Editor's Column by Tess Chierici Once, when we were secretly lighting bottle rockets in tall, dry grass, Curt accidentally dropped the match.

Back to Table of Contents | Back to Main Index Previous Editor's Columns | Send mail to The Voice Brother and sister bond through mischief During the summer I saw a Hallmark commercial in which a woman handed her sister a card that read, "Not only are you my sister, you were my first friend." The sisters embraced, and I, reacting like I do to most Hallmark commercials, began blubbering. I don't have a sister, but the commercial reminded me of my relationship with my little brother, Curt. He was my first friend and remains one of my closest friends. Our friendship began when I, a curious 1-year-old, peeked into the car seat to see what Mommy and Daddy had been talking about for months: the new guy. Obviously, I don't remember the early years, but my mom has since filled in the gaps. Apparently, one of our first playtimes occurred several months later when I decided to take off my diaper and finger-paint Curt (and the rest of the room) with the contents. My dad thinks of it as my first creative expression; my mom thinks of it as a horrid mess that took her two hours to clean. And Curt? Well, he doesn't like to think about it at all. Our playtimes became more interactive as we grew older. When Curt was about 5, my grandma bought him a Playskool tape recorder that we used to create our own radio talk show. We recorded songs from Taylor James (Curt insisted that was James Taylor's name) and Psalty. We told jokes. Later, we played the shows for our mom. One of our favorite games to play was "Horsy." We took turns being the cowboy and the trusty steed. The trusty steed was expected to make horse noises and occasionally try to buck off the cowboy. I was a chunky kid and always demanded long rides. I'd yell, "Faster! Faster!" and Curt's little arms and legs would shake as he crawled down the hall and finally collapse. The good times rolled on. Occasionally, the times were too good, and we'd get in trouble. Once, when we were secretly lighting bottle rockets in tall, dry grass, Curt accidentally dropped the match. Much to our surprise, the grass immediately caught on fire. At first we thought the situation was funny. We tried to stomp out the small fire. But after five minutes watching the flames grow, we realized we had a problem. Around the time we were going to confess and get help, Mom happened to glance out the window. She didn't find the situation funny at all. Mom and a neighbor spent 30 minutes trying to keep the flames from reaching the house. Needless to say, the situation ended with a couple of sound spankings. Spankings were usually bonding times for Curt and me because we always got them together. I remember once we stuffed our pants with toilet paper to absorb the impact of the blow. Mom caught on when she saw us waddling in with big grins on our faces. One look at our over-stuffed britches, and she decided we'd bear our reprimand bare-bunned. Despite bad circumstances and moments we've hurt each other, my life has been enriched by the experiences Curt and I have shared. We laughed together making mud pies out of a huge ant hill we spent a summer in grade school destroying. We cried together as a kindergardener and second grader when our parents sat us down on the living room couch and told us they were getting a divorce.We nearly killed each other in middle school. I used to think that because I was older, I was the one to teach him things. In reality, he has taught me. He taught me how to have self-control even when I provoked fights and lost my temper. He taught me selflessness every time he gave up what he wanted to do to spend time with me. He modeled for me what a friend and a brother should be. Curt turned 19 on Oct. 6. I wonder what new memories we will create in the next 19 years. Wherever I go, I know that I have a constant friend who knows what I've been through and who understands. Back to Table of Contents | Back to Main Index Previous Editor's Columns | Top Of Page Send mail to The Voice| Journalism department website © 2002 The Voice. No part of this publication may be reproduced in written or electronic form without prior written consent from the journalism adviser of Multnomah Bible College. All rights reserved.