My youngest brother’s birthday is October 7. The date may have been stained by historic events in Israel, but it is still honored by the advent of my brother Matt, who was born on that day.
Preface: Matt, My Littlest and Largest Brother
If you have read my stories of adventures with my other brothers, you may have noticed that my youngest brother, Matthew, is seldomly mentioned. There is a reason for that. Matt was not around. The youngest brother before him, Dael, was 8 years old when Matt was born. I was 13. Matt missed a big part of the family history.
He was two years old when Dad left the Navy and we moved to Kansas. Matt grew up in Kansas, and has lived in Kansas all his life. Not me. When Matt was 5 years old, I left the home, and left Kansas. Though I haven’t been around for much of Matt’s life, I have gotten to know him, more or less. He has had some adventures that I was a part of. If you have read the stories about my other brothers, you might have sensed a measure of pride in them. They all had great hurdles – which I didn’t tell you about – to overcome, and they overcame them. Of all of us, Matt has had the most difficult hurdles to get over, and it is he, my littlest and largest brother that I am most proud of.
And Then We Were Seven
Dad’s last tour of duty in the Navy was on a Naval Air station in Puerto Rico. We moved there as a family of six toward the end of the summer of 1965. The next year, we celebrated Fathers’ Day at home. It was a little unusual for us to pay much attention to Fathers’ Day, but none of us gave it much thought. That is until Mom handed Dad a gift with a Fathers’ Day card. Dad read the card out loud. It was a typical, sentimental, unrememberable card until it got to the mysterious, cryptic ending. It went something like this, “With love for a special father from Number 5.”
Mickey, Joel, Dael, and I were confused. One of us, probably Joel, said “Number 5!” out loud. Dad’s face smiled as he said, “What your mother is trying to say is, she is going to have another baby.
Of course we were all happy and excited with the news. It was no secret Mom and Dad were hoping to have a little girl. At one point Mickey even predicted it would be a girl. I don’t remember making any predictions, myself. I guess I sort of hoped there would be a sister in the family, but I did not have much invested in the prospect. I think I secretly preferred a brother for the novelty of being 5 brothers, and also because that’s what I was used to.
In the first week in October, one night Dad rushed Mom to the hospital while we four boys stayed home. It would be our last opportunity to get into some sort of mischief as the four Waxman brothers. We did – but not too much mischief, because it was a school night. Early Friday morning, when I came to the kitchen, I saw that Dad had written a big announcement on the blackboard (Yeah, we had a small blackboard in the kitchen for leaving notices or keeping reminders.), “Can You Believe It’s A Boy?” Our family dynamics had suddenly changed forever.
[Quick side note: I was surprised to see my father using that structure, “Can you believe . . .” It had become popularized at the time by a TV sitcom, “Get Smart,” which I don’t believe my father was a fan of. He must have picked it up from people he worked with.]
Adventures With Matt Before He Knew Anything
What branded us as a unique family was that we traveled together. In Puerto Rico, we did not have weeks-long camping trips like before. But we did have a few excursions on the island.
One time, months before Matt was one year old, Dad wanted to explore the southern part of the island of Puerto Rico. It was a trip that lasted about four days. It’s very possible that our dog, Gypsy, came with us, too.
It’s hard to imagine now, but then we traveled with three in the front seat, three in the back seat, and the luggage and a baby in the wayback of the station wagon.
One time the baby woke up and cried for a few seconds. Mickey, who was sitting in the back seat with Joel and me, reached his arm over the back seat and into the crib in the wayback. As soon as Matt saw Mickey’s hand invading his space, he attacked the hand with both of his, and clutched the thumb and pinky finger with his own two hands. Matt must have studied that hand for at least 5 minutes, gurgling and talking to it in language only he – and perhaps the hand – could understand.
Before Matt could walk, he could dance. Of course any baby that Mom ever got ahold of danced on her lap as she would sing, “Tanzi, Tanzi,” while bouncing the laughing infant up and down. Matt, though, could dance on his own, standing and bouncing in place. When he heard music, he would rock from side to side. That became his signature move. We all encouraged it. Even the neighbors would coax Matt to dance. It was fun to see Matt dancing and always smiling.
Our last big, long family trip occurred before Matt turned 2. Dad left the Navy, and the family left Puerto Rico. I did not think of it at the time, but now I often try to imagine the amount of stress Dad must have been under that summer. You would not have known it from watching him on the flight from San Juan to New York. Matt sat on his lap, or stood on his lap, and the two kept each other entertained for miles and miles. I sat several rows back, and I could hear Dad playing with the baby and teaching him new words. Matt seemed to like the word “shoes,” so Dad kept saying “shoes,” again and again, in a high-pitched sing-song voice, getting Matt to repeat after him, “Shoooooos.”
When Silence Ended
As with all children, Matt learned to talk in phases. Unlike most people, Matt didn’t learn to stop talking. The lack of this one skill – being quiet – is usually seen as a deficit. But Matt has used it to his advantage. He always has something to say, and apparently, it makes him a more social being. People like Matt. They enjoy his humor.
I, on the other hand, have never gotten used to the constant talking. I used to think it reflected Matt’s insecurities. Now I think it’s just a habit that Matt sees no reason to get rid of.
You see, Matt was born with a genetic anomaly that has had some physical and emotional consequences. He began shooting up in height when he was still a boy. I believe the awkwardness of towering over everyone else in the room contributed to a lack of self-confidence, which, in turn, became a major obstacle to Matt’s progress in the world.
I was not there when Matt was growing up. So, on the occasions when I got to see him and watch him, I really could not comprehend his reluctance to take small risks, to do things I thought of as not risky at all, but apparently were well outside his comfort zone. When we would do something together, such as playing catch with a ball, there was always something he wouldn’t even try. Instead he would just say, “I can’t do it,” and he would give up without trying.
Just as an example: One winter – I’m not sure what year it was – I was in Kansas. The roads were a little slippery, and the inclined driveway at Lindenhouse was slippery. One day, when I pulled up the driveway, Matt’s vehicle was stopped outside the garage, blocking me from putting my vehicle in the garage. Matt got out of his car and tried to tell me he couldn’t get his car in the garage. I told him to just drive it in. He had a million ways to say “I can’t,” and I refused to listen to any of them. I ended up yelling and screaming like a crazy man, telling Matt to stop talking and just drive his vehicle into the garage.
With me screaming and yelling like that, Matt lost his patience, got into his car angrily, stepped on the gas aggressively, and a second later his car was squarely in the garage without hitting or damaging anything. I followed, and despite the ice on the driveway, I managed to get my car squarely in the garage, too, next to Matt’s.
I have never been pleased with or proud of my behavior that day. But I am sure my yelling and my refusal to listen to any excuse motivated Matt to quickly put his car in the garage. Like a true Waxman, Matt quietly went in the house, and neither of us spoke about this incident.
Matt Comes To Israel
A year after I finished the regular army, Matt came to Israel with a Jewish youth group. I think he was 17 years old at the time. One weekend I met him in Jerusalem, I think, and brought him to Ofaqim, where I was living.
We travelled by bus. I tried to point out the wonders of the land between Jerusalem and Ofaqim, where the people of Israel had made the desert bloom. But I think it was lost on Matt, who must have still been suffering jet lag.
Nothing dramatic happened while Matt was visiting me in Ofaqim. I was still bothered by his lack of self-confidence. It was apparent whenever we would walk around. Granted, it was a strange environment for Matt. I heard kids ask in Hebrew, “What is the weather like up there?” But I didn’t say this to Matt. We were still strangers to each other. I had already been toughened by a few years living in Israel, including a stint in the army, and Matt was still in high school.
Low self-esteem, lack of self-confidence – they just don’t work in Israel. You get trampled if you don’t stick up for yourself. No brother of mine is going to get trampled if I’m around. The problem is, and always has been, I was never around.
On Sunday, we went back to Jerusalem. I should mention here that traveling by bus from Jerusalem to Ofaqim and back was not as easy as, say, riding a bus from Kansas City to Topeka. In the states, you buy a ticket, you get on the bus, you sit down in a seat, and you take it easy as the bus carries you to the destination. In Israel, you have to fight to get on the bus, and then you have to make your way down the aisle to find a place to sit, if there is a seat available, or to stand if there isn’t.
To get from Ofaqim to Jerusalem, first we took a bus to Be’er Sheva, and then we had to wait for a bus to Jerusalem. On Sunday mornings the bus stations are crowded with people returning home and soldiers returning to their bases after Shabbat. The bus company, Egged, added buses to Jerusalem that Sunday, and still it was a struggle to get on a bus. Fortunately, nobody had to stand on our bus from Beer Sheva to Jerusalem.
Once we got to Jerusalem, though, the city buses were a different story. Most people try to be civil and respectful of other passengers. But there are always a few, or many, younger people who don’t notice other people around, and just forge ahead to get on the bus and claim a seat. This made it difficult for Matt and me to board a bus, especially for Matt, who had never worn combat boots up to that point. But we managed.
At the next bus stop, Matt and I were to part ways. He had instructions for getting back to his youth group, and I had my own plans for the day. While waiting for Matt’s bus, in lieu of the normal good-byes, I kind of coached Matt to be more assertive. I told him things like he had just as much right to be on the bus as anyone else, and he shouldn’t let anybody get in his way.
The coaching paid off. When Matt’s bus came to the bus stop, Matt was not the first one on the bus. He definitely was not the last, either. Once Matt was on the bus, I could not see him. But I could trace his movement from the front of the bus to nearly the back of the bus when I heard voices of other young men and women – “Ow!” “Hey!” “Mah Pit’om!” “He-ey!” It made me smile.
Matt Is Who He Is And There Ain’t Nothing Wrong With That
I cannot take credit for changing Matt’s life on that day in Jerusalem, or on any day. Some of Matt’s biggest struggles were just beginning then. It would be an arduous and long journey for him to find his place in life. But he found it. HE found it. HE overcame the odds and made something of himself – something great, in my opinion. And he is not inhibited by fear like he used to be. He lives with his wife and her son in Kansas, has a decent job, and he faces the challenges of daily life just like everyone else. He took up fishing many years ago. Today he drives a big motorcycle. He had a terrible motorcycle accident a few years ago, but once he recovered, he got back on the horse. That’s my littlest, biggest brother.
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