Nothing has really changed for us in the past seven decades. I'm still the little sister standing behind a magnolia tree in the front yard, speaking - via two soup cans connected by a long kite string - with a big brother sitting in the hay loft out back.
"Can. You. Hear. Me?" I'd yell.
"Yes! Can. You. Hear. Me?" he'd holler back.
Of course we could hear each other. People all over town could hear us. Sound travelled easily across the stillness of those long-ago summer days.
I called, this morning, to tell my brother Happy Birthday. I offered to sing my good wishes, but he declined ... a wise move on his part since we both know I can't carry a tune. My manners are better than his, though. I always accept his singing on my birthday with at least a pretense of good grace. He does manage to stay on key. I'll say that much for him. The tune is nice. But he makes up words as he goes along, and the lyrics range from mildly insulting to downright offensive.
Today, I told him he had grown one year meaner. He thanked me for noticing and bragged about how hard he worked to become the county's grumpiest old man.
Laughing ... Feeling secure in our love for each other ... we closed our cell phones.
I miss those old soup cans.
email: MelindaGerner
