Both bottles always were drunk dry with empty bottles in each's hands

--But Joan felt ever-hungry while Stephen felt ever-grand.

Mom puzzled over and wondered, but finally pieced the clues

To at last catch “that Stephen” In his toddler Disneyesque ruse

For just like those Disney “Siamese Cats” Steve would hungrily sigh

“Ahhr! --I hear a baby cry! --Where we are finding baby --There are milk nearby!”

As young students we read “Dick and Jane” and “See Spot Run” in school

There were king/queen fundraising, spelling bees and air raid drills at Park View.

One time at recess I was happily playing hoola hoop, hopscotch and jumprope

When Big Brother Steve came bearing a gift of fruit “so sweet” he “hoped.”

He handed me a nice small hard green fruit and said “Taste this persimmon.”

Trust was supreme as I bit into green, but then suddenly it was as alum.

The taste was so sour That my mouth drew up dour, And I knew then I was a sucker

But had one looked around, I bet could be found A playground full of puckers.

As a young teen, Stephen could sing, so signed up for a school talent show

He chose as his act a sing-along track of a pop record all would know.

He asked for some tips so I said its in the hips

Just mimic Elvis’ hips and his’ lips.

So he practiced the words and he practiced the mood;

I thought “ Kansas City ” had never been covered so good.

On show day as the time drew near one would think I was the one going on stage

I was anxious and nervous and felt my mouth dry when suddenly Steve was all the rage.

Steve took the stage with a nerveless calm and immediately there was magnetic attraction

(The other acts had not been a hit judging from the audience reaction);

But take the stage is what Steve did, and the stage he never let go,

As he grabbed up the mike he grabbed the girl’s hearts and did that boy put on a show!

As he did Elvis-ish moves, the girls became fools, went wild, screamed and stomped their feet

I almost cried, As with new life The audience erupted to Steve's beat.

And I’m proud to say, Big Brother Steve was more than a pop star that day!

And I saw a glimmer of WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN had fate chosen to smile that Way.

As a young boy Stephen was so excited when he got a BB gun

And forever was playing shoot-‘em-up and always on the run.

One day Mom and Dad said “Now all you kids sit down

And watch t.v. and don’t run around--while we go do errands in town.”
Although warnings had been issued not to aim the gun at anyone

Barely had they reached the carport before Steve raised his gun;

Steve took aim and said, “Joan, Look!“ and then shot me in the arm

Whereupon I raised a fuss pretending great bodily harm

But though very little hurt came from where a small bb gun had nipped

My ruckus brought Mom and Dad back and Stephen, well, he got whipped.

Down the street from us was an old haunted house

Steve took our friends there through the basement

And informed us crazy-mad ghosts had started their rouse

As we gazed at broken bottles on sill casements.

Steve said ghosts used the basement for their evil hatchings

In the very ground wallbanks near where stood us young’uns

And if we looked closely we could see the horrible scratchings

And traces of pitiful dire victims caught before young us‘uns.

We raced up the stairs in hopes that would be there

A place where the ghosts did not venture

But “No,” said Steve, “They come, too, up here

--The blood has just been scrubbed off with tincture.”

We peered in the rooms at ghost tracings and lairs

--Although scared, we still had curiosity morbid

Until Stephen whispered, “Shhh!  Listen, you guys, they’re on the stairs!”

And suddenly we split out like lightening leaving behind those ghosts most horrid.

Turns out a caretaker was the “ghost on the stairs”

As he checked that the house was not yet in rubble.

Sources say the ghost-myth-cauldron “bubbled”

Because of Ring Leader Steve who was now in “double trouble.”

During his teenaged nights Steve would slip from the house

And I heard our Brother Bobby went with him

They would meet up with friends to frog-gig at the pond

And then jump the fence at Park View’s Pool and go swimming.

And once on a time that group visited a cave

And told no one of their intentions

While in that deep pit they lost their light

And also lost their way to the entrance.

To this very day their bones would have been lost

As no one would have a clue to their disappearance.

Fortunately their Guardian Angels guided them to a stream
And God granted wisdom to wade the stream to the cave entrance.

In1965 Michigander Steve purchased with his wages

A sports Triumph car and gave me a ride--but suddenly came a distraction

As Steve stealthily turned off the motor he pretended to check the gages

And feigned that we had run out of gas to stir up my reaction.

After a short panic--of which he enjoyed--I suddenly grew to endear him

As I realized  his plan was to interchange me as the driver

To teach me the basics of smooth clutching and gearing

To which I am to this day indebted as a very smooth straight-shifting survivor.

All have had to repeat those dreadful words—the words “STEVE IS THE GREATEST!”

Steve‘s goal was to make us constantly echo that certain odious phrase-set;

His entourage swelled as nieces, nephews and young friends locked into the tradition

But then those smart kids pinned Steve “The Bubblehead”--and that was THEIR addition.

Upon a chant of “STEVE IS A BUBBLEHEAD” they would be chased, tickled, teased and swung

You could hear the kids squealing and running and hear the chant-song that they sung

For when Steve was “BUBBLED” The Kids were in “TROUBLE” and were way out on a limb

And all would have a grand ‘ole time because you see

MY BIG BROTHER STEVE--EVERYONE REALLY LOVES HIM!!!!