BLOOD IS THICKER THAN

BLOOD IS THICKER THAN …

Anything

 *^#!

 Our friend Marie381 who writes here on Vocal write a story about her father and his sister: Blood Is Thicker Than Soap And Water and that sparked me to write about an incident involving my brother and me.

 My brother, Frankie was always a popular boy. Well, with most kids, anyway. There were a few in the neighborhood who had no problem displaying their jealousy with Frank’s popularity, especially Teddy, the neighborhood bully.

 I love to brag about my brother but here are a few cold hard facts:

He was drop-dead gorgeous with straight black hair and brown eyes the color of melted chocolate.

He was super smart – straight As in every subject in school.

Because of his good looks, all the girls, no matter how young we were, were drawn to him.

He loved and played sports. Well, baseball and football. We had local teams and he was on them.

He had a great but weird sense of humor.

His smile could light the darkest room.

There wasn’t a musical instrument he couldn’t play. He never had formal lessons but could pick up whatever instrument and within an hour, was playing a tune as if he had been playing that instrument all his life. Horns, drums, strings – you name it, he played it.

He could sit for hours and write his own songs. As a teen, he formed his own dance band and yes, he also had the voice of an angel.

 I could go on but the reason for his biography is to tell you that he was also an extremely protective brother.

 For whatever reason, before our teen years, there were more boys in the neighborhood than girls. Realizing this, without being asked, Frankie took me under his wing and included me in everything he did with his buddies. Well, with the exception of football, I did everything else. We played baseball (another story), climbed the statues in the park, played pranks on the neighbors at Halloween, sang for pennies on Thanksgiving – whatever shenanigans the boys took part it, I was never left out.

 I was about ten years old when the deficatiion hit the rotary oscillator.

 As I said, my brother was extremely handsome and he turned twelve, girls his age started to notice.

Again, as I said, a few boys in the neighborhood were jealous. Whatever reasons they had, were a mystery to us and Frankie decided to just ignore them.

 UNTIL….

 One summer afternoon, (by this time, a few girls had moved into the area) I ran home and up the three flights of stairs to our apartment.

 Frankie took one look at my bloody nose and his face turned crimson.

 “Who did this and why?”

 Thinking back on this day, I remember that I didn’t cry. I had been more angry than hurt or maybe the anger dispelled the hurt. Doesn’t matter.

 Anyway, I answered, “Teddy. He said to tell you that’s for you!”

 Frankie practically few out the door. Mom called him back, but I would swear to this day he never heard her.

 About thirty minutes later, Frankie strolled, yes, he “strolled” back in the apartment with a smug grin; never said a word, just walked to his bedroom and picked up his guitar.

 His friend, Joey, well, when I say bounded up the stairs, we heard every footfall, and burst into the apartment.

 “Hot damn! Oh, sorry, Mrs. H. but Frankie really wiped the street with Teddy.”

 Mom asked to relay what Joey saw.

 “Well, he calmly and slowly walked to where Teddy was standing on the corner and without a first word, punched him in the nose. Then I heard Frankie say, “My sister gave me your message. Now, here’s my answer!” And Frankie kept wailing on Teddy until Teddy’s face was all black and blue and bloody. Mrs. H, I gotta tell ya, nobody tried to stop Frankie and cheered when he was done.”

 Joey heard the guitar music, soft and sweet, and walked towards Frankie’s bedroom.

The rest is history. After that, not one person in the neighborhood ever thought of saying a cross word to me.

 We never saw Teddy again.

 But the worst part for me?

 When I reached my teen years, very few boys in the neighborhood would look my way unless they approached Frankie first and asked his permission to date me.

 Forget about asking my dad. My brother was the force to be reckoned with.

 Years later, the man I married was from another town but my brother still grilled him before he nodded his approval..