Brother Broken

  Brother Broken Meet the protagonists: Denis, John and Mitch.  Their stories begin in the 1950s and 60s, in a village, in Saskatchewan, somewhere north of normal. It's not one that's dark or depressing, it's a story of hope and gratitude, with a touch of ridiculous. Some parts are complicated, because there is nothing straightforward pertaining to broken. I remember my brothers with words, I share the story of their lives. l tell of what decent boys they were, what they meant to me, how their lives were ordinary and sound before all the trouble started happening. I write, so people will learn the goodness of my parents, the wholesomeness of my extended family, that my kin weren't lowbrow hicks, who screwed-up raising kids. Brother Broken Foreword  Clarion Review   https://www.brotherbroken.com/ Follow on:    

  Brother Broken Good morning.  Meet Uncle Emil: Uncle Emil was a large man with the mind and innocence of a child. As a baby, he had suffered brain damage due to a severe fever. The injury marred his intellect and comprehension. He could never be self-reliant. To us, Emil was like another fun kid to play with, though much bigger. His size, we thought, we could exploit. It couldn’t hurt to have a perceived bodyguard on our side. In reality, Emil was the one who needed protection, and no one understood this better than our grandmother. Even though Emil looked like he could take care of himself, it didn’t take much prodding to reveal his childlike vulnerability. We weren’t allowed to tease him, which was something we could hardly resist. It took but one encounter with my grandmother’s wrath to eradicate the temptation. Uncle Emil had many qualities of a child’s favourite playmate. His body was plump, like a cherished teddy bear. His big hands could have been fashioned after the Friendly

  Brother Broken Rodeo fun... Dad took us to the Hub Café for lunch. We ordered cheeseburgers and Vi-Co. We feasted. Our booth had a tabletop jukebox. None of us knew how to operate it other than to turn the knob to flip the playlist. So we ate without dinner music. Besides, we didn’t have supplementary cash to feed it. “Dad? Can I have a nickel for the jukebox?” “No.” He reached into his pocket and handed over some coins. “Go to Madill’s and buy smokes.” Madill’s was a drugstore with a massive selection of goods to buy. It was a great place to get cigarettes while waiting in line to purchase cough medicine. At that time, you didn’t have to be of age to buy cigarettes, and no one ever questioned why an eight-year-old needed smokes. After lunch, we went to the Stampede Grounds and watched the rodeo action. It was wild. I particularly liked the barrel racing, because the riders were girls, like me. But after a while, we became bored. Dad took us to the midway, bought some ride ti

  Brother Broken About being a big sister... Mud was a good medium for me to practise my craft at being the older sibling. It was easy to find and free to use, so I lured my two-year-old brother to a proper mudhole. It was shallow, so as to not pose a drowning risk, yet wide enough to provide adequate working space. It was also located in a spot not obvious to snooping eyes. I sank my hands deep into the muck. I didn’t need to prod Mitch to do the same. I told him, “We’re makin’ cakes.” I pulled out a handful of gunk and mixed in some dry dirt. I showed Mitch how to mould a cake and smooth it round to make it look like the buns Mom formed from bread dough. I busied myself with crafting a row of them. Mitch used his own technique. I grew frustrated, antsy at his attempts. He wouldn’t pay attention to my method. I couldn’t seem to explain to him how to get the consistency right. He squeezed the muck through his little fingers, having fun instead of working at it. His creations look

  Brother Broken Here's Johnny! ... this goes waayyyy back, like 1963... I wasn’t allowed to follow John the day he started school. I wanted to go with him, but Mom held me back. I had a difficult time being left behind. Going to school was hard for John, too. The school was run by nuns, even though it was a public school. The nuns taught Grades 1 through 12, and attendance peaked at about 120 students. Most students were bussed in from the country, which meant John met new kids. School administrators had an ass-backwards way of staffing teachers. Grade 1 students should have a kid-friendly teacher, but that was not the way schools operated in Northern Saskatchewan. Perhaps it was done on purpose, to have the strictest nun initiate the new students—a sure-fire way to pre-establish order in the school room. John told me a bit about his first day of school. It sounded like he approached the classroom and lingered in the doorway. The teacher nun was waiting inside to greet all t

  Brother Broken Meet Denis... Denis was three persons in one—a trinity. There was the Denis before the accident, the Denis after the accident, and the Denis after the onset of his illness. Each had his own distinct personality. About the only things the three had in common were his body, soul, and remarkable intelligence. I don’t have an accurate recollection of Denis, or what he was like before the accident. He was almost seven years older, and I was four when the accident happened. He was a free spirit, full of confidence, and not afraid to try new things. I doubt he had much interest in spending time with his younger siblings. He had expressive eyebrows, a sweet smile, and remarkable eyes, framed by long lashes. He had the look of a choirboy—innocent and angelic. My older siblings revealed he was more like a character from the old sitcom The Little Rascals . His fiery spunk likely contributed to the injury that knocked him down. He was wrestling with some boys in the backyard,