The cherished bond between a Modesto writer and her little brother, Pete | Opinion

I was 2 years old when my little brother, Pete, was born at Robertson Hospital in Modesto on Jan. 20, 1944. My cousin, Cherrill, who was a few years older, told me, “He’s not your real brother because he didn’t come out of your mother’s stomach.” I had no idea what that meant, but I was totally enamored of Pete from the first moment.

There he was, without any effort on my part at all: right in the middle of my little girl’s heart.

Some people have a special place in our lives and our hearts from the moment we meet them. They are right where they belong, in the middle of everything we hold dear.

Pete’s birth mother pretty much left him on our doorstep when he was a few days old. She asked my mother to babysit, got in her car, drove away and never came back.

Pete was my treasure — my own beautiful being to love and protect. When I was young, that became my life’s work. I took it upon myself for only one reason: I loved him.

I was vigilant, and, when I could, I shielded him from the worst of our mother’s wrath. I was not perfect, but I was there. When he cried, I comforted. When I could do nothing else, I stood nearby so he would know he was not alone.

When Pete was a teen, well able to defend himself — but never did — our mother beat him with a two-by-four. Watching in horror, I sobbed uncontrollably and screamed at her until she came to her senses. Looking at me, she shouted, “Shut up before someone calls the police!”

Did that mean she knew she was wrong? Had she known all along that the way she “disciplined” Pete was wrong? I do not know the answer to that question, but I do know that she never again went to that extreme.

I never knew if Pete realized how hard I tried. When we were grown, with families of our own, I would sometimes look at him and wonder, “Does he know? Does he remember?”

On one occasion, when we were in our 40s, Pete paid a visit to my home in Prunedale. We were sitting together on the deck, overlooking my beautiful backyard. It was a pristine spring morning, and we were at peace in each other’s company.

I showed Pete some words I had written about the tragic death of our older brother, Buzz.

He read what I had written about Buzz, and then he looked at me. I was unnerved to see tears rolling down his cheeks. Then, this man I loved without reservation sobbed, “You always took care of me, Bunny.”

He was not remembering some words I had spoken or written. Nor some motto I had espoused.

What he knew — what he remembered — was who I was: The one who took care of him, the one who was there and who stood beside him. The one who held him when he cried.

We had never spoken about the turmoil and upheaval on which our childhood was built. That would have been too painful. But with the words Pete spoke to me that day, he articulated the depth of the love and regard that united us despite the pain. His words that day were the greatest, most perfect gift Pete ever gave me.

He knew.

Like me, do you ever wonder, “Why am I here anyway?” Do you have moments when you feel just a little bit useless and in the way?

I have a question for you: Do you have children in your life? Biological? Foster? Step? Adopted? Nieces or nephews? Grandchildren?

Never underestimate the power you hold in this most important relationship. Your example is everything. Nothing matters as much as the example you set by the actions you take every day. Day in, day out. When you’re rested. When you’re exhausted. When you’ve just had enough and can’t take anymore.

They’re watching.

They’re doing their homework. They’re wrestling on the living room carpet. They’re playing video games. They’re in the pool with the kids next door. But they’re always watching.

Ready or not, you have the power to affect them in a way no other single human being or group of well-meaning do-gooders has. It’s up to you. Maybe you don’t remember signing up for this. Doesn’t matter. There you are: Smack dab in the middle of the most precious commodity our world now has or ever will have — our children.

I will always be grateful that I had the opportunity to be there for Pete throughout our childhood and into our adult life where we continued to love, encourage, honor, watch over and take great joy in each other.

“A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove. But the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child.” It was Forest E. Witcraft, the scholar, teacher and Boy Scout executive, who penned these words and which contain all the wisdom we need in order to live a life that matters.

Is there anything more important — or more lasting — in which we can play a role? I don’t think so.

Bunny Stevens lives in Modesto, her hometown, and has served on The Modesto Bee Community Advisory Board. She is the opening courtesy clerk at the Safeway supermarket on McHenry Avenue and an ordained minister in the Universal Life Church. Reach her at BunnyinModesto@gmail.com

This story was originally published September 27, 2025 at 6:00 AM with the headline "The cherished bond between a Modesto writer and her little brother, Pete | Opinion."