He was a quiet kid, my little brother. A loner, who preferred reading books to sports, and helping Mom cook, over more manly chores. Mostly, he tried to stay out of the way in our unhappy household. He was a tenderhearted, gentle giant of boy who only had one passion: he wanted to be a Soldier when he grew up.
He tried to enlist at the first opportunity. They turned him down due to weight and elevated blood pressure, and it nearly destroyed him for awhile. Then it motivated him, and within six months of a grueling fitness program, he passed the physical. Off to boot camp he went, happier than I'd ever seen him.
He came home on pass before shipping out to Nam, looking so tall and proud in his beloved uniform. He was finally a man, even in his fathers harsh judgment: he'd finally done his Dad proud, for the first time, after years of being ridiculed and belittled by this hard, unyielding man he loved so much, and so much wanted to emulate.
The day he left, I was hanging clothes in the back yard, my two little girls playing nearby. He spend some time with each of them, he loved them so much, and they loved him just as much. I can still see him with one riding on his back, the other in his strong arms, both little ones giggling, Jerry smiling from ear to ear.
Then he held out his arms to me, enfolding me in a great big bear hug, and in that moment, I knew. I just knew I would never see him again.