Well, we're orphans now, and you know they'll have to split us up, cause nobody's gonna want all three of us.- my brother Rodney, after the death of our mom.
Early in 1959, when I found out my mom was expecting, I began to pray.
Though I often accompanied my dad in his daily activities as a farmer and small businessman, many other times I stayed at home.
Alone in a house full of women: my mother and two sisters. At ten years of age, I felt outnumbered. Although I loved them (especially you, Deb), I sensed that males and females are different.
And that I needed some backup, you know, another guy. Someone to be guys with.
So I began to pray. Fervently. I prayed for a little brother.
At 8:30 p.m. on October 21, 1959 (Daddy's 33rd birthday), Rodney Phillip Tolar arrived in the world.
I won't meditate on the theology of answered prayers or God's purpose in ordaining the events of our lives other than to say all things work together for the good for those He has called to be His children.
I'll just say God blessed me with a little brother.
The difference in our ages eliminated any serious possibility of sibling rivalry. Just a cool little guy and (I hope) a cool older guy hanging out with each other.
And as he grew older, partners in crime.
And better than that, partners in rock and roll.
It is typical for musical tastes to be passed down (or even up) among siblings. When it came to sitting up all night, playing loudly, we were pretty much in lock step.
Sadly, as we both moved around, following jobs, his above-quoted prediction has gradually come true. I haven't seem Rod in several years and spoken to him only briefly a few times.
No reason really other than time, distance and inertia.
I do miss him and his zany, outrageous humor. And just the hanging out, doing the guy thing and not talking much if at all.
And I'm still praying for him.