Even after so many years, tears still fill my eyes when I think of my brother’s farm accident. That was 67 years ago, and now—at 79 years old—the invisible scab remains that only hides the emotional wound. My brother John, then—as now—is a boisterous, loud, and cheerful guy. He is the fellow you want at your party to liven it up. He was a wonderful and loving childhood brother. John included me in his sports’ practice and was just a...
