A SISTER REMEMBERS... by Deb Conkling
Tyler was my little brother. I was his big sis. Our roles were forged at birth. We a shared the same genetic soup, the same sweet childhood. I loved him fiercely and protectively, I chided him when I thought it necessary, I encouraged him in dark times and I watched in awe as his life unfolded. He was a splendid brother.
Born Barry William Beard, he was chubby and bright-eyed with a face-splitting grin. He came out of the chute with all his most notable traits intact... stubbornly independent, original, quirky, tidy and gifted.
He wrote a note to Santa one year and signed it Barry William Beard the First. That soon became Barry William Beard Esquire Junior George Blondie. At various times we referred to him as Dusty Dustin, Mick, L. L. Azuli and his first legal name change, Barry (no last name). He sent me a copy of the paperwork with a note, "Don't tell Mom and Dad, they'll flip out". He was in his early twenties then and there was little that would cause any of us to flip out by that time, but it was nice he thought there might be... When he changed his name again to Tyler William Beard, he paid Teresa a dollar for every time she got it right.
His neatness started early. His favorite day was Thursday, the day that Mother cleaned house. His first task after school was to scrutinize and rearrange the coffee table. He could get his thin, green bedspread so perfectly straight that he would sleep on the floor rather than mess it up. He kept things in paper bags in the closet so his drawers would stay empty and neat. He could not tolerate food touching on his plate, and he enlisted the help of his elementary school principal to explain to the cafeteria ladies just how important it was that his food was served properly. He loved giving me cleaning tips, my favorite being: clean at night with a flashlight so you could see the dust better.
He was a visual chameleon. He loved to dress up. From his favorite pilgrim outfit to the Beach Boy look, to the Rolling Stones, to Glam Rock, he always stood out... hard to miss Tyler with a feather boa, sequined top, glitter makeup, and thigh-high boots. Equally hard to miss was Tyler in cowboy regalia with a handlebar moustache. I loved all his looks: his long dark hair streaked festively red and green for the holidays, his Marine shaved head with a tan and muscles, the aging rock star look. He was always handsome and manly, even as he plumped pillows and refilled bowls of potpourri.
He had an early eye for treasures and a knack for making money. He started the Thing Finders Club at age 8. We scoured alleys looking for Things. As we grew older we expanded our searches to affluent neighborhoods. There, Tyler found a discarded oriental rug which he sold for lots of money, and the seed of his empire took hold. He had a gypsy-trader soul for the rest of his life.
A few months before he died we drove past the homes and neighborhoods of our youth, remembering the good times and the magic that was our childhood. We held hands and laughed at how small things appeared. We remembered the rose bushes Mom planted by the front porch and the huge bed of root beer-colored iris in back of the house. We remembered popping tar bubbles with our big toes on hot summer afternoons and tumbling on handmade quilts under the stars. We remembered the sweet smell of blossoms from the tree in our frontyard. We remembered our parents young and laughing, and how we felt so loved and safe with the whole world stretching out in front of us.
Tyler took that world and shook it, living on his own terms. We lost him too early. He was extraordinary in every sense of the word. Lucky me to be his sister. Lucky you to be his friend.