When I was a boy, my brother and I fought often. I no longer know why, but we often ended the day with a wrestling match, and being the older and stronger, I was often getting the better of my brother. At one point of time, when America was glorifying boxing far more than it does today, my Father bought us boxing gloves.
It was only my Mother, who was the healing influence. She poured unconditional love on the wounds, and created a reconciliation of spirit and matter between us, which grew into brotherly love. We were inseparable.
by Skip Conover