He Ain't Heavy - Written 1/4/08

As much as I’d like to say that my fearless, almost amused grin across my face was a product of audacity and a certain aversion to cowardice, declaring such would be lying. And, in my family, with my brothers, that assertion would be shot down before it ever took off. According to Pops, the biblical Cain represented all that the Vernon brothers stand against. “What am I, my brother’s keeper?” My dad had only one answer to that: “Damn right you are.”

You see, despite everything that my brother Billy may have achieved, my father taught him from the time I departed the womb that my success was his success, my failure his. Legend has it Billy’s first words came in phrase, not “Momma” or “Dada,” but “He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother,” and, “We’re gonna stick together like glue.”

I can definitively say this photograph is my dad’s favorite. All that mattered in our relationship was captured in the picture. There were no extraneous, meaningless details; as he used to say, we cut out the bullshit and figured out what really mattered. This moment in time defines all that was our relationship; two boys leaning on each other on the brink of a new challenge, the first day of a new school year. We confronted every new trial with a blind trust; there was no need to ask one another to be there; each other’s presence was a given.

My dad hoped for us to develop that confidence in each other every single day of our childhood, and the vehicle he used was athletics. Dad would take us out in the front yard, hand us a ball and a bat, and leave us for the day. My mom used to pester my dad, fearing that the daily grind would tear apart the grass. Undoubtedly stealing the line from a favorite film or book, he’d reply, “I’m not raising grass, Jean. I’m raising boys.” And he was; bonds formed as we grew closer with each successive pound of the mitt. Inevitably, Bill and I played on the same intramural teams growing up. And despite an obvious competition even between teammates and brothers, whatever we did, we did together.

For us, the same rule applied academically, and it still does. A bad report card for the younger meant a lack of leadership from the older. A teacher claiming I constantly step out of line reflected poor guidance by my brother. Despite the age difference, despite the grade difference, whatever we did in school, we did together.

And finally, throughout our youth, Bill’s social life was my social life. When he went over to somebody’s house, I went with him. When a wise-ass kid had the bright idea to mouth off to me, Billy laid down the hammer (just in case I hadn’t already, of course). “You keep an eye on him,” my dad used to tell him. “Remember, the strain gets stronger. Wherever you two go, whatever you two do, you do it together.”

The same year this picture was taken, U.S. News & World Report published a story by Erica E. Goode, whose research showed that, “Sibling relationships outlast marriages, survive the death of parents, resurface after quarrels that would sink any friendship. They flourish in a thousand incarnations of closeness and distance, warmth, loyalty and distrust.” My father was the oldest of four brothers, and he had since learned the truth of Goode’s claim. With ties unlike those of any other pair; with a truly resilient, nearly indestructible relationship, my brother guided me as I entered a new phase of life, while never taking that hand off my shoulder.