Bob

Today is my big brother’s 69th birthday.  His name is Bob.  Some of you may know him as Bobby (he tried to change that in high school). He died of cancer 7 years ago. (Wow!)

There’s not a girl in the world who had a better big brother than me.  Bob became my protector when I was two.  We’d gone to spend the night with our grandparents and I got homesick and began crying—wanting to go home.  My granddad threatened to spank me and Bob came and sat beside me and put his arm around me. Something was cemented in our relationship that day. He was my hero…and that never changed.  

Bob sold the Grit newspaper door-to-door when he was about 6 or 7.  He’d take me along as we’d walk for blocks and collect a nickel at those doors.  That was his first job.  He always had a few extra coins when we’d walk to “the little store” to buy candy. When he was nine, he began a newspaper route.  By the time he was twelve, he’d saved enough money to buy our family a stereo—one of those that came in a cabinet like a piece of furniture.  We played records almost every night!

A friend and I got in an argument over whose older brother was the toughest. (I knew mine was)  We went and got our brothers (who were the same age) and they fought it out.  Mine won. Mom babysat our cousins one summer and we would walk to the library at least once a week—across a field of weeds and stickers—in our flip-flops. Of course, we went barefoot most of the time, so I always forget my shoes.  Bob would invariably give me a piggy back ride across that field.  

As Bob got older, he worked at Heard & Jones Pharmacy. He was always bringing gifts home for us.  He bought my first set of electric curlers when they first hit the market! After that job, he went to work for I.W. Tinney Lumber Co. That job set his career in motion. Bob became a builder—actually, a craftsman.  

My big brother was my confidante.  He listened to all of my dating woes. We even went on a few double-dates. He was also my warning signal.  He put his foot down a couple of times and told me I couldn’t date a certain guy—they were no good. Once a guy took me to a bar on a date and I asked him if we could go somewhere else.  I was afraid if Bob heard about it, I’d never get to date again!

As Bob was dying, he wouldn’t allow me to see him because of the spreading cancer.  So we began exchanging emails. I treasure those emails. I thanked him for being such a good big brother.  He was actually my first picture of Jesus—the big brother who rescues us.  His reply?  “ Thank you so much for the compliments but I think you must have me confused with someone else because I CERTAINLY don't walk on water.”

A good big brother…the BEST!

God, would you give Bob a hug from me today and tell him, “Happy Birthday!”?