For My Brer on Father’s Day

Brer is my brother, John.  When we were kids he was overly fond of that very dark,  highly viscous fluid known as Brer Rabbit syrup.   That is why I call him Brer.  Sometimes we would run out of the “good” syrup and rather than suffer the agony of ingesting that thick stuff, I would do without the pancakes or waffles our mom had prepared.  From scratch (how else? ).   Anyway, this is not about my inclination toward thin syrup or my mother’s culinary wizardry; it is about my Brer.  And yes, it is Father’s Day.


For the record, I have written about fathers in prior blogs.  On 5 November 2008, I posted Real Dads of the Darker Nation – Part 1, and on 9 November, Remembering Daddy, writing of my father, who is still very much a part of me, though he died 44 years ago.  On 21 June 2009 I posted Real Dads of the Darker Nation – Part III, writing of men who become fathers to the children of another.  And on 24 February and 13 December 2010, and 8 December 2011 I posted writings about my Sweet Pea’s father, Charles Richards. 


Today, while thinking of my father, Charles, and my friends who assumed the role of father in the absence of fathers, I also think of my brother.  Somehow, Brer has morphed into the patriarch of our little Hoxie clan – not because he is the oldest surviving male – but because he has truly become just that.  Sons do not always assume responsible roles in the stead of their predecessors.  Samuel, the prophet, who anointed young David, son of Jesse and later to become king of Israel, had, to put it bluntly, lousy boys.  They were unfit to succeed their father in God’s work.  I am sure without much thought, you, the reader, can think of the mishandling of well established business by succeeding generations – some you may even know personally.  The deal is, all are not fit to walk the path or assume the responsibilities of their predecessors.  We Hoxies fared well in this regard.  Lewis and Lillie conceived and gave birth to John Chester.  As it turns out, that was a good thing.  


Brer is more than a brother; he is my earthly rock.  He gives wise counsel, listens as I verbalize my wildest thoughts – without judging, solves problems, and mediates disputes fairly (and, yes, mediators who help others resolve conflicts still have their own with which to contend).  He even understands my warped sense of humor (a major plus).


Brer is a father and grandfather of natural, adopted and blended-in children; he claims them all without distinction.  And for him, father is not just a label.  He reminds me a lot of our father with his stern exterior and kind heart – like Napoleons – that hard candy with the soft, chewy stuff inside.  He even looks like our father, a little slight on the vertical side, large eyes, strong jaw, and everything else.  Brer has shown me decades of stability and dependability.  On top of all that, he is a really, really smart guy.  And to beat all of that, he knows the Word from cover to cover, and will remind me, quoting book, chapter and verse, when appropriate. 


Weird – perhaps Brer is also psychic.  He just called with an early birthday greeting, and to invite me to lunch tomorrow.  Is he peering over my shoulder?  Spooky.  :)


None of this is to say Brer is perfect (there is none perfect but Jesus, the Christ), or even good (there is none good except God my Heavenly Father). Brer’s got his little idiosyncracies and warts; still, for a sentient  being who puts his pants on one leg at a time like the rest of us, Brer is pretty much the cream of the crop.  It is good to have a brother who not only shares the same blood, but shares himself.  Like Lewis Hoxie, a real father of the darker nation, so goes his son, my brother, John.