“You guys are brothers?”

I don’t like blackberries. I never have. Unfortunately, behind our house in Medford, lining the cow pastures, were mounds of wild blackberry bushes. This is unfortunate, because my mom loves blackberries. And with five children out of school for the summer, with nothing better to do than play Sega Genesis and swim in the pool, you have a fine blackberry picking crew. As a child, the bane of my summer existence was job lists. Everyday, or what seemed to be everyday, my mom had a list of jobs that needed to be done before we could play with our friends. And inevitably, 3-4 days of the week while the blackberries were in season, we were sent into the cow pasture with bowls and buckets. I’m sure we made a multitude of references to slaves in the cotton fields and jews in death camps, all ignorant and far-fetched comparisons, but highly logical and descriptive from the views of eight and ten year-olds. But we would head out, my three brothers and I, out to turn a half hour task into 2-3 hour project; getting distracted by “wildlife”, fighting, and just joking around. Eventually our bowls would be “mostly” full and we would decide to come back, hoping that we had enough to fill our worker’s quota. It would be a little after noon or so and we would walk or ride our bikes to Roxy Ann Market, and by tootsie rolls or sugar daddies for dimes and quarters and even get soda pop in bottles. We’d go swimming and play video games some more, exhaust ourselves with the activities of summer. Then get up the next day with again with no plans. Well no plans, except for a job list from mom and a field of blackberries.

So why was my mind drawn to this morsel of nostalgia, as I drove with my grandparents across the barren expanse of eastern Oregon? Because for probably the first time since I was thirteen years old, I had a taste of my blackberry summers. I was back in my house, with all of my brothers and my sister for a week. We had no real responsibilities, except cleaning up after ourselves (which seemed optional). I spent the week hanging out all night, playing video games, talking, laughing at inside jokes our parents don’t get (though they have usually heard them enough that they stop asking).  It was like summers when I was a kid. Summers without worries or cares, summers where all you had on your agenda was to have fun and be with your friends. Maybe that was the other part; it was the first time I’d been with my all three of my best friends in along time. 

“Rufus, Brint, and Meekus were like brothers to me. And when I say brother, I don't mean, like, an actual brother, but I mean it like the way black people use it. Which is more meaningful I think.”

I’ve got many close (also called best) friends from various phases of my life: elementary school, high school, my time in Hong Kong, and college. For whatever reasons I moved or they moved, we lost touch; but the most consistent closest friends I’ve had throughout it all are my brothers. Whether it’s playing video games, going skateboarding, quoting Family Guy while we try to look like we’re working, laughing about the times we pushed our parents to the edge, or one of the fights that broke out among us, I love each of my brothers individually as well as collectively. I love things about them that I don’t even know how to put into words. Things we laugh about and mock each other for, but characteristics I love because it’s what makes them who they are. The age differences and location along the timeline of life fade and for the time that we have together, we’re just friends. The best of friends. If people saw us running along the side of the road or wandering aimlessly through the mall, I imagine they’d say, “Look at those guys, they must be old buddies, out having fun.” I always have fun with my brothers. Helping an elderly couple (with enough food storage to feed Cambodia) move into a new house or out in the fields in Medford picking blackberries, its always fun. And what makes this bi-annual reunion so bittersweet; to have one of my friends come home, means another has to leave. Off on his own great adventure, off to war.

“This, this one night, two of my brothers came and woke me up in the middle of the night. And they said they had a surprise for me. So they took me to the barn up in the loft and there was my oldest brother, Dan, with Alice, Alice Jardine. I mean, picture a girl who just took a nosedive from the ugly tree and hit every branch coming down. And... and Dan's got his shirt off and he's working on this bra and he's tryin to get it off and all of a sudden Shawn just screams out, Danny you're a young man, don't do it! And so Alice Jardine hears this and she screams and she jumps up and she tries to get running out of the barn but she's still got this shirt over her head. She goes running right into the wall and knocks herself out. So now Danny's just so mad at us. He, he starts coming after us, but... but at the same time Alice is over there unconscious. He's gotta wa... , wake her up. So he grabs her by a leg and he's drag, dragging her. At the same time he picks up a shovel. And he's going after Shawn, and Shawn's saying, what are you trying to hit me for? I just did you a favor! And so this makes Dan more angry. He tries to swing this thing, he looses the shovel, goes outta his grasp and hits a kerosene lantern. The thing explodes, the whole barn almost goes up because of this thing. That was it. That was the last, that was, Dan went off to basic the next day. That was the last night the four of us were together. That was two years ago…

…Tell me about your wife and those rosebushes?”

I guess it makes me sad to think that this could be one of the last times it would be just us boys. No wives, family or professions to worry about. Just a bunch of boys, a bunch of buddies, brothers. Hanging out in the warm summer evening, looking forward to the fun that awaits us in the morning...

...though still slightly dreading those blackberry bushes.