Brothers Come In Many Forms
Some brothers protect us. Some guide us. Some walk beside us and quietly become part of who we are.
My brothers—Jim, Charlie, and Steven—came into my life in different ways and played very different roles. One protected me, one guided me, and one taught me how to become a protector myself. Together, they shaped my understanding of loyalty, courage, responsibility, and the many forms brotherhood can take.
Jim: My Protector
Jim was the oldest brother. From a young age, Dad trained him to be the man of the house, and Jim took that responsibility very seriously. Protecting the family became part of who he was, but he was especially protective of me, his youngest sister.
My most vivid memory happened when I was twelve and Jim was fifteen. Our house was the neighborhood gathering place, and because Mom was usually working, there were often no adults home when the older boys came around.
One day, an older teenage boy who had been drinking took an interest in me. He repeatedly said that he wanted to “introduce me to the sexual world.” Jim heard him.
Without hesitation, Jim picked me up, lifted me over his head, and carried me out of the room. He took me into my bedroom and stood guard at the door. The other boy was older than Jim, a football player, and physically strong—but Jim would not allow him to enter my room or come near me.
The other boys in the house were good friends of Jim’s. When they understood what was happening, they backed Jim up and made the drunk boy leave. Jim remained my guard until the danger was gone.
He was only fifteen, but in that moment he became exactly what Dad had trained him to be: the man of the house and my protector.
Jim cared deeply about people and was always making sure everyone was all right. But that devotion had another side. If someone harmed a person Jim loved or did something serious enough to earn his anger, all hell could break loose. His loyalty was fierce, and so was his temper. The depth of his love and the force of his anger came from the same place—Jim felt everything strongly.
Most of the neighborhood children were younger than Jim, and they all looked up to him. The older boys had dug out a baseball diamond in a clearing in the woods, and Jim was one of the boys who helped build it. Football was played on a soft patch of grass between the houses bordering our yard.
Jim organized the games, chose the teams, and assigned every child a position. Nobody argued with him. If Jim said it, it was law.
He was also very handsome, and most of the neighborhood girls had a crush on him. Jim had no shortage of girlfriends and rarely stayed interested in only one for long.
When Jim was about seventeen, he moved to California. Even while trying to begin a life of his own across the country, he remained worried about me. He knew my stepfather was cruel and abusive, and he tried to persuade Mom to let me go with him. She refused.
Jim could not change her decision, but he tried. Distance never ended the responsibility he felt for his little sister.
After about a year, Jim returned home. He was still the same protective, confident brother, but California had made him older and far more experienced than most boys his age.
His adult life barely had time to begin.
Not long after returning, Mom discovered marijuana Jim had been growing on the roof and flushed it down the toilet. Some of it had apparently been fronted to him, meaning he was expected to pay for it after it was sold.
The following day, Jim was found with a gunshot wound to his arm and another beneath his chin. Police found drugs on him and ruled his death a suicide. I have never been convinced that was what happened. Because of the timing, the money he may have owed, and the circumstances of the shooting, I have always suspected that someone killed him over that debt—although I cannot prove it.
Jim had turned nineteen only two months before his death. His adult life had barely begun.
He spent his childhood protecting everyone else, but when he was in danger, nobody was there to protect him.
Jim was cremated, and we scattered his ashes in the ocean. Soon afterward, Mom insisted that my birthday party go ahead. Everyone there had known and loved Jim, and the grief was still raw. Nobody wanted to laugh, dance, or pretend things were normal. It simply was not a time for a party.
Jim’s life was far too short, but the protection he gave me has lasted a lifetime.
Charlie: My Guide
Charlie was only two years older than me, but he seemed much older than all of us.
We used to call him “twelve going on eighty.” At twelve, Charlie began each morning with coffee, a cigarette, and the newspaper. Meanwhile, thirteen-year-old Jim and ten-year-old me sat nearby watching cartoons.
There were no adults sitting with Charlie or encouraging his unusual morning routine. That was simply who he was—serious, self-contained, and interested in the larger world from a very young age.
By fourteen, Charlie was already working after school. At seventeen, while still attending high school, he became manager of The Garden Drive-In. He supervised the ticket booth and concession stand, handled the money, scheduled employees, and managed the property. He also had his own apartment, which he shared with Billy, who was only two days older than Charlie. At the time, Billy was working at the Fun Center and dating my sister Debbie.
Charlie had worked at The Garden Drive-In for about a year before becoming manager. During that time, he became friends with the woman who managed it. I believe her name was Carol. She was in her thirties and recognized Charlie’s potential.
Carol did not treat him as merely a teenage employee. She saw his intelligence, reliability, and natural leadership ability. She taught him the business, gave him increasing responsibility, and helped him develop the abilities he already possessed.
Charlie must have supervised people his age and older, but nobody objected to taking instructions from him. Everyone simply did what he asked. Charlie was kind, and people genuinely liked him.
Jim and Charlie were both natural leaders, but they led differently. With Jim, nobody argued because his word felt like law. With Charlie, people cooperated because they trusted him and wanted to help him succeed.
After Jim died, Charlie struggled with grief and anxiety. Unity Clearwater gave him somewhere to place that pain. The minister there recognized something special in him, took an interest in him, and began guiding him spiritually.
The church helped Charlie survive one of the hardest periods of his life and opened another path for him. He later became a Unity minister himself. Engineering engaged his analytical mind, while ministry gave him a way to explore spiritual questions and support other people.
Charlie also became an electronics engineer and founded Integrated Metering Systems—IMS.
IMS began by building electrical meters for marinas, allowing individual yachts to connect to shore power while accurately measuring the electricity each one used. The technology later expanded into many other sectors.
During the 1990s, many apartment communities still included electricity in the monthly rent. When those properties began installing individual meters so residents could be billed for their own usage, IMS experienced tremendous growth.
IMS became a true family business. Mom invested in the company, became an owner, and worked there until dementia made it impossible for her to continue.
I began by stuffing printed circuit boards. From there, I moved into inventory and purchasing. I attended school at night to study electronics, then advanced into testing and sales.
Charlie never handed me success. I earned every promotion and every responsibility, although some people assumed otherwise because I was the owner’s sister.
While working in sales, I built a distribution network that extended across the United States. That achievement earned me shares in IMS and made me a part-owner. Later, I became Vice President of Operations.
Charlie guided me every step of the way. He encouraged me, taught me, and even babysat my children so I could attend school at night. He opened doors for me, but I did the work required to walk through them.
I will always be grateful to him for that.
Charlie and I worked together for twenty years and eventually became business partners. The children who had once sat in the same room—Charlie reading the newspaper while I watched cartoons—grew up to help build and operate a successful technology company together.
Eventually, Leviton, a national distributor already selling our meters, made us an offer we could not refuse. They purchased the whole kit and caboodle—the entire IMS company.
By then, Mom was very sick with dementia, and Charlie had met and married Steven, who was from Denver. After the sale, Charlie made Colorado his home.
He later returned to school to study solar energy. I do not know exactly what first led him in that direction, but renewable energy had always captured his interest. Solar brought together many parts of who Charlie was: an engineer’s understanding of energy systems, a thoughtful concern for the future, and a lifelong willingness to keep learning.
That path eventually led him to establish Ecology Solar in Denver.
Charlie still lives in the Colorado mountains with Steven, where deer and even bears visit regularly. He remains exactly what he has always been—exceptionally intelligent, endlessly curious, kind, thoughtful, and naturally respected.
People listen to Charlie because he treats them well. They value his opinion because they trust his mind.
Charlie never carried me, but he guided me while I learned to carry myself.
Steven: The Brother I Protected
Steven became part of my family after Mom married Bob when I was four. I do not remember exactly when he moved into our home, but I never thought of him as merely a stepbrother.
He was my brother, and he still is today.
When we were young, the adults made Steven my responsibility. I had to take him everywhere I went. Whatever I did, Steven did with me. Wherever I went, he went too.
He became my shadow.
Over time, that assigned responsibility became something deeper. I grew fiercely protective of Steven. Nobody messed with him because everyone knew I did not play when it came to my brother. Fortunately, Steven was also a sweet child whom people naturally loved. He was never left standing at the edge of things; he was included in whatever I was doing.
In the same way Jim protected me, I learned to protect Steven.
When I was seventeen, Mom sold the family home and moved us to North Carolina. Steven did not make that move with us, and we lost contact.
Life carried us in different directions. I later returned to Florida, moved to Denver after meeting my first husband, married, and had my daughter Jacque there. When the marriage ended, I returned to Florida with Jacque and continued building a life of my own.
Over the years, I saw Steven only briefly in passing. He was married and busy with his life, while I was raising children and living mine. The childhood bond never stopped mattering, but decades passed without us being part of each other’s daily lives.
I never stopped thinking about him.
A few weeks ago, after thinking of Steven as I often do, I reached out. He was exactly as I remembered him—still my sweet, lovable nerd, enthusiastically talking about whatever subject had captured his interest.
Hearing him again made the years between us feel smaller.
My grandchildren did not even know Steven existed until I called him. An entire generation had grown up without knowing this brother who had once been my constant shadow.
I want to change that.
I want to welcome Steven back into the family, invite him to dinner, and introduce him to the children and grandchildren who deserve to know him. Steven belongs in our family’s story, and I want him to know that he still belongs with us.
Three Brothers, Three Kinds of Love
Jim protected me.
Charlie guided me.
Steven taught me how to become a protector myself.
Each brother came into my life differently, and each one gave me a different kind of love. Jim showed me the safety of fierce loyalty. Charlie showed me the power of patient guidance and earned opportunity. Steven showed me that family is not determined by blood or labels, but by responsibility, devotion, and the decision to include someone in your life.
Brothers come in many forms. Some stand guard at the door. Some help us build a future. Some follow beside us like a shadow and remain part of our hearts even after decades apart.
Jim, Charlie, and Steven are all my brothers.
They always will be.