Subject: belated birthday greetings
Sent: 15/9/20 12:43 AM
Received: 14/9/00 10:05 PM
From: Andrew Hicks
Dear,
How are you? HAPPY BIRTHDAY late. I am sorry I did not
communicate with you concerning the anniversary celebration of your birth.
Anyway, I hope you had a most excellent and triumphant day. How many
Earth years are you, exactly? Isn’t it amazing that all of us have lived as
long as we have? Have a wonderful day, even though today is your
Un-Birthday.
Love your Bro,
Rew
Every once in a while
I got an email with the name ANDREW in the subject line. And I knew it was urgent. He was admitted to hospital because he was not eating or drinking. Losing weight. Incoherent speech. MRI’s and CT’s revealing nothing. His balance, reflexes, and motor function have been declining over the years; It’s not ALS. It’s not Parkinsons. It’s not any kind of disease with a name, but he had it in spades.
I was never good at math, but it seemed that numbers had been falling out of the sky.
My ‘little’ brother Andrew.
Of 14, he’s the second-to-the-youngest
Of 8 brothers, he’s the second-to-the-last
He’s 7 children younger than me.
He was one of the 6 Little Kids.
There were fourteen of us, and I was Number 6.
Andrew was Number 13.
He was born early in April, the fourth month of the year.
When Thomas (#14) came along, demoting Andrew to the used-to-be-the-cutest baby in the family, Andrew was not quite 2 years old. It was during that short time in his life and mine that I changed his diapers, dressed him and helped teach him how to walk. Every morning, as the family ate their Cheerios or their Cream of Wheat and my parents drank their morning coffee, Andrew grabbed a hold of two of my fingers to balance him as he tried to explore the world standing up.
What I loved about this was Andrew’s joy. He was always standing, holding onto the side of his crib, waiting for me to come in and rescue him. And when I peeked around the door and stuck my face into the room, he broke into an infectious smile, giggling and shrieking and running around the crib, as I chased him.
Below: Mother and I holding up the two youngest in their pjamas in a group hug.
In 2nd grade Andrew lined up for his First Communion, a small person in slacks and a white shirt, hands folded and marching in formation. We were used to lining up; when there are lots of kids, that’s what you do, you line up. If you ever wondered where we were, it would be safe to say that we were probably lining up for something. For inspection. For a spanking. For the rosary. For the bathroom.
Even as each of us was just another child in a big group, part of a line, Andrew always saw me. And I saw him. I was always glad to see him. We liked each other.
That’s a photo of our Mother when she was being paraded around with Andrew and Thomas as Ventura’s Mother of the Year. After giving birth to and raising fourteen children, it was ‘about time’ she was honored for her contribution to the human race, and the next generation. It was very soon after that photo was taken, she became ill and died. Look how young Thomas and Andrew were, to lose their Mother.
Sometime after we lost our mother, Andrew got a tumor in his skull. To make sure the tumor didn’t come back, they radiated him every week, according to a schedule. He kept getting zapped until someone was satisfied that he’d had enough. Radiation with an unfathomable half-life.
Finally. They stopped. Andrew had to re-learn to walk, talk and read all over again. But he was still alive, whereas our Mother was not. It looked like things would get back to ‘normal’. But when ‘normal’ is truly interrupted, ‘going back’ is a fantasy. There is always something not quite right.
By the time Andrew was 31, his dreams, “to be a jet pilot” were replaced by his reality as a checker at Vons, the local grocery. In spite of his own sense of failure when comparing himself to his other brothers (one became a doctor; 3 became bankers), at VONS, Andrew was known for being the friendliest man in town.
When Andrew’s two boys were small, I happened to visit the home he shared with his wife and kids. And it was really messy; clothes everywhere, books, pillows, dishes, everything all mixed together in one visual chaotic, sloppy scene. Like the house we grew up in together. And in this mess, somewhere, was their pet rat, who did not live in a cage. It reminded me of our haphazard, shared childhood, full of strewn laundry and dirty dishes and the delight of miscellaneous pets.
After his divorce
Hello All, I hope you are all doing splendidly! This is to be my last message for a while, as I am signing off from the internet. I was not too impressed with all it had to offer. If you want to write or call me feel free to do so.
I hope you all have a splendid existence and work towards God.
Later on,
Dudes and Dudettes
Love to you, Andrew
Andrew lived with my father in the family home in Ventura. He used to turn up the music to the max which annoyed my step-mother. Between Mitch Miller, Strauss Waltzes, The Andrew’s Sisters, and The Beatles, Andrew and Daddy re-played so much old music at top notch, it gave a new meaning to the word ‘deaf’.
Once my father died
Andrew inherited a 1/12th share of the proceeds from the sale of the family home. More than a million dollars in payouts and two children were disinherited. I was one of them. It was my punishment for speaking out against the cultural family narrative. It’s bad enough being disobedient; what’s worse is speaking out about it, especially when surrounded by the converted. But I digress.
With his inheritance, Andrew traveled and produced his own original songs. He shared his albums with me, always thinking he was going to someday make it big. There was one song I really loved, Happy to Be. Here’s the refrain:
Once I wasn’t
then I was
now I am
and I’m just happy to be.”
But Andrew’s limp became more pronounced; his hands trembled; he blurted inappropriately and randomly, as if he had Turret’s Syndrome.
At the time, a woman happened to go through his grocery till wearing the flag of Japan on her t-shirt. “The Japs bombed Pearl Harbor and started World War Two,” Andrew shouted at her. And for that, he got fired.Even the union wouldn’t go to bat for him on that one. So his life changed again.
Before he couldn’t walk anymore.
Before he gave up the internet altogether, Rew spent a good chunk of his time finding, reading and forwarding emails. Here’s one, at least as worthy as a good cat video.
The riddle to end all riddles.
It’s just one word
Only 5% of Stanford University grads figured it out
Can you answer all seven of the following with the same word?
The word has 7 letters
Preceded God
Greater than God
More Evil than the devil
All poor people have it
Wealthy people need it
If you eat it, you die
Did you figure it out? scroll scroll scroll down down down
Try hard before looking at the answers
did you get it yet?
Give up?
Brace yourself for the answer:
The answer is:
Nothing!
Nothing has 7 letters
Nothing preceded God
Nothing is greater than God
Nothing is more Evil than the devil
All poor people have nothing
Wealthy people need nothing
If you eat nothing, you will die
Send this brain-teaser to your smart friends and see if they can answer it.
We call him Rew.
Because I live in another country far away, Rew and I, we had this technological relationship which consisted of me imagining what he looks like and how much space he takes up during the time his voice is in my ear once a month on the receiver of the telephone. He’d taken it on to call everyone in the family every thirty days or so, once our eldest brother Gregory died. I used to have that kind of relationship with Gregory before he died, punctuated by the odd visit so I could update my imaginings.
This essay with photos is a tribute to my brother, Andrew. Of course it can’t be comprehensive, a person is so elusive in their complexity. But I’m sharing my recent journey with him in an effort to remember him and to honour his presence in the lives of our huge family. I also honor my mother and my father who brought him, their thirteenth child, into the world.
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