I Was a Blue Collar African American Man

Today is my brother's birthday. I won't say how old Tad is, but I will say that he is only 19 months older than I am. Because we are so close in age, we were the best of friends right up until Tad started school and discovered that he might have more in common with the rough and tumble boys on the playground than he did with a whiny, tattle-telling little girl. Those preschool years hold some precious memories for me and I relish any opportunity to remind Tad how much fun we had.

Our favorite game was Bud and John. I was Bud and Tad was John. Bud (I) was an African American man with some sort of a blue collar job. I always imagined Bud wearing one of those blue mechanic's shirts with the name patch sewn on the left side. John (Tad) was Bud's best friend who was also a blue collar worker but he was a white guy. I don't know how we started playing this and other than the fact the we both knew John (Tad) was white and Bud (I) was African American, race never played a role in our pretend play. Each of our characters had an imaginary wife who we would kiss goodbye at the door as she handed us our lunch pails. For some reason, Bud's wife was only about 6 inches tall so I would have to bend way over to kiss her goodbye, which always made Tad laugh and he would usually ask, "Why is your wife so short?"

When I was 4, Tad taught me how to tie my shoes, not because he was sweet like that, but because he was tired of our mom making him tie my shoes for me. When he started school, he brought home his Letter A reader and taught me how to read. Yes, my brother is that smart that even at 6, he could teach a 4 year old how to read.

When we were both in elementary school, our days of Bud and John long gone, our relationship started to change. We fought more and aggravated each other but Tad proved he always had my back. One day after school (I was in first grade and Tad was in third), the biggest kid in third grade tripped me and sat on my head. I squirmed and kicked and tried to scream for help, but there was no moving that kid. Suddenly, looking just like Luke Duke with his dark wavy hair, sherpa lined tan corduroy jacket, and belt buckle the size of a coke can, Tad came to my rescue. His words still ring in my ears..."Chris, you best get off my sister!"

I followed Tad to college where we shared friends and some good times. He got me a grunt job in the dining hall where he worked. For my first few weeks during my freshman year, he called my dorm every night to check in on me. We were both broke college kids, but when a good friend of mine from high school died in a car accident, Tad gave me the money to fly home for the funeral.

So today is Tad's birthday and it's been almost a year since we last saw each other. Miles and busy schedules seem to get in our way more than I like. Still, on this glorious day, I raise my glass and toast my brother. To John, may you think of Bud often and know that no matter how far apart we may be, there is a blue collar African American man who will always have your back.