A snow storm with 3- to 5-inches of cold, wet snow is the perfect opportunity for older brothers to exert their dominance over their younger brothers. As I watched from the kitchen window, I saw Harrison pelt his younger brother – they were so wrapped in coats and hats that I can’t tell you which one it was – in the head with a snowball.
The trouble with snow in Georgia is that it’s not fluffy, powdery stuff but wet, icy stuff, and snowballs in Georgia hurt.
A few minutes later, Nathan came into the house – snow and ice falling off his clothes and a rapidly growing puddle forming underneath him. His cheeks were red, his teeth were chattering.
“Harrison hit me with a snowball,” he said. “Then he hit me with another one and another one and he just kept throwing snowballs at me.”
Having been a younger brother all my life, I have sympathy for my two younger sons, Nathan and Robert. I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of an older brother’s cruelty.
I walked outside and yelled into the backyard: “Harrison, don’t bully your brothers!” That was when I got hit upside the head with a snowball. Like Clint Eastwood in ‘Fist Full of Dollars,’ I spun – grabbing up a clump of snow from the tops of the bushes as I did – and fired, nailing Robert in the face.
Whoops!
I was sure that had been Harrison sneaking up behind me. I’d come outside to offer my protection to the two little boys, and inadvertently smacked Robert in the face with a snowball. I hurried back inside before I caused more damage.
A little while later, I saw Harrison rolling up a huge pile of snow. He was on the back porch. My wife walked outside, and when she came back in she said, “He’s making that snowball for you.”
I went out the front, gathered up my own snowball, and laid in wait behind some bushes. My feet started to get cold, and I thought I was going to have to abandon my plans of ambush and just charge, but Harrison finally came around the side of the house.
I launched my snowball and, of course, missed him. Typically I would have hit him, but I wasn’t wearing gloves, my fingers were numb, and … oh yes, the sun was in my eyes. Harrison launched his snowball at me shot-put style and I rushed out of the way.
Harrison and I exchanged volleys for a few minutes, and Robert and Nathan both got in on the action, too. But snowball fights don’t hold the attraction for me that they once did, and with numb fingers and numb toes and ice plastered to the side of my face and in my ear, I surrendered and decided to retreat inside.
But before I did, I pulled Harrison off to the side. “Be nice to your brothers,” I said. “Avoid a problem and don’t bully them.”
“Tell them not to bully me!” Harrison said.
I frowned at him. “You’re big enough to take care of yourself,” I said. “I want you to be nice to your little brothers.”
A little later, I decided to get a camera to capture the kids in the snow so that we’d remember the Blizzard of 2009. I walked back out with camera in hand, and I realized that Harrison had good cause to be nervous.
Harrison had slipped in the ice, and immediately both of his brothers pounced. I have a series of pictures of Nathan throwing armloads of snow on Harrison and Robert dancing around him and pushing him back down any time Harrison tried to get up. To make things worse, our year-old Labrador was also dancing around him and jumping on him anytime he tried to recover.
Gleefully, I shot pictures of The Revenge of the Little Brothers, but at length I started feeling bad for Harrison. “Okay, boys, don’t bully your big brother!” I told them.
Then I dashed inside to save the camera as all three boys, and the dog, charged toward me.
Rob Peecher is author of the book Four Things My Wife Hates About Mornings. This column was originally published in 2009.