I said I would write some more about my brother Geary, so here it is. We met sometime around my 1st grade year. His grandparents lived in the same neighborhood I did, and Geary's dad, a committed drinker and carouser, left him at his grandparents' on the weekends. After we met and made friends, every Saturday morning, I would hear a loud between-the-teeth whistle, and go outside to see Geary and his German Shepherd, Old Joe, coming down the block. We'd play together all weekend, along with my Airedale, Briar.

Geary was about 3 1/2 years older than me, and often went to different schools depending on where his dad was living, so I only saw him on the weekends and in the summer.
Later on, Geary and his dad moved next door to us (in a different neighborhood now) and we were inseparable. We ran the neighborhood together, drew comic book characters, pantomimed to Beatles records (long before I ever heard the term air guitar), had BB gun wars, and many other things. We did the "blood brothers" ceremony at least 3 times.
One year Geary's dad was going to send him to a relatives to live, and my dad talked him into letting him stay with us, so he wouldn't have to change schools. He stayed with us for I don't remember how long, but then went back.

When Geary was 16 and I was 13, his dad was murdered by his step-mom. That's a whole long story I won't go into right now. Anyway, Geary went to live with his uncle, who also lived in town, and got pretty wild for a year or so. Eventually he went to live with an aunt in California, and joined the Marines at 17. He went to Viet Nam, and was eventually booted from the Marine Corps for smoking marijuana, if you can believe that. It was a different time.

When he came back, he lived with us for a while, until my mom kicked him out for vanishing for two days without calling anyone and losing his job. He had been shacked up with a girl he met and doing LSD.
He went to live with his grandparents, and after a year or so, got busted for selling six diet pills to an undercover cop, and got 3 1/2 years in prison.
By the time he got out, I was married and had a son, and Geary found the woman he eventually married, and was still married to when he died on Thanksgiving. They had two sons.

You would think this rough life might produce someone who was cynical or pessimistic, but you would be wrong. He was loving and generous, and nothing meant more to him than family. And that family was my family, since his actual family had not been kind. He took the lead from my parents, who tended to take in strays (I have another foster brother), and any friends of his sons were welcome at his house, whatever the circumstances. If you had missing parents or bad parents, or whatever, you were welcome to stay at his house, and many did. This is how we formed our tribe, who are the people who will be at his end of life celebration tomorrow night.
I could go on about him, since there was no one like him, but I've probably bored you to tears, if you're still reading this. Maybe I'll write more another time.