TWENTY 8[|METll||llli

by tnumas lienninn

hen I was young, my
wfamily lived in a small

New Hampshire town.
Our house was nestled in the
woods, and on the road to our
barn, there was a giant rock. I
loved that rock. It was mam-
moth, charcoal gray, exposed
on two sides, and encrusted
with dead trees on back. It had
a slope effect that made it
exciting to climb and walk to
the highest point, where you
felt as if you were on the edge
of a cliff.

Whenever I felt sad, which
was often, I would go to that
rock and sit — just sit and think
about whatever childhood
angst was plaguing me. Its size
made me feel safe, as if noth-
ing could harm me when I was
on it. (Stay with me, pumpkins;
I know I lost a few of you
there.) I would sit for hours,
thinking how I would construct
the world if I were its architect.
It was completely exposed, but
somehow, when I was on that

- lvrock, I feltnhidden from: all the S

evil in the world.

My brothers and I would
play warrior there. The trick
was to get on the rock first so
the others, wielding limbs from
dead trees, had the disadvan-
tage. If they stormed the rock
in force, you would abandon
the fortress and find a more

 

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Solid as a Rock

powerful woodland weapon.

When we weren’t playing
warrior, we were daring the
others to jump from the rock,
with nothing but the rocky
earth to break the fall. Hey,
when you grow up with an all-
brother ensemble in the coun-
try, you’re forced to find
adventurous ways to spend
your time.

The rock would also act as a
shield when we got into epic
acorn wars. Oh, pumpkins, you
haven’t lived until you’ve
played war in the forest with
nothing but a birch branch and
a pocket full of acorns as
weapons. We were merciless
(which might explain my com-
petitive streak), throwing those
acorns with all we had, climb-
ing trees, ducking behind the
rock, and doubling back for
surprise attacks.

It has been years since I was
in an acorn war. I have grown
up; times change and events
ensure you can never have that
exact moment again. I under-
stand that, but every now and

then I miss those times. I real-
ized that when I went home for
the weekend recently.

I have spoken often of how I
miss my brother Sam, who
died several years ago. I rarely
speak of my other two broth-
ers, Michael and Nicholas.

December 1999 | Out in the Mountains |11

least amount of time. We were
young and the world didn’t
seem so overwhelming, people
didn’t seem as complex, and all
we needed was each other.

I am older now and don’t see
my family as often as I would
like. Gone are the
Thanksgiving football games,
aftemoons spent sledding, and
late nights in the kitchen mak-
ing holiday omaments. What
isn’t gone is their love. I look
into the faces of my family and
see so much love. I am so for-
tunate to have a family that,
despite years of dysfunction
(I’m talking dysfunction super-
sized), love one another. I wish
you could feel the love I have
for my brothers. I am not an
emotional person, I have said

You haven't lived until you've played war
in the forest with nothing but a birch
branch and a pocket full of acorns for

weapons.

Seeing then that weekend
reminded me how much I love
and miss them. I miss running
with Nicholas as his little feet
tried to keep up and his hand
clutched mine desperately. (It’s
a wonder I never pulled his

arm out of the socket!) I miss.

planning brotherly pranks on
my siblings, playing arcade
games, even competing over
something ‘as’ simple ‘ ‘drinking
the most glasses of water in the

* * phnenlxrisinn* ,

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uwwl

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repeatedly, but I when I think
of my love for them, it is a
Hallmark and FTD commercial
all rolled into one.

I may no longer have that big
rock to protect me or be that
little boy running around with
a pocketful of acorns trying to
be “king of the rock.” I don’t
think the day will come again
that ‘I put on brown corduroy
overalls,’ jump on a pig, and

ride it until it bucks me off into
the mud. But I will always
have those memories. When
things get too crazy, I can just
close my eyes and remember
four little boys under the cov-
ers in a single bed during a
lightning storm, each telling
the others it would be okay in
one breath and a scary story in
the next.

Those boys are my rock, and
I love them and am proud of
them. We experienced some
things that no one, especially a
child, should ever have to
experience, but we also were
given each other as a gift and a
shield to survive those experi-
ences and to thrive as individu-
als and a family.

I don’t know were I was
going with all this, except that
being reminded of that rock
and the time spent on it
reminded me what is important
to me in my life. Obviously,
that’s my family and friends,
but there is more. It is the qual-
ity of life that rock represents
that I have come to realize is
crucial to my happiness.

I fell off that rock and got
banged up more time than I can
remember, but I kept going
back because of all the love
and joy that surrounded it. I
hope for you, pumpkins, that
you find your “rock,” and you
not only realize it, but cultivate
it.

I love you,
Nicholas.V

Michael &

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