I am caught in the web of Decembers past this morning. I seem not capable to think of anything but the sweet Christmas memories of my brothers and me as fresh-faced and shiny-eyed children on the farm so many years ago.
I can still see my two brothers on Christmas morning smacking their hands into stiff genuine Rawlings baseball gloves, racing their authentic graders, tractors, and bulldozers across my mother's pristine hardwood floors, setting up their fancy Lionel electric train sets, or strapping on their shiny new six shooters and holsters.
I always thought as boys they got much neater gifts than I received, feeling a bit cheated. I had to be content with a new doll or a fancy pair of pajamas when I would have loved a set of Roy Rogers six shooters myself. Yes, I was a tomboy; but how could I be anything else, growing up with two rough and ready brothers as my only companions on a farm isolated from the nearest town by some nine miles.
They were only thirteen months apart in age and they shared everything, including a conspiracy against me, their older sister, to be always in "cahoots", determined to make my life as miserable as they could,until they needed a thrid body for a quick game of work-up" baseball or a fall guy to hunt relentlessly while they pretended to be the sheriff and his deputy.
Now,this Christmas, I find myself once again feeling a bit left out.. I lost my precious baby brother Larry in 2005. And yesterday morning, Jim, my other brother, stole quietly away to be with him.
I know those two are having one heck of a time today; but, somehow, I feel cheated yet again this Christmas.