Kat's Rambling Mind

My older brother Russ is, and always has been, a fantastic brother. Maybe I’m a little partial, but I know my younger sister would agree. Calm, patient, and level-headed, he’s always been the rock of our sibling relationship. A quiet man with a wickedly dry sense of humor, he never fails to make us laugh. And he’s always taken care of us, from the time we were small.



Our mother says that the reason I could read at three years old was because Russ read to me constantly. He instilled a love of books, words, and language in me that I treasure still. She also said that he would always pick up my toys so I wouldn’t get into trouble, and if I did need discipline, he’d pick me up and run with me. Thus began my spoiling early in life.



By the time our sister Jennifer came along, Russ was in junior high and then the spoiling really began. We both adored her (and still do), although we did have a period when she was younger where we learned she would pretty much do anything we dared her to do.

This led to a babysitting incident where the three of us would run down the hallway and jump on the bed in the bedroom directly at the end of the hallway. Not being quite as big as us, Jenny ran down the hallway, bounced off the bed and went SMACK!, face-first into the paneled wall, and slid down between the bed and floor.

Russ and I looked at each other in a panic. Was she okay? Had we killed her?

Nope. Tough as a railroad spike, Jenny popped up from between the bed and the wall and wanted to go again! (That’s who she is today, as well.) We all laughed, but I can tell you, for a second there, our big brother was a little worried.



My brother also had to put up with the standard little sister nonsense from me, but he always did it patiently. He allowed me to listen to his prized classic rock record collection, when he was in high school and I was a tween girl, showing me how to handle the records and the record player needle so as not to scratch them. He didn’t make a big fuss when I borrowed his Izod polo shirts to wear with my jeans. Once in a while, I was allowed to hang out in the garage with him and his older friends; I had crushes on all of those friends at some point in my tween years.

After college and then marriage, my brother’s career led him to live away from our hometown for thirty some-odd years, but he was never more than a few hours away from our family. We are thrilled that he and his wife Tracy moved back home a few years ago, and that we can see them often.



Russ is a pillar of his church, a man of faith and a leader who volunteers to step in and help where he is called and needed. His demeanor is one of quiet strength, practicality, and fairness. He is a fixture among the congregation, and I’m going to take the liberty and speak on behalf of the Cleveland First Methodist Church when I say his presence there is greatly valued.

In fact, it was my brother’s presence there that led me back to church. His quiet encouragement and gentle invitations won me over, and I’m still attending. My season of faith started anew, thanks to my brother.

My brother has always been there for me. Up until about nine years ago, our personalities couldn’t have been more different. He was grounded and secure, and I was up in the trees and all over the place. I had some struggles throughout my life, but in my moments of crisis, it was always my brother who stepped in with a voice of reason and calm that set me back upright. He offered sage advice, much of which I didn’t take in my younger years. Of course, I wish I had, because he was right.

And it was about nine years ago when my brother came and got me and offered to take me to the hospital to get help for my latest crisis; I had realized I was an alcoholic, and didn’t know where to turn.

As always, there was my brother, to lead me to the help I needed. I will forever be grateful.



Nowadays, my brother is enjoying his well-deserved retirement here in the northeast Georgia mountains, with Tracy and their three cats. He is an extremely skilled chef and grill master, and we always enjoy gathering at his house for a meal. My brother also loves his Georgia Bulldogs, and I always enjoy watching games with him during college football season.



And so, on what happens to be my big brother’s birthday, I want to celebrate his unique strength and his generosity of spirit. My brother: an anchor, a leader, a man of character and faith. Our “Bubba”, who is someone to be admired.

I believe in kind words now, rather than later. So if you have a brother, call him up, or better yet, go visit him. Give him a hug, and remember, life is short; make sure to tell your brother he’s ugly today!

(Happy birthday, Bubba!)