Eleven years old? That little devil.
I could write a book, but I can’t tell here all of his plots that involved me.
But a couple years after that incident, he got an idea to make me a set of wings. He did that, then he strapped them to my arms, placed a ladder against the house and was trying to push me up so I could fly off the roof. The wings were too heavy for me and I barely made it up the first rung, but I was willing. His antics eventually taught me not to be gullible.
My big brother was one of those people who never met a stranger and found something to like about most everyone. He was a dreamer, but he had a lot of good ideas, too, which were successful. I never saw him that he wasn’t happy, and I miss him a lot.
We lost him back in August when he had a heart attack while he was driving and caused him to run his truck into a wall. Too young.