The highlight of Friday was a visit from my brothers and sister-in-law. Donley and Phyllis traveled to Warrenton from their home in Greenville by way of Tarboro, where they picked up Ed at his recently claimed home at The Albemarle, regretfully not including also his wife Dolly who is unable to travel. The three graced my home with their presence for a few hours of sharing a meal and catching up. It had been a while since we had been able to do this, making the occasion all the more precious.
These two brothers, along with a third, were ahead of me by several years in my Joyner family - 19, 13, and 7 years, to be exact. With my dad, these salt-of-the-earth men, although different in multiple ways, have been of one mind and heart as models of male strength tempered with softness for my entire life. We lost my oldest brother when in the prime of his life at age 49, his heart declined to bounce back following a serious surgery..
My brothers have always been a source of awe and fascination for me, starting with their names. William Alvin, named for our dad and our mother’s then deceased brother, grew up as W. A., but when he entered the professional world, he became known as Bill, though always W. A. to his birth family. Charles Edwin - the jury’s still out on the origin of his name - was Ed growing up, except to our mother who always called him Edwin. Official documents identify him as Charles E., causing a mite of confusion from time to time. Charles Joyner? Who is he? Joseph Donley, named for our maternal grandfather and our dad, was called Donley. As an adult, he began introducing himself as J. D. because, for one thing, he became weary of spelling his name for folks who thought his name was Donald (or was it Donkey?😊) Official papers list him as Joseph D. Like Charles, who is Joseph Joyner? What were our parents thinking?
Interestingly, my name was never an issue. Named for our mother’s two sisters and called by the double name of Mary Catherine from the day of my birth and possibly before, I have never dared change or drop any part of what I am called, although sometimes I am simply MC. Like my parents, I never wanted to slight one of my aunts, both of whom I adored and both of whom were additional mother figures and inspirations for me, one a teacher and one a nurse. Some of us may play with our names and have others play with them as time goes on, others not. Either way, we are who we are - “a rose by any other name …”.
My brothers’ names are only part of their intrigue for me. As noted, I think I may have been somewhat in awe of them all my life. W. A. was serving in the Army and stationed in Germany in the aftermath of World War II when I was born, and the first few months of my life are well documented with photos which were sent to introduce this soldier to his baby sister. Upon his return home, he soon married Wilba Rae, who remained a treasured part of our family until her death three years ago. I became an aunt at age six to their daughter Anne and three years later to their son Al. W. A. was always attentive to me but naturally more engaged with the family he was starting. In one sense, his children have seemed more my generation than he, but I never doubted his care for me.
Ed, I am told, at age 13 when I was born, eagerly took on caring for me and with such adeptness that my mother did not hesitate to go shopping or meet friends - or whatever - and leave me in his charge. Brushing hair, ironing dresses, and pushing me in a stroller on the dirt path to our home were second nature to him then; and as the years have passed his fondness for children has been clearly demonstrated with the little ones in our family and among his friends. When Ed left home to fulfill his draft into the Marines, it was a dreary day in our household. I remember the dark cloud. I had little understanding of it all, but I knew enough to feel sad. After his return, he got on with his own adult life but I never felt excluded. Being a junior bridesmaid in his and Dolly’s wedding when I was eight years old was a high point of my childhood. When his daughter Donna came along, I was quite the experienced 12-year-old aunt. Natured much like my dad, Ed reminds me of him.
Donley, the closest to my age, taught me to arch the ball when shooting a basketball, drove me frequently to play Putt-Putt, taught me to chip a golf ball in the front yard, and spent a frustrating Sunday afternoon on a back street in Rocky Mount attempting to teach me to parallel park. There were a few times when we scuffled and his advantage was such that my aunt next door could hear me screaming for relief. He took a turn with the Navy before going to college, and we ended up at East Carolina (then College) together for one year, his senior and my freshman. It worked well for him that I could type his lesson plans for student teaching and it was to my benefit that he was close by as I adjusted to life away from home. I remember a little irritation on my part when, after college, he took a job with the state highway department. I thought he would have been an excellent coach. He is. We closed the gap of years a little with our weddings, as he married Phyllis just three weeks before I married Jimmy. Their son Brian is a year ahead of our oldest, Karen. Donley has many traits that remind me of my mother, so he and Ed together help to keep the spirit of my parents alive for me, in addition to their own unique gifts.
The “catching up” that I anticipated in the visit on Friday went far beyond the news of the last several months. Sitting at my table after a soup and sandwich lunch, we easily but surprisingly moved into some territory that had never crossed my radar before and some that predated me. Interestingly, most of it was humorous in retrospect. Whether it was humorous in the moment is questionable, some of it unquestionably not.
Now and then in this reminiscing, both Ed and Donley made a point of addressing me directly to make certain I understood that I was considered special from the day I was born. There may have been occasions when they were at innocent odds with each other but never with me, they noted. I think I have always known that. When folks hear that I was the end of the line in my family behind three significantly older brothers, they often assume - and verbalize - that I must have been “spoiled.” Honestly, never in the past or even now looking back upon it, does “spoiled” seem to fit the care I received in my family. That I was considered special, I will endorse, with much gratitude.
My hope is that Ed and Donley - and W. A. from another realm - can know their own specialness and the blessing they are to this baby sister. There has never been a “rose” of a brother that could have “smelled” sweeter than any one of my three. I hope they can know the blessing they are not only to me but also to the world.
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