I came across a photo that reveals Brother Chris’ impish side. It also showcases my fondest key possession long reputed for use by a would-be lothario.

Yes, it’s a Nash Rambler, the automobile whose front seats reclined all the way down.  What’s more, it’s a convertible.  The 1963 vehicle was purchased from a dealer on the Miami mainline side of the Venetian Causeway.

Chris is peeking above the passenger side, a surprise contained in the photo that only he knew would appear.  Of all the attributes that need be mentioned about my surviving brother, it’s his sardonic sense of humor.

I drove my Nash Rambler around Miami in the early 1960s, but not for long.  One early afternoon, while stopped at a traffic light on Biscayne Boulevard at 54th Street, my pride and joy was rear-ended.  A woman’s vehicle smashed into the back end of the Rambler, the aftermath of driving through a deep puddle from a passing thunderstorm.  During those days, conscientious drivers would dry their brakes after a car’s wheels were inundated from standing water.

Her auto insurance paid for the damage, but the convertible top never operated as before.  Soon thereafter, I parted with the Nash Rambler for a 1966 Ford Mustang fastback – fire-engine red, no less.

Another photo I scanned is fading in quality, but it’s one of the few showing both my brothers, Jon and Chris, together.

Jon passed away in early January 2010 in Greenville, SC, at a time when brotherly ties had been torn.  Below is a photo chronicling the time Chris and I mourned his demise with Jon’s longtime girlfriend, Lynn King, who kept his pit bull afterward.

Both Chris and I drove to South Carolina to say goodbye to our brother and safeguard possessions that meant the world to him.  Of all the cold-weather clothes I own, Jon’s London Fog jacket is one piece of apparel that means the most personally.

Family memories can be humorous, others solemn.  Somehow, they all work together, giving depth and meaning to siblings we’ve known and loved.