Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Blood Brothers

Over fifteen hundred people, from infants-in-arms to the contemporaries of his almost-ninety-year-old mother, stood in the rain for up to three hours to pay our respects to Frank’s family. When you consider that the total population of Coker Creek is estimated to be less than three thousand, it puts these numbers into perspective. People from all over East Tennessee came to say good-bye to Frank and offer love and help to his family.

After we buried Frank, we ate lunch with many of the people we’ve met since moving to Coker Creek. These mountain folk sure can cook. You never saw such an array of locally grown vegetables on one buffet table. Frank sure would have enjoyed it.

When I mentioned to Frank’s cousin, Ralph, that I knew he and Frank were like brothers, he responded, “No, we were brothers.” He then pulled up his sleeve, and displayed a scar on his wrist. When he and Frank were twelve years old, they had become blood brothers by cutting themselves in identical places and mingling their blood. Isn’t it funny that, even though they shared blood as first cousins, they felt it necessary to seal their bond with an observable physical sharing of blood?
My friend Elaine and I shared a similar ritual when we were fourteen years old. Sometimes it’s important to be able to choose the blood that you’ll defend to the death.

Ralph went on to explain that even though he and Frank fought incessantly, an hour after every fight they’d be begging to spend the night at each other’s houses. He recounted the almost disaster that put a stop to the rock throwing part of their fights. It seems that a rock thrown by Ralph ricocheted off a stone on the ground and sailed directly into Frank’s eye. Frank had to wear an eye patch for several weeks, but his sight was saved. Ralph said they never “rocked each other again”. I often marvel that any of our sons make it to manhood.

My baby brother Albert used to fight incessantly with our next door neighbor, Bert. When Albert was about six years old, I asked him who his best friend was. “Bert LeBlanc,” he answered. “How could Bert be your best friend? Y’all fight all the time,” was my reply. “Well, that’s why he’s my best friend. He’s the only one who’ll fight with me.” -- This from a boy who had three older brothers, and four older, and one younger sister. Maybe that is the true test of friendship: Caring enough to help each other build strength through conflict and reconciliation.

Maybe it’s like the old song goes, “You always hurt the one you love.”