Recalling the hardships, good times growing up with my brothers in our dysfunctional family

By Edward A. Forbes

The Bulletin

It’s funny how the mind works in times of hardship.

My dysfunctional family once consisted of eight children (mixed - yours, mine, and ours), but of the five boys that grew up in Luling, we were brothers, not step or half, just brothers. The recent loss of brother Donnis reduced our number to two.

I now find that number two, Doyce, is in the hospital in grave condition. The memories rush back as he struggles in the ICU, and as I write this now, his struggle is no more.

When the two step brothers arrived to reside with us in the little one-bedroom duplex in Manvel, Texas, Doyce came first. He had to have been almost three years old as his birthday was in September (the 11th, unfortunately).

I remember that initially he seemed timid and recall vividly at mealtime that he would secretly take some of his food, which would eventually wind up under his pillow. I really don’t want to think about what childhood trauma initiated that behavior.

When we moved to the heights in Alvin, Texas, Donnis, I, and older brother Elroy handled the chores, milking two cows, feeding pigs, chickens and geese daily. At times, we had a couple of calves, yearlings, that Donnis and I attempted to ride with little or no success.

I, for some reason, drove the tractor when we disced and plowed the one to two acres we farmed. During the drought-stricken days of the 1950s Donnis and Doyce rode the disc, sitting atop the crossties that were strapped to the disc, for added weight to break up that hard, baked ground.

Donnis and I were always the closest in all our activities as only nine months separated our ages. The one thing I always remember was Doyce’s obsession with saving money in the Luling days. In our financial circumstances, this meant saving mostly pennies.

Whenever, for some obscure reason, Donnis and I would have some change, we would challenge Doyce to do something to gain possession of that money. We would mix every liquid condiment we could find together and dare him to drink it to earn our loot.

He would choke it down and then surreptitiously (he thought) add it to his stash, a Bull

Durham sack secreted behind a small piece of baseboard that he had worked loose in our bedroom. Mean? In retrospect, yes, but then we were all brothers, and you had to fend for yourself.

Doyce was a freshman when I was a senior, and it was a customary practice for seniors to haze the incoming freshman. It was O.K. for Donnis and me to torture him, but I absolutely wouldn’t allow anyone else to do it, period, so no hazing was allowed.

 So “Shorty”, as our Dad nicknamed him, was safe. (He later grew taller than the rest of us).

When Doyce was in college, brothers Donnis, Elroy, I, and brother-in-law Charles Bownds went to Luling and liberated him from that home.

 Mother said sarcastically, “Eddie, I suppose you can do a better job than me?” I replied, “In a heartbeat.”

 It always amazed me that Doyce had more money in his savings account while in college than I did working full time.

I also remember a small family gathering at Doyce and Janie’s home before they parted. We had our first interaction with the best part of their union, Evan and McKenna.

He was always - and I still believe - is proud of the children. I know Elroy had more contact with Doyce’s family, partly due to proximity and partly, well, that was just Elroy.

 I still have a box of wooden blocks, one alpha letter each, he coated with ink to print out

Evan, McKenna, Chanie, Wes, or Connie, all the children, the little ones. He would make cards for or print personalized gift-wrap paper.

As the years passed and our contact diminished, I could always rely on two phone calls from Doyce - every Mother’s Day and my birthday. I would call him on his birthday, and sometimes he would call on Christmas and New Year’s. I will greatly miss those calls beginning this year.

Goodbye, my brother, I’m sorry I could never love golf and play a round or two with you.

Doyce

The path you walked is empty;

The hearts you touched are broken.

Time will take sad memories

And make them things of smiles.

The path you walked is barren.

There are no more miles to go.

Heaven should have smooth fairways,

And the greens will all read true;

I know that’s where you’ll go

When that final round is done.

We’ll be in the gallery

To watch your victory stroll.

Doyce 9/11/1949 – 4/26/2025

(Email Edward Forbes at eforbes1946@gmail.com or send comments to The Bulletin, P.O. Box 2426, Angleton, TX. 77516.)