I Was King of the Ocean When Daddy Let Me Drive

He was a little thing. We both were, but he was the baby, so he was little for longer, the way I saw it. He also got any melanin that obviously skipped me in the family. He was my father's spitting image as a kid. He grew up to look much more like our mom's family, except his coloring.

He had a mop of brown hair, curly, but thankfully not as curly as mine. He had those giraffe eyelashes that all boys get and all girls envy. I remember distinctly the color of our dad's eyes. Maybe age changed the color, but they weren't really brown. There was a lot of olive green in there. My Nanny's were the same way. My baby brother's eyes are dark brown. In the right light, you can't even see the pupils dark. All three of my dad's other kids got those dark eyes. I got the Payne eyes, according to my Nanny. She loved blue eyes. I'm certain that had something to do with her marrying my handsome Pawpaw.

He was the first tornado in my family memory. We've had a couple more since him. And we all blame him like anything other than his genes are to blame for boys who tear through life like a category 5. We called him "Taz" and that was accurate. You could not take your eyes off him or he'd get quiet and inevitably do something he had no business doing. Gabe gets more than his looks from my baby brother.

When my own kid came along, we knew pretty fast that aside from coloring, that I had cloned my kid brother. He got those Payne blue eyes, but he has that same hair, darker than mine. Everything but the eyes. Including the tornado. I think I spent the first decade of  his life running after him. 

This picture contains zero images of my son.

Both of them are smart in a way I am not. They have these elaborate, mechanical minds. With that comes the uncontrollable urge to take things all the way apart. Sometimes, they even get put back together, even if there obviously were bonus parts that never make it back to the reassembled...whatever. But then they know how it works. And that is a magical ability. 

He was the meanest one of us. Scrappy. I guess he had to be with my siblings. I never had to protect that kid unless it was from himself. I remember one summer shortly after we got central air. It was hot and we were outside because that's what you do as kids out in the country. My dad had made us a swing set from railroad ties. That was after we finally really wore out the steel tube one that we probably got secondhand somewhere. We had three swings, two with wood seats and one that he found somewhere that was a real playground seat. I was maybe six or so and I was in the swing with my back to the driveway down the sloped side of the house when I heard him scream. 

As I mentioned, he was no shrinking violet and I think that was the only time I ever heard him scream that way. I turned to see him standing in the corner made by the AC unit and the cool, cinder block wall on the back side of the house. I ran to him and saw it. A snake. I don't know what sort, but in my little mind, that scream meant the snake was venomous and would certainly kill him. I slowed as I got near and I remember putting my little hand on his smaller shoulder and stepping in front of him. I told him to turn and walk away. He listened. For probably the first and last time ever. When I could hear his footsteps soften enough that I didn't think our friend was going to sprout legs and eat him whole, I backed away. 

I think that was the only time that kid ever needed me to protect him. Not for lack of willingness. He was, is, and will always be my little baby brother. He hates it. Or at least hates that I call him that. In my mind, he will always be a three-year-old grin full of trouble. He'll always be looking down at his little eyelashes. He will always be the first person I was ever charged with protecting and the first person who showed me that most people can protect themselves. Or at least the Gables can.

It's his birthday. Friday the 13th. I won't out him on his age. Spoiler: it's old. But I'll always be older, good, bad, or ugly. I love you, little brother. Happy Birthday.

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