Cowboys and Indians

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Today I’m thinking about your great uncle Bryant, who was my older brother.  (He’s the one you’re named for, Bubble.)  You will never know him because he’s been gone for quite a while now.   But it’s very important that you know something of him as he was an amazing person.  Of the three children in our family, Bryant was the most serious.  Actually, I think the adjective most appropriate was soulful.  Although he had plenty of playfulness in him, he was more contemplative and sensitive, even as a little boy.

Alex, you are now a big brother and it’s a tremendous responsibility from what I’ve observed.  You’ll be the one to pave the way for Bubble because you’ll be the one that teaches your parents what they need to know about raising children.  This makes it so much easier on your sibling.  And Bubble will always hold you in awe because you’re the one with the advantage of experience in navigating life’s pitfalls.  You’ll be the one to whom he is compared; the explainer; the example-setter.  Most importantly, you’ll be his protector.

I was two years younger, almost to the day, and totally adored Bryant.  His name was too hard for me to pronounce, so I called him “Bye.”  Our father teasingly expanded this nickname to “Bynie Beenie, Tipsy Teeny, Apple Jack, John Squeeny” which Bryant quietly disdained, but stoically accepted – that is, until the first grade.  Mother had occasion to go to his school one morning and she took me along.  When we arrived, Bryant’s class was on recess out into the play yard.  Mother and I went there and when I spotted Bryant across the yard, started yelling “Bye, Bye, we’re here!!”  He totally ignored me. 

I went running around after him.  “Bye, Bye, here I am!”  He shot across the play yard as far away from me as he could get. 

That evening when we were sitting around the dinner table, mother asked him why he wouldn’t play with me.  His liquid brown eyes took on a stern cast and his countenance signaled that what he was about to say was probably as important as anything he had ever said. “My name is Bryant and she calls me Bye. I don’t want anyone to call me Bye.” 

No matter what I had to call him, I still relished being with him, sometimes to the point of being a pest I’m sure.  One day, Bryant was outside playing with some of the boys of University Ridge, the apartment complex where we lived.  I fretted to mother that they wouldn’t let me join in.  She called Bryant over and told him to include me in their game or he’d have to stop and come inside. 

Somewhat triumphantly, I ran out the door and immersed myself in the group.  Bryant approached and called the boys aside.  They huddled for a few minutes, then Bryant came over to me and said, “Okay, Beth, we’re going to play cowboys and Indians……and you’re going to be the cowboy.” **(Please see the footnote.)

I was elated.  Not only was I getting to play, but I was a significant part of the game. 

“Okay, run now.  We’ll give you a head start and then we’ll capture you.”

I took off as fast as I could, squealing with delight.  The boys followed, whooping and hollering like the Indians they pretended to be.  In short order, they caught up with me and grabbed my arms and marched me over to a sandbox dad had built for us off a ways from the back stoop of our unit.  It was shaded by a couple of trees.

“What should we do with her?” Bryant asked the group.

“Tie her up.  Tie her up!” They responded.

They took a rope and tied me to one of the trees on the side that hid me from the view to our apartment. 

“We’ll deal with her later.  It’s time to go before the cavalry gets here!”  They raced away out of sight, beating their mouths with their hands, laughing hilariously. 

I stood there, arms secured behind my back around the tree, all aglow with the excitement of participating. 

Time passed, but I didn’t mind.  The Indians would be back soon and we’d continue the game.  More time passed.  The sunlight coming through the tree began to diminish.  Still I waited patiently, secure in the knowledge that my older brother was out there somewhere as the Indian Chief leading his braves against the cavalry.

At dusk, the mosquitoes came out and virtually had their way with me since I didn’t have the use of my hands to swat at them.  It never occurred to me to yell for help.  My older brother would be there any minute.

Meanwhile, inside our apartment, dad had come home from work and mother busied herself fixing dinner.  She set the table and brought the food out from the kitchen. 

“Dinner’s served,” she announced, at which point Dad AND BRYANT appeared and took their seats. 

As mother slid her chair out, she asked “Where’s Beth?”

Bryant must have spewed his food all over the table as he realized he had totally forgotten about me tied to the tree.  He bolted up and out the back door, mother and dad close behind. There I was, faithfully fulfilling my role as the cowboy albeit looking somewhat like I had the chicken pox with all of the mosquito bites. 

Although I’m sure Bryant went without his dinner that night, my reverence for him never wavered.  From that point on, he took his role as my big brother very seriously and he fulfilled it with masterful aplomb.  To the day he died, I looked up to him and found some sort of steadiness in his presence.  Yes, Boo, being a big brother will be quite a responsibility.  But, you’ll do fine.  I can already tell. 

**(For a bit of orientation, please understand that this story happened before the advent of modern day entertainment.  We had no computers so there was no Plum Vision or Thomas the Train or Sponge Bob Squarepants.  Nor had our movies evolved into the likes of Star Trek, Star Wars, or Avatar.  There weren’t even any forerunners to Nintendo, X-Box or Wii. It was a simpler time and many of the shows we watched were called “Westerns” – stories about the settlement of the great western part of our nation which was the home to Native Americans or Indians.  Everybody rode horses to get around and cowboys were called such because they corralled cattle out on the plains.  As children, we would pretend to be cowboys and Indians, straddling imaginary horses and galloping around as if we truly were riding the magnificent creatures. 

Much of the historic interaction between Indians and cowboys was unpleasant.  The U.S. Army, known as the cavalry, was dispatched to defeat the Indians and take the land.  It is a vital yet disturbing part of our history that you should study.)