One of the many blessings I have in life is a big brother. John Nicholas “Nick” Kercheval. He turns 63 tomorrow.
Early on, the benefits of having an older brother weren’t evident. The kid brother is always an easy target for physical and emotional abuse, and I took my share.
My parents would sometimes console me by saying one day I’d be just as big and strong and I’d whip his butt. That never happened, and wouldn’t today. He’s still tougher, and four decades of physical labor as a farmer, while I sat behind a microphone, have only extended his advantage.
But those fighting days ended, thankfully, when we were still kids.
Having Nick as an older brother has been like having a real-life guardian angel, if that angel had a couple of tattoos and rode a Harley. I’ve always known that I could depend on him, no matter what.
He’s the go-to guy at 3 a.m. Everybody needs one of those; a person who shows up and doesn’t ask any questions. But that’s what big brothers are supposed to do, right? It’s in their DNA.
Nick and his wife, Shari, live in Jefferson County, near where we grew up. I don’t see him as much as I would like, but I know he’s there. That’s comforting.
He comes up in conversation often because the most common question I get is where the name “Hoppy” came from. Nick’s responsible for that.
My real name is Harvey Holbert (yes, Holbert) Kercheval III. When I was born 59 years ago, Nick was a fan of Hopalong Cassidy, the fictional cowboy who went by “Hoppy.” Nick wanted me to be a cowboy, so he started calling me that and it stuck.
Growing up, Nick sort of ran interference for me. He was hot-tempered and rebellious. His stormy teen years with our parents widened a path for me to slip through easily behind him.
Although brothers, we’re very different people. He’s darker and muscular. I’m pale and skinny. He angers easily (though not as easily as he used to), but then gets over it fast, while I mope and am moody. He likes to work with his hands, while I have other interests. He rides motorcycles, while I jog.
In fact, if we were not brothers I doubt if we would have been friends growing up.
That’s a scary thought. What would I have done without him? You’re fortunate if you have good parents and close friends; an older brother is a significant bonus.
It’s funny that even after all these years I still want to impress him, earn his respect and admiration, be worthy of the devotion and love he has given to me throughout his life.
I don’t feel like we’ll ever be equals, and that’s just fine. After all, he’s my big brother.