We’re heading to Palo Duro Canyon to camp and relax over Labor Day weekend with my twin brother, Herschel, and his family. On most days, and because naturally conceived twins occur in just 1 of every 89 births, I consider myself lucky to have a twin of my very own; however, on just a few of our shared days, having a twin has been a detriment to both my physical and emotional well-being. I might not tell these stories if they were about one of my sisters, but my head still smarts from Herschel’s last visit and I believed I have reason to worry about what he might do over Labor Day with tarantulas in the canyon. Herschel can take it, so four of our low points are the topic of today’s reminiscence.
When we were growing up, visiting my grandparents in Tucumcari meant time on a farm. The entire house reported to the kitchen table before sunrise for breakfast and morning devotions and the house shut down when Papa went to bed not long after sunset. Days included feeding and checking on the cows with my grandfather, setting irrigation tubes with Nana, hunting crawdads in the irrigation ditches, swimming in the cow’s water tanks, shooting tin cans with .22 rifles, walks to The Kings Throne in the valley beyond the shop, and climbing over the hay bales piled high in the hay barn.
When we were a little older, and because there were so many of us cousins, we often got to ride in the back of the pick-up. We’d sit up on the edge of the bed and hold on as Papa navigated the ruts in the road. One day, Herschel and I were sitting on the tailgate when I was “pushed” from the back of the pickup truck. Papa, unaware that I was no longer with the crew of cousins, continued down the path as I flipped in the air and face-planted on the dirt road. The inside of my lower lip took a beating as I slid to a stop. I slept with a spliced-open aloe vera leaf between my gums and lower lip for what I remember being weeks and weeks. Herschel and I often disagree about the specifics of this story. I may or may not be remembering it accurately. He claims I simply fell.
I am, however, completely confident about the accuracy of the next three stories.
Middle school was difficult. I matured earlier than Herschel, as is common with girls, and was literally a head taller than Herschel in the sixth grade. Herschel and I were not close in those years. I was boy-crazy and Herschel thought I was ridiculous.
When we were in the seventh grade, our father was the band director in a tiny West Texas school system. The band hall was our home away from home and our 7th grade band time was in the late afternoon. One afternoon I walked into band to find that Herschel had written on the band hall chalk board at the front of the room, “Marea is on her .” My dad hadn’t seen the message. Apparently it had been on the board for the entire day.
I would not say that we grew up in poverty and looking back I’m grateful for the foundation I had. I, unlike so many children today, lived with my biological mother and father and three siblings. We were raised in a church and were raised with strong work ethics. Our parents loved us and we had extended family that modeled compassion. I remember many happy times.
We always had food on the table, though at times it was peanut butter sandwiches for a day or two before payday or beef tongue because it was an inexpensive meat option. We always had clean clothes in the closet, though they were often hand-me-downs or garage sale finds. My mom did not go to a salon and my haircuts and perms were “mamma dos”. I say all that to say I was not introduced to facial bleach or waxing as soon as I should have been.
Herschel moved to Norman, Oklahoma after high school graduation. He was working on his undergraduate degree at OU and because I was at ENMU and then at Howard Payne University in Brownwood, Texas we saw very little of one another for several years. I’m not sure at what point I was visiting in Norman and was able to meet several of his friends for the first time, but I believe it was after graduation at his wedding rehearsal. One of his friends said something to the effect of, “I’m so glad to meet you! You’re not at all what I pictured! Herschel said you two didn’t look too much alike. He said you could grow a fuller mustache than he could!” Argh.
More recently Herschel and his family were visiting over Memorial Day this year and I had just moved out of my classroom. For 15 years I had used a white wooden rocking chair for myself during our whole class rug time and I don’t mind sharing that it was a garage sale find. The rocking chair was not terribly sturdy and had been gorilla glued multiple times.
We were visiting with several family members in our courtyard and I was sitting in my rocking chair. Herschel came behind me and began rocking me, tipping my chair back further than it should have gone. I had no sooner said, “Stop Herschel, the chair’s going to fall apart,” then the chair’s gliders separated from it’s seat and back in mid air. I fell back, hitting the base of my skull on the concrete edge. No real lasting harm done but I’m literally anxious when I sit in a rocking chair now. I used to love them 🙁
Herschel, I am truly grateful for you. Through our ups and downs, I’ve always known that I could count on you. Our good times far outweigh the remembrances I’ve shared here, though the four stories I’ve recounted above make for an interesting read, don’t you think 🙂 I was privileged to have you as my “man” of honor when Franklin and I married and was blessed to be in the delivery room with you as you coached Alison through Elizabeth Marea’s birth. I cherish your friendship and the “bro”mance you have with my husband. Thanks for making time, several times a year, to hang out with us and “do” life together, even if it’s often from a distance.