性视界APP

When it comes to big brothers, I have one of the very finest. His name is Tom.

The day I was born at Martha Gaston Hospital in Lebanon, Tennessee, my big brother, who was all of three years old at the time, walked the halls spreading the word to each stranger he met, 鈥淗i, I鈥檝e got a new baby brother. His name is Jack.鈥�

If someone asked his name, he answered, 鈥淭om Cat.鈥�

Over the years, my big brother has taken great pride in his younger siblings. Whether it was athletic contests, hog shows, or any other special events, our big brother always showed up. He not only invested his time, but also his resources. My younger brothers, my sister, and I have reaped the benefits of his wisdom, his leadership and his example.

I cannot count the times he has come to my rescue. I know of one time he saved my life.

In our earliest days, we lived in a house on the D.T. McCall farm. A central feature of the house was a big, rectangular log cabin.

In time, a kitchen was added to the west end. Not far from the kitchen steps, a big, wooden gate led to the barn lot. The feed barn stood no more than a hundred yards from the house.

Just to the right of the road leading to the feed barn, stood a lone, towering cedar tree. Beneath the tree, a wet-weather pond sprawled out into the barn lot. In the springtime the pond grew to a depth of two feet or more at its center. As summer came on, it was reduced to a wallowing hole for my grandfather鈥檚 hogs.

For my brother and me, that barn lot was a favorite place to play. Because of the pond, my mother had given Tom special instructions, in detail, regarding my safety.

Then came the day, she looked out the kitchen window to view a scene that took her breath. Two little boys, covered in black, pond mud were coming up through the barn lot toward the gate. She ran out of the house to meet us.

Tom was resolutely leading me by the hand back to the house. I, reluctantly, was following along.

My mother tells us we were covered in pond mud from the top of our heads to the soles of our bare feet. But the black pond grime could not obscure Tom鈥檚 glowing face. With great pride, through shining eyes, he called out to her, 鈥淚 did what you told me to do, Momma! Our baby got in the pond, but I didn鈥檛 leave him to come and get you. I stayed with him, Momma. I stayed with him 鈥榯il I got him out! I did what you told me to do!鈥�

Tom was five years old when he pulled me out of that pond.

Fast forward to the fall of 1965.

I was somewhat apprehensive as I began my freshman year in high school. Eighth grade boys who were looking forward to high school heard stories of beltlines and worse things done to them by upperclassmen.

On my first day as a freshman, I was standing in the hall with two of my buddies when two seniors approached us. One of the upperclassmen grabbed one of my friends by the arm, and then, with the stone of his class ring turned to the inside of his hand, the senior popped a knot on the top of my friend鈥檚 head.

As my buddy grimaced in pain, the senior grabbed my arm with every intention of giving me the same medicine. That is when the other senior said, 鈥淟eave him alone. That鈥檚 Tom鈥檚 brother.鈥� My antagonist let go of my arm.

Over the next couple of weeks, those words became music to my ears: 鈥淒on鈥檛 bother him, he鈥檚 Tom鈥檚 little brother.鈥� 鈥淟eave him alone. He鈥檚 Tom鈥檚 brother.鈥� By the third week, upperclassmen were calling me 鈥淟ittle Tom.鈥� It was not a bad place to be.

So, I鈥檓 big on big brothers.

The passing of the years has not changed his looking out for his younger siblings. To me, that鈥檚 a cause for celebration.

On my 鈥淏ig Brothers Day鈥� holiday we could celebrate the lives of our big brothers or little brothers or even our big sisters and little sisters. And those who don鈥檛 have natural brothers or sisters, as well as those who do, could celebrate the lives of their brothers and sisters in Christ.

Or we could take it a step further, and, on that day, celebrate the brotherhood and sisterhood of mankind. We could even consider loving our enemies on that day. The possibilities are endless.

Just a thought, but I think I could be on to something here.