My brother, Mac, or as we called him later, George, was 12 years old when I was born. He was always a rather healthy looking, heavy-set individual who could be really serious or really frivolous depending on the people around him and what he intended to do at that point in time. He and Totsie were forever playing practical jokes on each other and on anyone else that might be an easy target/victim.
I remember one cold night in the old yellow house, Mamma and I heated up the clothes iron and put it at the foot of Mac's bed for him to burn his toes on. We moved furtively around the house, snickering and sniggling until he came out of the bathroom and went to bed. We heard nothing and were very dissapointed. Later as Mamma started sliding into her bed in the dark, her toes encountered a HOT iron. Mac had turned the tables on our little joke.
Mac started Clemson the day that I started the first grade. Later he joined the Navy and spent a lot of time in the Mediterranean. I remember one Christmas he sent home a giant box of watches, perfume, chocolate, a swiss army knife for me (that I still have 50 years later) and other knick-knacks. Mamma and I loved that stuff. Daddy got a self winding watch out of the deal and everyone was happy.
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