Mom and Dad left the safety and security of Wisconsin in the late summer of 1961, where Mom's family lived, to move to North Dakota, to a small town on the prairie where there was a hardware store for sale.
They moved into a new 3-bedroom house situated on two lots. To the North was a wheat field as far as the eyes could see. The school was only 2 blocks away, which was a bonus. Although 3 bedrooms, the house was only about 900 square feet or so, with an unfinished basement. For those of you that have been there, imagine the house without the family room and without the back porch. Now imagine raising 3 children there, with one bathroom and a 1-car detached garage!
Unlike me, Bruce was born in North Dakota (I was born where my parents met - in Wisconsin). Yet another reason for big brother Mickey to miss his baseball games for feeding time (he says he missed a good deal of his childhood having to give me the bottle).
Being only 13 months old at the time, I don't remember the fuss everyone made, although I understand aunts and uncles came bearing gifts for the newborn prince. Less than a year later we almost lost him to the flu - he ended up in the hospital with an IV in his tiny foot trying to keep him full of fluids. The rest of us got the milder form of the bug and stayed at home in bed. Or maybe it was measles - I don't remember that either!
My first memory of my little brother was at Grandpa Fred's house in Oakes, ND. His house seemed like a mansion to me, a three-story built in the early 1900's, with a pool table on the top floor! Bruce and I were running around the house like 2 and 3 year olds do, and we stopped for a picture, with Bruce putting his arm around my neck. For years after that I claimed that he was trying to kill me even then.
My next memory (7 or 8 maybe?) was asking a babysitter "when I turn 8, will I be able to beat him up"? It was a serious question from the serious child that I was. Bruce was a physical boy, and would punch my arm to annoy me every day until I left North Dakota.
One day, in my teens, I learned how to use one of my powers. He had just punched me, and although I wasn't really hurt, I collapsed on my bed and started to cry hysterically (crocodile tears). He started singing to me and telling me jokes just to make me stop crying. "Do You Love Me", from Fiddler on the Roof still makes me giggle to this day.
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