Our cousin, Cheryl, who grew up across the street from my grandparents’ house where my brother, John, spent a great deal of time mentioned one day in passing that John was known to be a “stinker” as a child. I’m sure she was not exaggerating. From all the stories I’ve heard, my brother, John was indeed a handful, and not much ever changed.
When going through Mother’s things after she departed this Earth, I found something, in John’s own hand, from when he was maybe 7 that proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he indeed fully earned his reputation.
John made Mom a Valentine. As all mothers are, I’m sure she was thrilled to receive something from her child. And then she opened it. The front is your typical children’s exchange Valentine – and I’m just as sure as I’m sitting here that my grandmother told him to write something to his mother on the back and tell her what he’d been up to…..so he did.
I got muddy five times.
I got in a fight Wednesday.
I got called down Tuesday.
I got in the coal bin Sunday and was I dirty.
I got a great big clok.
John Curtus Bucher (Yes, he misspelled his own name.)
Indeed, I’m thinking that every day in John’s life was a new adventure just waiting to happen. This was probably an ordinary week in John’s life.
Not a lot changed in the following 60 years or so, except the magnitude of the trouble John got into. In 2011, the story of his weekly adventures started out something like this…..Sunday, I cut my leg with a chain saw…Monday, I got the tractor stuck in the mud…Tuesday, I went back to the woods and a tree fell on me……
My brother, John, passed away in October of 2012, ornery as ever, staunchly refusing to DNA test as he had for the past decade….asserting that he would rather “not know,” even in death. Actually, what he meant was that wanted to keep me from knowing, just on general principles…just because he could. Personally, I think he did that…or in this case…didn’t…just to irritate me…and he fully succeeded.
However, whether I agree or not with his motives or choices, I staunchly defend his right to them. So, for the record, it was NOT me who stole his toothbrush from his hospital room.
Nope, wasn’t me.
I know what you’re thinking.
You see, I knew that toothbrush wouldn’t help at all.
I don’t know who used it, took it, or whose it was, but it wasn’t his.
John wore dentures!