Memories of my brother, Morris, have always been happy ones for me.
He was an eternal optimist and a hard worker...
I remember too, that he went to work at age 14 to help Mother and Dad support our large family.
There were six of us at home, my two older brothers and my three younger siblings
(two sisters and a brother). We had two half-brothers also but they were grown and lived elsewhere.
When Morris was only eight years old a neighbor had some new puppies he was going to kill.
Morris found out about it and ran over there to try and stop him. He arrived too late for all but one,
and he begged the neighbor for the last puppy.
It's mother was a collie but it's daddy was a coyote, and that's why the neighbor wanted to kill them.
Reluctant, the neighbor gave in and Morris came home with the pup safe in his arms. Our dad was out of a job (again) and we were
forced to live at our grandparents until Dad could manage to send for us.
It was my mother's mother (and step dad) and they were so very good about our being there.
Except Pops didn't want to let Morris keep the pup. He, too, wanted to kill it.
We all threw a fit and our grandmother talked Pops into letting us keep the
Morris named the pup, Brownie, and that dog became a personal bodyguard for all
Brownie wouldn't let our mother, or anyone else spank us in front of her.
They had to take us in the house to get the job done.
Mother was furious about it, but Pops thought it funny and even encouraged Brownie to protect us.
Morris loved that dog and what a good time we all had with her.
What wonderful memories of my brother I have.
The summer I was fifteen, and openly rebellious toward my phlegmatic mother and choleric father.
Morris stepped in and took me off my parents hands. Morris told them I would be better off with him at the
dairy where he lived and worked. He was married by then (even though he was barely eighteen)
and his wife, Mary Lou, was expecting their first baby.
I loved it there and Morris was so much fun.
I helped him at the dairy with cleaning and milking.
It was hard work but Morris made it seem like fun.
We got along beautifully. He was always pulling a joke on me and I tried my best to get him back.
The time I was married to my first husband (I was sixteen), and my husband beat me up,
then took me to my parents home and kicked me out of the car.
When Morris found out about it he made a special trip home to take care of the situation.
My dad put the blame on me, but Morris said that it didn't matter what I had done,
no woman deserved to be beaten.
Morris ask me if I wanted him to teach my husband a lesson but I said no.
I divorced my husband (after only three months of marriage) and went, once again,
to live with Morris and Mary. Mary's brother was there and I fell in love.
Herbert was so sweet and kind to me. Morris encouraged the relationship but it didn't last
and I was soon back at my parents home.
When I finally married the one God intended for me, Morris was so happy for me.
He liked Doran very much and told me that I now had a keeper.
And that has proved to be true, because Doran and I have been married for over forty years.
Morris and Mary Lou lived close to us for awhile, on a farm near Weatherford, Texas.
We would visit back and forth and help each other out of money problems.
We often loaned Morris and Mary money and just as often borrowed from them.
Morris and Skip (my younger brother) both would take my boys hunting or fishing with them.
My sons have fond memories of their times together.
I remember, oh dear
God! I remember...
When I was told that Morris had been shot (between the eyes), I had to grab a chair to sit down.
"No, not again!" I cried. Ten years earlier, we had lost our younger brother, Skip, to murder.
Goodbye, Morris, my dear brother...
I'll meet you in heaven to be
with our Lord forever.
Amen - Come, Lord Jesus.
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