I had an older sister (now deceased). Having an older sister is fine but I really wanted an older brother because then I would find the male perspective on issues and most importantly, he might bring over his friends whom I could meet and protect me in compromised situations. However, such was not the case and I would have to settle for an older sister who would steal my clothes out of my closet and my make-up out of my drawer when she came home for a visit from college.
When I was married and had children, I wished I had a big brother because then he would probably have a wife. If I had a sister-in-law. then I would really have two older sisters and I would have more confidants for me, more playmates for my kids, and a bigger crowd on holidays.
When my kids started their teenage years, I wished I had a big brother because then I would have an experienced confidante who would advise me on how to parent teenagers. If I had an adviser on parenting the teenage years, then maybe I would have someone who helped me maintain my sense of humor while parenting through the intense times and drama.
When I was exiting the parent teen-age years, I found out that I had a big brother and this is my story.
My dad was a heavy smoker and had COPD. We always told him his smoking would kill him and it did. When my mom called I drove to their place as soon as possible. They lived in a tiny little town, Shell Knob, MO, on the shore of Table Rock Lake in the Ozark Mountains. We lived in Birmingham, Ala at that time, about 700 miles away. About the only way to get there is by car.
When I got out of the car my mom was waiting for me at the front door. She said for me to go the bank and get the documents in the safety box and bring them back to her and I did so. Upon returning I asked her why she wanted the documents and she said because there is something I want you to read.
Wills are boring documents until you get to the distribution part and I was glad to get to it. That reads, I leave everything I have to my wife Ruby except for the following. I leave one dollar each to;
Betty Jerome Schofield (my sister),
Janet Jerome Wixson (that would be me), and
Donald Chaney.
I stopped right there because I have never heard of a Donald Chaney. My eyes return to the beginning of the paragraph and I read through again. I repeat this behavior for about 5 minutes.
I look up and say, “Mother, who is Donald Chaney?” She answers “He is the son your father had before we married.” My next question is “Why have I never met him?” She says “Donald’s mother was your father’s first cousin and it was a scandal.”
I went out to the porch for a while to think about things. I realized I was happy and ecstatic about finding a brother because I always wanted one. I ran back into the house saying “help me find him I want to meet him so badly”. She says “you can’t because he is dead. I heard over the radio yesterday, that a Donald Chaney was shot and killed”. Of all the BS she ever told me, this smelled the worst.
When I got back home to Birmingham. I started my hunt for Donald. The first person I called was my aunt Marie, She and Dad were close to the same age and spent a lot of time together. I called Marie and started with “Aunt Marie, I am looking for Donald Chaney, do you have any idea where I might look. She responded “Who is Donald Chaney?” I said” Donald Chaney is your nephew; His father is my father and his mother with the name of Waltemire is your first cousin. Do you get my drift? He is my brother and I am going to find him”. Marie says, “OH I remember something about that. However, I can’t imagine what you could possibly have in common with him”. That ended that conversation.
Over the next several years I searched for Donald Chaney at every occasion. Always on the internet. When I traveled. I researched the local directories. On my 42nd birthday Steve gave me a wrapped present. On the inside was a piece of paper with Donald’s telephone. Number. The Area code was California. I looked at it and said where ever did you find this. He said I went to the last small town he lived in and asked around and fond someone who knew him.
I called the number as soon as possible and had a sweet conversation. I flew to California to meet him and spent time with him on two other long trips. Donald has been dead for about 5 years, and I cherish the time I spent with him. I sometimes think of all those years I did have a big brother and didn’t know it.
Donald is so much like his father and since I am also like my father we were connected in short time. Both Donald and dad were avid pool players. Both men were highly competitive. Both had the same sense of humor and showed it often. Donald told a lot of dirty jokes just like my dad. They both had wiry physiques and red hair
Although Donald only met my father once, I could tell he yearned to have a relationship with him. That seemed so sad and unnecessary. Steve and took a lot of time looking around Donald’s house. We both noticed there was nothing from the Jerome side of his family. We talked about what we could give him that would be meaningful. We decided on Dad’s personal pool cue. It was an antique Brunswick and he used that cue when he played Minnesota Fats.
We mailed the queue to him as soon as we could and he expressed such gratitude it made me cry.
Donald was a poet as was my father, and my father’s father. He wrote this poem for me.
HOW CAN THIS BE
TO MY DEAREST LITTLE SISTER
I often thought – wondered how or where
But never looked not knowing that you might care
Now that I have someone else in my heart
As brother Sister, let us promise never drift apart
Our learning took different paths and our childhoods were not the same
Had I been there when you were small and helped the tomboy climb the tree
Picked you up when you fell down, we might not be the same-could this be?
Perhaps in the genes of us there is a greater plan
Maybe why you searched ten years to find an unknown plan
I have read many books of knowledge and fail to see
Nor have I found any proof of how this can be
The things in life I have done
Sister like I, you always played til you won
Our philosophies are quite the same
Do it, search for another game
Sister takes off her shoes when she comes in the house
Rather lay on the floor than sit on the couch
With your mannerisms and characteristics, you are just like me
Yet we were raised together, how can this be
Sister our time ended too soon, kissed your cheek and said goodbye
Bit my lip and walked away, Susanne saw the tear in my eye.
Sister with your smile and love of life. I have found the key
Now I know how this can be, the great creator touched you and me
Donald Chaney
November 1995