I remember October 20th, 1968 like it was yesterday. We lived in an awesomely HUGE new house that my Dad had built in River Plantation in Conroe, Texas that backed up to what felt like a thousand acres of unexplored piney woods just waiting to be tamed. Only two years before, my sister Jamie was born, bringing the number of my female sibs to a grand total of THREE. I’m not kidding when I tell you I remember crying my eyes out as an 8 yr old when Jamie’s arrival was announced from the Montgomery County Hospital. Nothing personal, Jame, but I was in serious need of a little brother to balance things out! But NOOOOOO!!!!! It was “not to be” in the life of THIS poor, outnumbered little eight year old. Turned out Jamie wasn’t THAT bad after all - but I REALLY wanted a little brother and that just didn’t happen. But I digress. This particular moment is about 1968 – in late October about the time the Oilers were on their way to another lackluster season just up the road in H-town. (Oilers lost to Jets that day as it turns out.) In fact, it was a Sunday about like any other Sunday in the life of a Southern fundamental Christian family. I’m thinking we attended our usual morning Sunday School classes at the Conroe Church of Christ where we took turns reading the Red Letter Edition King James Bible out loud to each other from our little school desks, trying to sound as “right” about it as possible, I’m sure…followed by the usual Sunday morning service where I honed my pencil drawing skills to a fine art. All this while Harry Gipson delivered another stirring rendition of the Plan of Salvation, after we downed a shot of Welch’s and a stale unsalted cracker, just before we wrapped it all up with six verses of Just As I Am. It’s no wonder we had to be called down for running out of the auditorium and recklessly barging the cold aluminum push bars on the big, glass double doors as we sprinted out into the Fall sunshine for another game of tag. Anybody else remember waiting on your parents for what seemed like days while they stood and talked to other parents after church was over? But it was that afternoon that I remember so well; we were hanging out at the house after church that Sunday when the phone rang in the kitchen. It was Dad on the other end announcing that Mom had given birth to a BOY! “WooHOO!”, I shouted. “It’s a BOY!!! A BROTHER!!!! I got me a brother!!!!!!” I must've chewed a dozen of those blue bubble gum cigars. Believe it or not, they let me name this little guy, too. Along about then, I was a huge Bart Starr fan. Don’t ask me why I was rootin’ for a Green Bay Packer back in that day and time, but Bart Starr was my man. Well, I thought that was about the coolest name I’d heard, so I remember asking them some weeks before this big day if I could help pick out his name. (I guess after you’ve named five kids already, you’re running out of possibilities, so you let your kids in on the process.) I believe his middle name, Farrell, is some kind of nod to a family name – but I’m still clueless as to whom that would be??? But his first name, and the one you all know him by is Bart…and I, yes I, his ten year old brother, chose that moniker for him and it stuck. What a day that was…and what a happy camper I was when I heard the news. I cried that day, too…only this time, they were tears of sheer joy. And a lifetime (about 42 years to be precise) with that brother was pure joy, I promise you. From teaching him to throw a curve ball to watching him strap on his pads as an All State Offensive Guard playing football for Ft.Worth Christian, it was my life’s purpose to show my little brother the ropes. Even when I stumbled a bit in my early adult life, he was there for me. The past few years, we had learned to lean on each other to pull through life’s travails. And we spent some spectacular moments together (thanks to him), at the 2008 Masters and in the infield at the Nascar race in Ft. Worth, where we enjoyed breakfast with his good friends, the Waltrips. I’ll never forget those very special moments, but the early ones when he was just a little bugger are the ones I cherish most. As many of you know, it is our times together as a family at holidays and special times that are our family’s specialty. (Lots of you have joined us in those times, too!) Well, so today is Bart’s birthday. He would be 43 if he were still here on this planet counting years with the rest of us. But, as you all know, he was called home a little over a year ago and is counting time a little differently nowadays, I’m guessing. And since Bart’s been gone, when we come together for those family times, we celebrate the amazing moments we had with him here. And thank God he lived such a full life, because our memory banks are chock full of funny, shocking, sad, and some very poignant moments together with this special man. A man that I had the JOY and PRIVILEGE of calling B R O T H E R. I cried the day he came into the world. I bawled my eyes out the day I heard he was gone. And I shed some tears with good friends today as we remembered my little brother on this, his 43rd birthday. As always, sending prayers up for Suzi and their boys, Gabe, Luke, and Nate in Colorado Springs today. Miss you, Bart…but I’ll see you again one of these days. Save me a place!
