A tribute to my brother

 

Wrangler

 

We would crawl the knees out of our Levi’s and mom would patch them with straight cuts and neat stitches and we’d wear the patches through and she’d patch the patches.

 

On a hot August day, we made our annual pilgrimage to Famous-Barr in downtown St. Louis; it was my seventh grade year. Dad dropped mom and the three of us on the corner at SS. Kreskee Five & Dime store. She treated us to orange juice and donuts at the snack bar. I was always amazed that a family with little money could live like rich people.

 

We walked to the big department store to buy school clothes. My annual two pair of Levi’s had gone from four dollars each to six dollars. I had never said anything in previous years, but it sure did bother me to spend their money. Twelve dollars was too much for me to tolerate. They had “Wrangler” jeans for three dollars. Suddenly, I wanted to switch brands; mom knew I loved Levi’s and was reluctant; I got the Wrangler pants.

 

I have shared the following story only with Candy, until now.

 

You outgrew a pair of Wrangler jeans; mom put them in a bag to give away. I took them and cut off the leather “Wrangler” patch from the left rear pocket. It had stitch holes around the perimeter where it had been attached; the name was emblazoned from what I imagined was a red hot branding iron when the company made them in the old west. Of course, some die stamp machine in New York’s garment district actually manufactured the denim pants, but that was not so romantic an admission as my fantasy. And, too, I was a rootin’ tootin’ cowboy fan who would have NO truck with NY; still won’t! Amen!

 

I kept that leather patch in my arithmetic book because I loved math and that made me feel like I was close to you. Your second grade class was just across the hall and I saw you at mass, recess, lunch, afternoon break and at home. But, that leather “Wrangler” patch meant a lot to me because it came from your pants; I looked at it often.

 

I saved that relic for many moons, at least until I’d been married for a number of years; it was in my top dresser drawer with my several other valuable icons from life. Somewhere along the line, it disappeared, probably dried and cracked, worn out and dilapidated.

 

No matter, its importance and value still live in my heart, always will. Now, we are separated by time and distance, but you are verbally as close as several numbers on a phone and lovingly as close as my heart. Why, Lord, so many diamonds in my life?

 

Happy Birthday! Wrangler. I love you, Brother! And, again---Amen!

 

Carl

 

January 19,2011