I'd been able to hold my own with my big brother up until then, but now I was outnumbered in the sibling department. A circumstance I would have to get used to for many, many years.
Peter had his teenage issues and I had mine. He grew from the stringbean pictured above into a really big, really strong guy. We went through a lot of bad stuff together. We had our fights - I even got mad enough to physically challenge him once or twice, and lost. Still, I made my point.
Most of the time though, we stayed pretty close. I remember the night he scared me half to death. For some reason I can't remember now, I went from the TV room over to the computer room, when we were living in Bowie, MD. I think it was because I'd heard some sounds. With the lights out, I couldn't see very well. There were slats on the door to the computer room, and through the slats, I could make out a figure.
Slowly I opened the slats, and a hand reached out...
I jumped out of my skin, and so did he. We'd both thought each other was a burglar or a ghost, and we laughed over it so hard.
Peter's sense of humor and his laugh never failed to get me laughing. He laughed like Yogi Bear and Goofy - kind of a giggle and a 'hyuk' mixed together.
He also (and he would probably deny this himself, but it can't be denied) had a killer Elvis impersonation. He'd only whip it out once in a while, but it was uncanny.
At a more personal level, my brother Peter was instrumental in my spiritual journey back to my faith. I'd left the church for a few years, looking for answers to questions, and things weren't going well. I couldn't find any other faith that satisfied me, not even the semi-agnostic life I was trying to live. I came back to my parents' house to live at the same time Peter was preparing to go on his mission.
Although most everybody else in the family respected my choices and left me alone to work through what I was going through, it was Peter who was continually putting the thought in my mind that I should go back to church. I refused him for a long time, but he kept me thinking about it.
One Sunday, Peter invited me to go with him to a missionary training he was attending with another young man from our ward. It felt like I should go, so I said yes. They met with a Brother Gere, who had a booming Texas voice. Even though they were in a separate classroom, and my mother and I were out in the church foyer on the couch waiting for them, I could hear every word Brother Gere said.
He talked to them about the experience of missionary work, and then he shared his testimony with them. I don't remember the exact words he said now, these many years later. What I do remember was the emotional and spiritual experience I had at that time when I heard that testimony - it's too sacred for me to discuss in detail, but it was a moment that answered many prayers for me, and it was the moment I knew what I needed to do. I needed to come back to my faith, which I did, and I've never left it since that time.
I owe that life-changing moment to my baby brother Peter, who subsequently went on his mission to Washington State, found and married his wife Karen (the beautiful lady below), and had five terrific kids since. Even though we live very far apart, and have for many years, he's still ever as much my friend as he was when we were children.
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