"Why didn't you tell me about your brother?"

We were sitting and talking for about an hour before we finally took a break to get something to drink. I had brought my college boyfriend home to meet my family and during this beverage moment, my boyfriend quietly pulled me aside and said, “Why didn’t you tell me about your brother?” I looked at him and whispered back, “What about him?”

I honestly didn’t know what he was talking about. I just said, “Well, yeah, he talks a lot. And he’s loud. Sorry about that.” Because he did and he was. My brother, Steve, had strong and boisterous opinions on anything and everything and no one could budge him from his ideas. Not that I ever listened. My boyfriend looked at me and said that he wasn’t asking about his “speeches” but about his physical stuff. His physical stuff? Oh yeah, I guess he’s a little different, but growing up with Steve and being 6-1 ⁄ 2 years younger than him, his disabilities were given little or no attention - at least by me. He was just Steve. My loud and verbose brother.

Steve was born with clubfeet and cerebral palsy. I learned, later when I was more mature and more interested, what doctors did 70 plus years ago to address clubfeet. It wasn’t pretty. His palsy was more or less limited to his hands. For a few years my parents thought that Steve was just hyper active. Once they learned what was really going on, due to their limited funds, they had to temporarily sign my brother over to the state in order to get medical assistance, to get help to teach him how to manage and control his shaking hands in order to perform fine motor skills. And for the most part he did. And over time his feet, too, got better and he soon walked. The only leftover signs from his clubfeet was a swagger - honestly, at the time, the only cool thing I thought there was about him.

I’m ashamed to say that it took me a long time to truly listen to Steve's orations, but once I did, I sat up and paid attention. Because with every breath he took, every word he wrote and every sermon he gave, Steve took every opportunity to stand for those he believed were being treated unjustly. The sidelined, the rejected, the minority, the poor, the bullied. He fought relentlessly for every underdog. Because, unbeknownst to me and my self-centered world, he was one.

Steve has spent his life speaking for those who couldn’t. And he’s made a significant difference in his world. You could not leave your time with Steve - whether short or long - unaffected. We all returned to our lives with a greater awareness of our world and somehow a commitment to do better for those who have been labeled less than.

Steve is now 77 and due to age and muscle weakness, his walk is unsteady and his hands are hard to control. All of which breaks my heart. AND he also rarely talks. Not sure why but, rest assured, his heart remains beating for those underdogs. Just this past week when I visited him and his family, he was in the midst of a massive sized book written about one of his heroes, Martin Luther King, Jr. And when I did want to rile up that old passion, I would bring up a name or a topic that I knew would trigger him, and off he went…for a few minutes. And in those brief moments, all was right with my world.

I wish I had the chance, again, to answer that question, “Why didn’t you tell me about your brother?” Because this time I would say, with great pride, “I know. I know. He talks a lot and loudly, but keep listening. And also be prepared. You won’t agree with everything he says, but you will walk away changed and look at life, especially people - all people - with a renewed determination and commitment to do a much better job of loving them, caring for them and standing for them. That’s just what he does. Yeah, that’s my brother. Steve.”