My brother, Alton Thomas Childers, 45, passed away on Tuesday, May 24. He was my only brother and the baby of the family.
His childhood name was Bullet and that’s how most people know him. He has been in my life since the day he was born, which was less than a year and a half after I was. I was born April 7, 1969 and he was born Sept. 8, 1970. Being so close in age, the two of us were always together.
We had rough times. I remember we were playing “war” out in the front yard – also known as dangerously throwing rocks at each other without adult supervision. I guess I was about 7 or 8 years old.
We built two fortresses: one for him to hide behind and one for me. I called “timeout” because I needed to go to the bathroom. As I stood up to go do just that, he threw a rock and hit me in the head with it. Blood started pouring down the side of my head and face.
He was so upset, as was I. I’m sure it looked worse than what it was. Cuts to the head always bleed pretty badly, even when they aren’t bad.
We had mischievous times. Once we set a milk jug on fire. It was probably him because I just don’t see me doing something like that. He had put it on a stick. As it burned, it started to melt.
He handed it to me and some of that melting jug landed on my thumb. We didn’t want to tell mom because we were afraid of getting in trouble. If I remember right, my thumb hurt for days. I still have a scar from it.
We had bonding moments. Bullet talked me into climbing a tree beside the house. It wasn’t until I got to the top that I realized I’m afraid of heights and I couldn’t get back down. He climbed back down that tree and went to get mom. She came outside, looked up and stated, “Well, you got yourself up there and you’ll have to get yourself down.” Bullet climbed back up the tree and helped me slowly work my way back down.
Bullet was first diagnosed with cancer about 12 years ago. I fought for three months to get him disability which provided him insurance. He really didn’t want to go through treatment. He did it for me because I wasn’t ready to let go. I just couldn’t imagine a world without him in it. He stayed with me in that tree and I stayed with him as he went through treatment.
Helen Keller said, “What we have once enjoyed deeply we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.”
This column is to my little brother, who was such a big part of my life. I don’t know when I’ll get there, but we will be together again.
Standard reporter Lisa Hobbs can be reached at 473-2191.