This is the third in my series of family stories. It’s now my lucky brother Michael’s turn. And boy have I got stories about him!
Michael is 1 year and 9 months younger than me. When my parents brought this strange creature home from the hospital, I couldn’t pronounce “Michael” so he was “Buckles” to me.
To say that Buckles and I did not get along growing up would be a gross understatement. We fought all the time, sometimes ending in physical altercations. The most memorable was the “claw hammer incident” in which he chased me around the basement while I was riding my tricycle and hit me on the head with a claw hammer. Thankfully not the claw side!
Michael was always getting into trouble. I remember once we had a single solitary watermelon growing in the garden, and one day it was gone. Michael’s face was covered in pink juice as he vehemently denied breaking it open on a rock and eating it.
Despite his rebellious side, he also had his endearing moments. I learned to bake very young (maybe 6 years old?), but I was terrified of the oven. Michael used to put things in the oven for me, and take them out when they were done. Michael had a fear of his own. When our dad used to read How the Grinch Stole Christmas, we had to cover Michael’s ears when dad got to the part about how the Grinch had a “terrible, wonderful idea.” That part scared him every time. Michael also had this plan to climb the aluminum fence that went around our yard to get to the moon.
Michael was a skater in his pre-teen and teenage years. He built a quarter-pipe in our driveway, and a half-pipe in the backyard, where all of the neighborhood boys would hang out.
Michael the skater
Michael showed his artistic leanings early on. He was constantly in the process of painting (with spray paint) his bedroom. Every object in his room was covered in colorful paint. Although I wasn’t allowed in his room, I could tell what color he was currently painting every time I blew my nose.
Somehow Michael and I magically learned to get along when we hit 18 years of age. Michael, who had always teased me for being a vegetarian (calling me “veggie vamp”) became a vegetarian himself. I visited him as he moved from major city to major city around the US. He field-assisted for me in the desert in Nevada when I was working on my Masters degree in geology. He helped collect rock samples, took GPS data, and carried around a big bag full of my rock samples. Not to mention entertaining me by singing around our campsite… I also visited him in Berlin in November 2003 when he was participating in an art show there.
Michael and I have become good friends in adulthood.
Me and my brother Michael.
Michael is currently living in LA with his long-term girlfriend Molly. He is an artist, showing on both the East Coast and West Coast as well as Berlin, Germany. You can check out some of his work on his web site at dodgemahal.org.
Question of the Day (directed at my family members): Any Michael stories to add? Any stories of my cruelty toward Michael growing up?
micheledodge
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{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
I think that the reason I eat fairly healthy now is that I overdosed on candy as soon as I was allowed to have it (around age 10). Overdosing on candy taught me moderation very quickly!
Michael always had a natural talent for cooking. I remember that he would put the weirdest food combinations together, and it would always come out good. I don’t know how he did it.
I don’t remember the crying box. I’d love to know more about it.
Michael is in Lake Powell at the moment, so he probably won’t see this post until he returns. He’s flying up to visit me in a couple of weeks. We’ve planned a camping trip in Yosemite, and we’re both really excited about it. I haven’t spent time in Yosemite in way too long, and Michael and I are both feeling the need to do some camping.
Never did I dream that Chel and Michael would eat so healthy. I denied them both candy when they were young. The only TV show they knew was Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers. Could this have been the start of Michael’s creativity? His mischieveness demonstrated his love of art and creativeness. Michael has been fascinated with sounds. I’ll never forget the “crying box.” There was an empty box under our clothes line. Michael got upset with me one day, I looked out the window and I heard and saw my very first “crying box.” Check out some of his sound creativity, walking around recording sounds when going to college and making a big project. I believe this must have started from the “Crying Box.” My eldest son, I’m very proud of. Michael, Buckles, Mikeyburger (yes, he used to have a specialty making hamburgers (meat) and they were called Mikeyburgers). When Kara was born he called her “een.’ He was not happy that I brought home a baby that took my attention away from him. He smacked her on the head when she was just 3 days old. In my reactiveness to protect baby, I smacked him for the first time. I just sat there and cried because I smacked my Michael that I loved so very much. I enjoy the art pieces that Michael has made and given to me. I wonder if Michael will ever realize how much I love him?
I’m guessing that Michael doesn’t like to be called Mike any more. I remembered when he started calling himself Mike. I didn’t like it myself, so Russell and I kept calling him Michael. He’d sign his school work papers “Mike d.” Don’t ask me why I was looking at his school work… because I don’t know that answer myself.
Now that he’s switched back to Michael, I put “Mike” on e-mails to him…
As an example of some of the arguments Michael and Dad got into: I remember a time Michael and I were going to Fran’s Place for coffee. Dad asked us where we were going and Mike said “Fran’s.” Well, Dad didn’t like that answer and told Michael to stop being a smart ass. Michael said he wasn’t. After a few minutes discussion about that, then Dad ended up realizing that Michael said “Fran’s” not “France.” Dad walked away looking a little embarrassed.
Recently (3-years ago), Michael and I have walked around rural California smoking cigars and discussing a variety of topics. I see us doing that again sometime, even though it may be unhealthy. California tends to cause stress. *Ba-Zing!*
I remember the “veggie vamp” thing. Some kids in the neighborhood actually started calling Michele that too…