(Tom Jirik wrote columns in several newspapers in Iowa from the late 1980’s to the mid 1990’s.  This column originally appeared in the The Boone Today in the summer of 1988)

I phoned my brother Jamie last night for a damage report.

He is a 6-foot-4-inch teenager who’s waist is smaller than my wrist, legs are longer than both of mine put together and shoes are as big as my car.  He’s also clumsy which is why I was talking to him.  Every week or so I call him for a damage report.  Usually he recites a list of broken bones, furniture, farm equipment- things like that.

He is also prone to convulsions, hay fever and unexpected seizures and growths.  He’s known to local insurance agents as bad risk number one.

Lately we’ve been concerned about a series of bumps that have developed on his legs.  I asked Jaime what they were.

“I don’t know, but they’re kind of cool, though.  They gross-out Mark,” Jaime said.

Mark is my younger brother.  He is two years younger than Jaime and gets grossed-out by things like blood, dead animals, bugs and Jaime.  Jaime doesn’t mind blood or dead animals.  He thinks bugs are neat and wants to make a career out of grossing-out his younger brother.

Mark’s only recourse is that he is extremely talented at irritating the heck out of Jaime when ever he wants to.  A carefully turned phrase or cleverly planned action will send Jaime over the edge into a blind rage.

As far as the damage report was concerned, the bumps had quit growing so there was nothing new this week.  However, Jaime did mention that Mark had developed a large bump on his arm moments before my call.

“What kind of bump?” I inquired.

“Just a bump-black and blue,” he replied.

“What do mom and dad think about it?”

“Don’t know.  They’re not home.”

“Are you sure Mark’s OK?” I asked.  I happen to know that Mark’s personal safety and well-being are not always upper-most in Jaime’s mind.

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Jaime replied confidently.   Why shouldn’t he be confident?  He’d examined similar bumps on his own body many times before.

“How did it happen?” I asked.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Jaime replied, “We were down in the barn figh-playing.. Yeah, playing,” he replied.

“Playing?” I asked pointedly. 

“Yeah, he fell.”

“Did you help him fall?

“Maybe a little.”

Turns out that Mark has a broken arm.  He’ll be in a cast for several weeks.  Jaime has just a touch of a guilty conscience.  He still maintains his innocence though.  “I didn’t do anything.  We were just playing,” he says incredulously.  His facial expression relays shock.  How could we accuse him of breaking Mark’s arm?  After all, they’re brothers.

Not to worry, though.  There is some justice.  Somebody has to do Mark’s chores while he is in a cast.

Now where’s Jaime?

I sure hope he’s not out “playing” with the dog.