I crept up the stairway. My sister Mary was in her bedroom practicing her forensics speech, and I wanted to listen without her knowing. Just as I slithered quietly across the hardwood floor to the room’s doorway, I heard Mary begin speaking. In dignified tones, she spoke of the life and values of a UN General Secretary named Dag Hammarskjold. I pictured myself in her place getting up to speak to an audience and receiving applause when I was finished. My sister’s speech made me sad. The man she spoke of as being so special died in a suspicious airplane accident.
All my older siblings did interesting things. Instead of playing by myself, I often tagged along with them and enjoyed their amazing adventures. I didn’t envy what they were doing because in my mind, I was participating in the adventure along with them.
I never knew what sort of things would happen when following my brothers. Whatever they did, it was always sure to be a lot of fun. On a summer afternoon one of them bought a half a dozen small firecrackers while in town. Just setting them off one after the other didn’t sound like fun. Everyone did that. All six would be used up too quickly. They decided to light a firecracker and put it under an empty soup can: to see how high the explosive would blow it off the ground, and what damage it would do to the can.
Standing far away from the test site, I screamed with excitement when the can rocketed into the air, shooting almost as high as the highline wires. Finding where it landed in tall grass, I crowded in beside my brothers to examine the blackened, bent metal can.
Life Lines 