I sat down, waited on Brandon to knock on the door, listened to the embarrassing rundown my father gave him about safe driving and curfews.
Brandon and I were never more than buddies, but I'll tell you this: I had lots of boys coming to my house to pick me up and lots of boys who had to suffer that same speech from my father. All of those boys I have forgotten. Except Brandon.
I'll be back,,,,,,,