Paging Dr. Wu...

My younger brother, the doctor, turns 45 on Monday. It is hard to imagine your baby brother being 45, but then again, I hate being his older brother. I don't ever think we will consider each other grown ups, even though we both have kids in college.

I was thinking about him the other day when a friend of mine was telling me his doctor suggested that on his 50th birthday he should schedule a colonoscopy with a Gastroenterologist...whoopee! What a birthday gift to yourself. It reminded me of Duke (not his real name, but his childhood nickname) because he is a Gastroenterologist, and because I am nearing 50 as well. But I am not sure I would want my little brother to do the "work" on me for a couple of reasons...modesty (who wants their brother poking and peering up orifices?) is a minor reason, the big reason is fear of cosmic karma. In a very vulnerable position he could get back at me for those early years of torture I inflicted on him when we were kids. Here are just a few choice memories I have replaying in my mind when I think about it:

1. I broke his nose, literally smashed it off his face. We were on a cross country trip from California to our new permanent home in the US in Virginia. We had been stationed in Japan and Okinawa during the Vietnam War. Dad decided we could make a nice 2 week trip of it in a rental station wagon. 7 of us piled into the station wagon with all of our luggage in the back and on top. It was misery for most of that trip. We stayed in inexpensive motels, sleeping 3 or so to a bed. The Dukester and I were in a bed with my sister, he kept fidgeting, kicking me under the covers...basically trying to get comfortable. I had had it...I sat up, leaned over and put a lick on him. He screamed, and when he got up, his nose was nowhere to be found! Just two nostrils on his face. My dad came over and performed rhinoplasty right there with his bare hands, reforming his nose between his too thumbs. Duke's nose was spurting blood and he was howling like a Banshee. I never did get in trouble when I gave my side of the story. I still don't know why I didn't get my heiney spanked, but I felt worse when I didn't. Dad did a good job re-forming his nose. He actually has a nice looking nose now. But that doesn't justify anything.


2. I shot him with my b-b gun...more than once. I still remember the worst one though. We were "playing" some sort of fugitive game down by the "tracks". The tracks were an old railroad bed with the rails removed. It covered a long trail from town out to Bull Run Battlefield. We spent hours playing by the tracks. In this instance we had Duke cornered behind a big hedgerow. We (a friend and I) were shooting b-b's high over the bush, low, but not directly into the bush for fear of hitting him. I saw a hole in the bush that I was going to shoot at. As soon as I squeezed the trigger, poor Duke's head popped up in that hole, and I freaked. Too late, the copper bullet was headed right for him. He squealed and then unleashed a string of curse words aimed at me. His worst was yet to come...he threatened to "Tell Dad." That was the ultimate threat. He knew that would turn me into a quivering mass of jello willing to do anything to keep that from happening. Our Dad believed in the NRA method of gun safety. Rule #1: Never point a gun at another person. Oh, the punishment I would get if he found out I had broken that rule! Duke's retribution was to shoot me point blank anywhere below the waist...except for that most sensitive of male anatomy.


3. I beaned him with a rock. Once again I had Duke trapped behind something like a bush, but this time with rocks. We had a rockfight going and I had him on the run. I started lobbing rocks high, mortar like, to see if I could cause some damage. I made a spectacular (in my estimation) toss nice and high, and it came down right on his head! He was gushing blood like a Samurai Gang member in a Kill Bill flick. I thought I had killed him! Luckily he didn't need stitches, but he still had a big ol' gash on the very top of his skull. I am sure he still has the scar.


4. I roped him like a steer. We loved to play Cowboys and Indians when we were in grade school. We had the coolest leather holsters and full-sized Colt .45's. Mine was nickel plated with white Ivory grips, Duke's was nickel plated with carved horn grips. That was one of our favorite games to play. It was rare for us to have a rope, but one day we found ourselves with a nice length of nylon rope...perfect for roping cattle. Our neighbor was supposed to be the cattle, and Duke was going to drive that lil' dogie right past me so's I could rope him. The neighbor kid ran mooing past me, but on the opposite side of our Hibiscus hedge...all's I could see was the tops of his and Duke's heads bobbing up and down. I swung the rope over my head, making the loop open up wider and wider and then flung it over the hedge at the neighbor. Unfortunately I neglected to compensate for their speed and ended up catching poor Duke right around the top of his head...perfectly eye level. I yanked hard to close the lariat loop and dropped him like a sack of spuds! He had a rope burn around his head and eyelids. He was yelling and screaming at me, but I was laughing too hard to hear him.


5. I hung him in a Hangman's Noose. Poor Duke, us older kids could talk him into anything. The older neighbor boy taught me how to tie a Hangman's Noose with that same piece of rope, but we needed something to test the strength of the knot. My older sister, Viv and I asked Duke to participate. We insisted that "it won't hurt at all". Totally true. We knew how dangerous it would be to hang him by his neck, so we said we would just test it by hanging him from his ankles...just for a quick second, and then we would let him down. He relented, and we tightened the noose around his ankles. We threw the rope over a tree branch and then yanked as hard as we could to lift him off the ground. We hoisted him up until all the blood was rushing to his head. Then we let him hang...1 second, 10 seconds, 15 seconds...he was screaming at us, threatening to kill us. We were amazed at how strong that knot was, and when you have someone in a vulnerable position, well you can't waste that opportunity. We tickled him, swung him back and forth, and teased him. But we started to feel bad, so we let him down, and ran for it. He had a mean little temper for a kid.


6. I tore his favorite Teddy Bear in half. I admit, it was an act of rage. I accused him of kidnapping my bear (probably not true) and we were arguing about something stupid...who remembers those stupid arguments? The result of our fight ended up with his poor Teddy torn in two, and shredded beyond repair. That bear still haunts me in my nightmares...must be my guilt. The way I tore that helpless bear in half makes me cringe when I think about a Colonoscopy...I grabbed it by the legs and ripped...that is the only time I have seen him cry because of something I did to him. He never cried after any of the other stories, just this time.

It's funny, I can picture him screaming at me, but I can't recall what he is screaming. He was a yeller as a kid, with a mean temper, and his face would turn beet red he would get so angry and frustrated at us. I think his favorite come back was, "I am going to kill you!" So you can't blame me for turning pale when someone suggests that Duke could do my first colonoscopy in a couple of years...he still has time to make that threat real.

We had a very adventurous childhood, with loads of good memories as well. We loved to build forts, start fires and steal things. Sorry Mom and Dad, but yes, your boys had an evil, destructive streak. We had a knack for destroying shrubs, flowers and bushes. We tortured small animals. My wife believes that Hell for me (why does she assume that is my eternal fate?) will be punishment given out by squirrels, chipmunks, lizards, ducks, geese and other small animal victims that have suffered by my hand.

But this is supposed to be a tribute article for Duke on his Birthday, so I guess I'd better get to that.

He is the smartest person I know. I still remember how embarrassed I was in High School because my younger brother would be in my chemistry, math and biology classes. Not only would he do well, he would destroy the curve for the rest of us average students. My buddies would hassle me about it. That didn't stop when he entered college, and happened to follow me to the very school I was attending. He had a 4.0, and my parents wondered what I had been doing instead of studying. If he attended a different school I could've used the different curriculum excuse, but he was taking the same courses I had taken the previous year. He is the doctor my parents always longed for in our family, someone to compare favorably with to the over-achieving cousins. I accused him of being way too serious and not fun-loving enough. Now I look back and see that he was focused on what needed to be done, and he stuck to it.

That level of responsibility (even at a young age) sets him apart. He has ethics and morals to help him make decisions. Can one be ethical to a fault? I hope not, but it does mean others may try to take advantage, and they probably have. His high degree of ethics also makes others think he might be stubborn, unreasonable and close-minded. I don't think that is because of his ethics, that is just because he is stubborn, unreasonable and close-minded!

He is a natural athlete. He can seemingly accomplish anything he decides to do...except on the dance floor. Not sure what happened there, but his "disco" gene is definitely mutated. But in other athletic displays, he comes across as confident and capable. Maybe that is why he gave up golf...and maybe why I should consider that as well.

He is the thin, good-looking one. He can eat as much as he wants and is still the same size as he was in college. I smell food and gain weight. He still looks like he is in his 2o's. No gray hair, no wrinkles, no beer belly, no fair. But if he needed a kidney, I would give it to him.

He is a great family man. His family comes first...no matter what. His kids may argue with me about this one, but not from where I sit. I would enjoy more time with him as we get older, but I also know where our relationship is in comparison to his family responsibilities.

So Happy Birthday, Dukie! Writing this brought back so many great memories of growing up with you. I hope you have happy thoughts from our childhood together as well.

Ciao!