I was a junior in High School and in the fall of the year I was driving a grain truck in the yellow-brown fields with the corn dried and withered but the ears rich and full. I would pull up to the head of the corn rows and park the empty truck next to the furry ditch bank and then walk back to the full truck and start my journey back to the farm. Sometimes I would pause to talk to my dad or my brother as the combine emptied its hopper into the grain truck. Back on the farm I would pull into a two-story, narrow shed where we would dump the grain. The floor of the shed had a grate that protected an auger, which moved the grain to the elevator, which elevated the grain sixty-foot up to a distributor, which would move the spout within the distributor so the grain would drop into whichever grain bin you chose. Once the grain truck had dumped it's grain and it was safely into the bin of choice, I was back on my way to pick up the next truck.
One day, after dumping my load of grain into the upstairs bin of the shed and shutting down all the machinery, I heard a distinct creaking and groaning. My brother heard it too and recognized it for what it was. I had overloaded the holding bin in the second floor of the shed and it was getting ready to give way. My brother quickly hopped on a tractor with a grain wagon and drove under the groaning second floor. I watched him drive in and seconds later I watched the second floor give out and crash on top of the tractor and wagon and ... my brother. I can still remember my feelings as I thought: "I just killed my brother!"
I ran into what was left of the shed but I couldn't get in because of the grain and wood all over the place. So I ran around the bins to the other side where the trucks would drive out and there I found him sitting on the ground, elbows on his knees, smoking a cigarette, and looking at the chaos that was the shed.
Now there were many times in my childhood years where I had to deal with my older brothers teasing me, leaving me out of sports because I was too small, pushing me around, and generally treating me like a kid brother. During those times I'm sure I wished they were not around or as I fought back I would yell: "I'm gonna kill you!" But I never thought I would have a real chance to kill one of my brothers.
Almost 30 years later now and I can still feel the emotion of running around the grain bins praying to find my brother on the other side. All the teasing and kid brother abuse was forgotten and pushed aside by things that were really important. Take a look at the stuff of your life. Are you letting the petty things get in the way of what is really important? Are you forgetting those you love?