I remember the day that my little brother came over to my place just before he was to leave for New York state. This was back when we both still lived in Corpus Christi. He wasn't even 20 yet. My parents were still in shock and pissed that he had decided to go to college away from home. My Mom didn't agree with his decision, especially since he was going away with his girlfriend. My father understood, but he wasn't happy either.

He had decided to go to school for veterinary medicine. Dee always loved animals. Young and idealistic, he packed his bags and moved to Buffalo to study. His girlfriend had relatives there who could lend a hand, should the need arise. It would make them both feel less alone.

I knew why he was leaving. And I was glad that he was. Corpus Christi drains a person's will to leave. And before long, if you're not careful, you become part of the scenery. People seem content to stay there and see the same things everyday. Dee wanted to see as much as he could and there was no way he could do it from his bedroom at my parents' house.

I never told him that the day he left, I cried. I cried both tears of joy and sadness. My brother and I had never been apart for very long. In fact, my brother was as much one of "the guys" as all my other friends. I remember him wanting to hang around with me and Bob and Ariel and LeRoy, my closest friends from high school. We'd break his balls and often that courtesy was extended to his friends, Austen, Tim & Miguel. He grew up listening to the music I listened to and watched the movies I watched.

We didn't always get along given the age difference. Ten years between us kept him from going out with me and my friends. But he was always around when I had them over to my parents' house.

Dee was always a good kid. Smart. Crafty. Funny. Passionate. Kind. Slowly, the young, chubby kid who followed me around started to grow up. Little by little he turned the things I gave him into things of his own. He explored books and music and movies developing his own tastes and expanding his individuality.

One year, I used my income tax money to buy him a Super Nintendo. He used to play Street Fighter so often that he eventually could kick someone's ass with just one button. He used to torture a college buddy of mine, Mike, with that trick. Mike would come by to pick me up and head to the bar and Dee would purposely play SF when he'd show up. Mike couldn't resist playing. Dee would taunt him.

"Wanna play?" he'd ask Mike.

"Okay." Mike would reply picking up a controller.

"Pick a button." Dee would say holding up his controller.

"What?"

Dee would repeat it. "Pick a button."

"Why?"

"Cause I'm gonna kick your ass with just one button." Dee would giggle.

Mike was locked in. He couldn't play games worth a shit and the fact that this high school kid was teasing him just made him want to play more. And no matter what button Mike picked- kicking or punching -Dee would always kick his ass and send my into a huff and out the door.

One of the loves we both shared was our love for Apple computers. My Dad had gotten us an Apple IIc. It had a whopping 512k and a crappy little green screen. We owned that computer for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, we had to upgrade to the Mac Classic II. Then the iMac. In college, I used the LC and the Performa. An outfit in town called Computer Command Corporation was the only authorized service center and retail outlet. The original Apple Store. Dee made friends with Rene, one of the service techs who's brain I'd often pick. I knew Apple computers backwards and forwards. Dee wasn't far behind. He ended up working for Computer Command. That's where his love for Mac's began.

When he was in Buffalo, he had decided against veterinary medicine and wandered from career to career trying to find his niche. He always loved Apple, but there was no place for him to explore job opportunities. He worked for Pottery Barn, Toys R Us and Blockbuster successfully moving up corporate ladder at each place. And then he found out the new incarnation of the Mac retail shops, the Apple Store, was going to build a branch in Buffalo. His first attempt to get into the store was unsuccessful. But that didn't deter him. Eventually, he was able to get his foot in the door and he realized his ultimate dream. He was working for Apple Computers. I remember when he told me that he had been hired. He was ecstatic. He left most of the other jobs, save one, I think, and started on the road to his dream career.

Now, maybe this is where his idealism served him well. Anyone who knows the story of Apple knows that it was the idealistic dreams of Steve Jobs that made the company what it has become. His knowledge of the products and his devotion to the brand made him the perfect salesman. He was charismatic and handsome and well spoken and that didn't hurt him either. 

He had already grown to know more than I EVER knew about Apples. And after I had left Fort Smith, AR, to take the job at Rumbo, he had begun to make plans to transfer himself to the new store that was opening here in San Antonio. Moving here would afford him the chance to start to make his charge towards bigger and better things. And it allowed him to be closer to me and to Mom & Dad.

Today, Dee is a Genius. In all senses of the word. He bleeds Apple. I dare ANYONE to love, honor and respect the silver fruit like he does. For Christ's sake, he's got Mac logos tattooed on his arms. A gift from me. He has traveled to the Mother Ship, the company headquarters in Cupertino, CA. He repairs machines with lightning speed and knows the layout of his store like no one's business.

But more importantly, my little brother has, well, ceased to be little. He is a giant among men. He still has the same fire for his job that he had when he was a chubby little kid punching the noisy keys of the IIc. His tastes in music and film have evolved. But the core of the boy who loved playing video games and basketball and grilling in the backyard haven't changed. It has only gotten better with age.

Its hard for me to be mad at him when I can't get him to answer my calls or text messages. I know what his life must be like because I was there once too. He hasn't quite found himself yet, not completely. In a few more years, things will be clearer to him because I know they were clear to me. So I write this now to tell my little brother how much I love him and that I'll always be here for him. I write this to tell him, if he doesn't already know or refuses to believe, that Dad is just as proud of him as he ever was of me. That Mom champions his every move, no matter how crazy it may seem.

Happy Birthday, kid. You got me in your corner now and always. I love you.

-30-

In about 15 days I'll turn 37. Distant seem the days when I would burn the candle at both ends. The bottom of a beer mug was all to familiar. I remember being 10 or 11 years old in Corpus. Going home from elementary with my cello on the bus. Then high school driving my Dad's 1981, lima bean green Buick Electra. That car was built like a tank.

I'm not trying to be dramatic, but I bring up age because of the passing of someone I only met almost a year ago. His name was Joe, a 93 year old man who's greatest passion, it seemed to me, was eating. The times I'd see him, he always had himself a two-piece & a biscuit. He talked about his meals very fondly. He was a kind man, I thought. We had a few conversations here and there at birthday parties or at his home. I should explain that Joe was the companion of a close friend. I would rather not say much more about her, but that. Moving on.

I didn't know Joe like I would have liked. But everyone always spoke and thought well of him. One afternoon, I was told something about Joe that just blew me away. Apparently, Joe was in WWII. Landed in Normandy. Without a weapon. When deployed to Omaha beach, his superiors informed him that he would not be given a weapon, but instead, he would collect it from the beachhead from any one of the dead soldiers that came before him. He was a radio operator and a Sergeant. And he went undercover in a German concentration camp that also held American prisoners. I'm actually in the process right now of trying to look him up on the Web.

You would never tell it from looking at him. You'd never know Joe was a war hero. And I say that not trying to be patronizing or with any hint of cynicism. He had two children; a boy & a girl. He'd been married before he met my friend. And I thought it was something that he learned to square dance so he could dance with my friend. There's a ton I don't know about him, but that I'm looking forward to finding out.

Joe was born in 1916. Monet painted 'Water Lilies' that year. Paris is bombed by the Germans in The Great War, World War I. The Chicago Cubs played their first game at was is now Wrigley Field (it was called Weeghman Park then). The Saturday Evening Post published its first Normal Rockwell cover. And President Woodrow Wilson sent some 12,000 U.S. troops to the Mexican border to chase down Pancho Villa. We should all be so lucky as to live 93 years. I'd trade any fame or fortune for that kind of time.

And this brings me back to 37. I think I was a little bit bitter a day ago when I Tweeted in anger. I was pissed because the Express-News had cut me and the subsequent loss of income has put me in a corner several times since. Hey, I'm still angry about that, but with Joe's passing, it kind of put things into perspective for me.

After a year in exile from my own home, I've returned. New furniture and fresh paint have turned the house around. And much like the house, Denna has turned my life around. And while I still don't have a job, I have my health. I have Denna & Thomas in my life and that makes me so happy. I'm making movies. I'm living my life the way I was supposed to. And even though I'll be 37, I'm doing pretty well.

Joe was lucky to live through Omaha beach to make it to the ripe old age of 93. I think he enjoyed his food so much because every day after the war was a gift. And in his senior years he learned to love life and everything it had to offer. Especially a two-piece and a biscuit.

-30-