This is the third attempt to write about my sibling, yesterday's post.
I seem to always want to start out like a "dear diary" entry.
My brother was quite the fun loving child.
Whenever a photo was taken, he was making a face or squirming around.
You could never get a still photo of him.
It's funny now, that his son and one of my grandchildren, act in the same manner regrading being photographed.
Could it be genetic?
I blogged about our family fires recently, and gave credit to my father for setting our house on fire.
My mother corrected me, actually it was my brother.
He was trying to earn a cub scout badge, and was helping with chores.
He took the trash out to the "fire can" where we burned our trash.
Now that's another post in itself. Does anyone still burn their trash in a can in the back yard?
What a stink that was! I'm sure the EPA has laws against that, and imagine the chemicals we were all exposed to!
So he sets the trash on fire. It escapes the can and burns the yard, up to the house. We get it put out. No real harm done.
That night the house catches fire. Only burns the "tootsie room" or utility room, so named after his pronunciation. Now and forever after, my parents refer to their utility room as the "tootsie room" for my brother.
My mother awakes and the fire department is called. The house is saved!
The determined cause was the sticker brushes growing up between the siding of the house had gotten hot earlier in the day with the fire, and then caught back on in the night.
So my brother was credited with catching our house on fire.