Brother

(This column was published on January 20, 1997.)

   Dr. King and I shared our birthday last week. His is being observed today 
but, alas, mine isn't important enough to deserve that weekend extension.

   That Wednesday was an especially pleasant one. Between my morning at the 
museum and my evening math class at the university, I spent much of my time 
gorging myself on my wife's wonderful meals. Doris's cake, I must note, no 
longer sports candles for fear the accumulation of flames would ignite our 
home.

   But this is not a column about my birthday; rather it is about my brother 
Vernon. One of the nicest events of that day was receiving his thoughtful note 
of salutations. However, in it he wrote: " The day you arrived was a day of 
sorrow with the demise of my turtle, Magellan, who had crawled under the 
kitchen stove." 

   It is easy in my family to associate Vern with turtles for he not only kept 
them as pets as a young boy, but he had one clomping around his apartment 
until shortly before he retired from the Patent Office in Washington. He 
finally decided -- why I cannot fathom -- to release that most recent turtle 
in Silver Lake on a family outing.

   We watched Vern as he lowered his testudine friend gently into the water. 
The turtle immediately submerged and paddled off. My brother stood gazing out 
over the lake to where his former pet periodically resurfaced, only its tiny 
head popping out of the water briefly every few feet. There was a look of 
infinite sadness on Vern's face and we -- his other, human family -- responded 
to his melancholy throughout that day.

   I have written before about how Vern captured turtles. His temperament is 
dead opposite to mine. I am one of those nervous people who, like the shark, 
needs to be in motion all the time. Vern, on the other hand, could stay still 
for hours. He would simply wade into a pond and stand motionless hip deep by a 
log where turtles had been sunning themselves until several of them clambered 
out again to be captured.

   There was additional evidence of my brother's patience. While very young, 
he tamed a wild pigeon which visited his bedroom windowsill. Before he was ten 
years old he rode the subway to the Rochester zoo every afternoon alone to 
observe the animals. I recall my own visit to the zoo with my mother. One of 
the keepers told her how much he liked my brother, adding his highest praise: 
" He is never a bother." 

   My own interest in nature derived from my brother's but it has never 
equaled his intensity. Five years younger, I begged him to join his hikes, to 
look at his insect and wildflower collections, to have one of his pets. I 
followed his progress through the boy scout ranks until he earned his eagle 
badge. But I have only recently begun to understand his approach to these 
activities. I have too often treated nature study as a challenge: learning 
more and more about birds, trees, flowers, insects and so on and on. I now 
realize that my brother never approached nature that way; instead he simply 
enjoys whatever comes to pass.

   It doesn't matter that it is the dozenth ladybug he has seen that day. He 
still gives it his full attention. Only recently have I come to see that what 
I used to think was boring can be more interesting and satisfying than my own 
frantic dashing about.

   It has taken seven decades to learn that lesson from my brother but I think 
that I have finally got it -- well, almost.