*Snow White and the Seven Lieutenants* Brooks Brother Stock * Cousin Marcus *Aunt Virginia*

My brother is a proud graduate of the United States Military Academy. West Point. The name is often said in reverence. Robert E. Lee and Eisenhower walked those hallowed halls. And now a new generation is coming through. A new generation is now representing its tradition of honor and duty.
Through his term at West Point, we became very close to his cadet friends. Getting to know them shed a new light on the military for me. I no longer view them as somber, intimidating beings. No visions of Greek mythological warriors are conjured. More Disney like visions comes to mind. At first I envisioned Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. But now I see it more accurately: it’s Snow White and the Seven Lieutenants. There would first be Dopey. Dopey was my brother’s roommate for two years. Tall, good looking, cocky, Dopey reigned from Sin City itself and he was their prince. He drank too much, smoked too much, and cursed too much, yet there was a delightful playfulness to him. Some might call it immaturity, but it was contagious nonetheless.
Being raised in Las Vegas, Dopey never claimed to be well versed in the ways of the wilderness. This was often a topic point of taunting for my brother since he had been raised in the backwoods of Tennessee; some form of Davy Crockett’s blood flowed through his veins. Staring out his window on a cold February day, he spotted a groundhog. Deciding to educate his roommate, he called Dopey to the window.
“Look out there, teach you something about wildlife.”
Dopey struts over to the window, scans the horizon before exclaiming:
“Oh my god a baby bear!”
If the story had ended here, it would have been worth a chuckle. But there are more lieutenants left in this story. One of these is Cuddly. Cuddly was raised in the Bronx in a large Italian family, including a godfather. A godfather who could make offers people couldn’t refuse. Cuddly was a foot shorter than Dopey and built like a fire hydrant. And Cuddly loved hugs. Over a long fall weekend Cuddly joined Dopey in our home. While our family teased and jested with Dopey about his baby bear comment, Cuddly immortalized the story. During our lighthearted mocking, Cuddly pondered,
“I just want to know what that groundhog was doing there anyways. Isn’t he supposed to be building a dam somewhere?”
The sound of absolute disbelief was deafening. Realizing the disturbance of common knowledge in the room, Cuddly leaned to Dopey and whispered:
“I think we’re surrounded.”
Unfortunately Dopey could not last as the brother’s roommate. The smell emanating from their room drew the attention of their superiors who decided that they were compromising the very sanitation of the floor. Possibly the sanitation of the whole Army. Weapons of mass destruction were fermenting under their bed. Germ warfare was growing under their sink. Dopey was moved and my brother received a new roommate: Drunky. Now Drunky, Dopey and Cuddly were all very close friends with a strong unifying bond: alcohol. Lots of alcohol. My brother had been used to a drunken roommate after rooming with Dopey, but Drunky was a slightly different drunk. Drunky was a sleep-peerer.
Drunky was a contradiction within him. Ranked twelfth in the class, he was upheld as a brilliant mind. He had the mind of MENSA member and the bladder of a Clydesdale horse. My brother watched in wonder over the next few semesters as his roomie would stumble in wasted and pass out on his bed. While my brother poured over his books studying, Drunky would sleep. Finally, nature would beckon Drunky. He would rise from his nest in a daze and then stammer in the dark for a moment. After being readjusted to being vertical, Drunky would then proceed to urinate, usually on his bed. And then he would climb right back into his toilet chamber of choice for an evening of wet sleep. Drunky did not limit himself to the bed. There were times when it was his closet. The hat he needed for formation the next morning. His backpack, anything within two feet had at sometime been peed on by Drunky.
To truly appreciate the characters in my brother’s life would require knowing my brother. He would be Grumpy. Serious, accomplished, well spoken, my brother would have made Patton proud. He studies hard, works hard. And he scares the hell out of little children.
His entire life exudes excellence. Especially his wardrobe; after watching Grumpy dress for the past few years, I have decided to buy a large amount of stock in Brooks Brothers. He owns all their sweaters. And he owns duplicates of the same sweaters in order to have “back ups”. This is a man with a plan about sweaters. I know very few guys who own ties. I know less that own more than one. I witnessed Grumpy buy thirteen at one trip. Because you never know when you might have to wear thirteen suits at one time. But to be fair, he wears them. When home for breaks, I would slump down the stairs in my sweats to find him gussied up in a sweater with a collared shirt and tie.
“Big plans today, brother?”
“No.”
While Grumpy’s wardrobe may be plentiful, his conversation skills with his sister are not.
“Well you look all dressed up.”
“Just getting my day started.”
“You look like a professor.”
“Not all of us are comfortable attiring our lives in sweats, Katie.”
Granted, I knew better than to provoke him. But while his conversation skills with me are limited, my utmost desire to harass him is not. I am what my grandmother calls a "ridge runner".
I have found that I happen to be one of the few who enjoys the danger of provoking Grumpy. There’s a fine line between being civil and being verbally torn to shreds. Running along that ridge, feeling the thrill of doom is something very few people toy with. My little cousins not being among them.
Our grandparents were blessed to have eleven grandchildren spread very far apart in age. My cousins are at least ten years younger than me, so it feels more of an aunt/niece relationship. And they adore me. If I were their aunt, I would be that cool aunt that everyone loves. Upon arriving at family gatherings, they sprint to the car to greet me. Their hearts are full of hope of the joys that are to come. But they must restrain themselves. Cousin Marcus has exited the SUV. As Cousin Marcus approaches, a dark cloud falls across their faces. Their running stops. There are no more smiles on their faces. They fall into rank and stare hopelessly at their shoes as he approaches. In complete unison they sing,
“Hi, Cousin Marcus.”
He inspects his platoon. Examining them head to untied shoelaces toe. Once the scrutiny is complete he answers them, “children” and walks on. After the shadow of the angel of death has passed, they run into my arms for comfort. They have survived another passing. The lamb’s blood on the doorpost was sufficient once again.
While Grumpy is not good with children, or even decent, adults love him. One in particular: Crazy Aunt Virginia. Crazy Aunt Virginia was Dopey’s aunt. Being that my brother and Dopey had played out the odd couple scenario to a tee, our families enjoyed each other’s company. So naturally, they invited our family to their family reunion. Dopey’s family hails from New Jersey. A large, Irish Catholic family that is loud and usually not sober. And Crazy Aunt Virginia is one of the matriarchs.
My sister was sitting on the outskirts of the reunion. Seeing as how it wasn’t actually our family reunion, I could understand her discomfort. Someone needed to break the ice. Enter Crazy Aunt Virginia. I don’t know how much she had had to drink at this point, but I like to think none. It makes me happier to believe she always lacks so much tact. She walked right up to the table, extended her hand and declared, “I’m Crazy Aunt Virginia, how the hell are you?”
We are delicate Southern Belles, sweet little flowers that have been nurtured with cotillion and pruned with social grace. We thought this was hilarious.
She stared at my sister before she decided to impart wisdom in her thick New Jersey accent, “you look just like your brother, you poor thing. Never shave your head.”
About this time, Grumpy comes to make his greetings to Crazy Aunt Virginia. She latched on to him before informing us, “This is your brother, Will. I’m going to go kick his ass on the dance floor.”
And that she did. That you did, Crazy Aunt Virginia.