Michael Kevin Dunham

1954 - 2019

Michael Kevin Dunham
August 2, 1954 - September 19, 2019
Hey Little Brother, I can't tell you how sad I am that I wasn't able to say goodbye to you before you left. The good news is we'll be seeing each other again. I'll miss our hilarious talks and those wonderful walks down memory lane. But just in case you might have forgotten some of those memories, I thought I'd remind you. When you were around 7, you decided to run away from home because you were being teased by our older brother. I saw you walking across the field behind our house and I took off after you. During our walk we decided that the beach was the best place we could live because coconuts and water were free. We took off down the 10-mile gravel road toward the beach. Then the sun starts to set and out of the canals, lining the gravel road, come crawling creatures, which were actually crabs. We thought the earth was being invaded by aliens. We screamed, quickly turn around and ran down the gravel road for home. When we got home the Police were there, and the whole neighborhood was on the street. We "surrendered", and eventually everything calmed down. I got in trouble because I was the oldest (9) and should have known better. You got off scot-free (typical). You were the first Picker I ever knew. At the ripe old age of 8 you were rummaging through all the neighbor's stuff that was left on the curb for garbage pickup. The first thing you ever brought home was an old tennis racket. The head of that racket was so warped, that it was "U" shaped. You actually thought it was a Jai alai basket. It looked ridiculous but we played with it anyway. Then there was the time we discovered QT. It was the new Quick Tanning cream that was all the rage in 1964. We decided that you would be the guinea pig in our tanning experiment. I used up the entire bottle, just on your face. Unfortunately, you looked like a pumpkin for about a month. Needless to say, we never used artificial tanning again. All the adventures we went on were full of imagination and no fear. Walking to and from school, church, the grocery store, the city pool, the park, the Armory, you name it, we always took a side trip along the way. Too many incredible memories to list, but you know them all too well. That adventurous fun filled nature we shared never ended, not even 65 years later. Love you. OK Sis, your turn. COOKIE; Amazingly we have never shared a cross word. . only confidences, experiences, and the same sense of merriment. You have been my page and later my knight (albeit the armor has become a little dented and a little less bright with the passage of time) Yet, no matter how much time has elapsed or the distance traversed, our conversations and meetings have always had the sense of coming home. There are flashes of memory: You, caterwauling at the top of your lungs while strumming (off-key) a beat-up ol' guitar. then only a few years later listening to you pick "The Sounds of Silence" on a 12-string guitar in a perfect performance; you, driving everyone from the house after the removal of an 8-week old cast and the accompanying odor ( a mixture of perspiration and dirt) it left behind. Shouts of "Take a shower" rent the air; You, suffering a sunburn from hip to knee on your outer thighs after wearing a loincloth to a 3 day re-enactment of indian life on a deserted isle in Biscayne Bay; you, conning your way into band without being able to read music; You, returning from a proposed 80-mile trip after only 20 miles because the decrepit bike you chose to ride fell apart. Listening to the strains of the old R&B song "Clarence Carter" reminds me of a lazy summer afternoon in a little wooden nondescript building - a "mom and pop" joint" with a venerable grey-haired lady tending bar. You selected this song on the jukebox while we shot pool and drank beer. Remember the bets we made? Everything from the Kentucky Derby to how many hiccups you would experience in an hour and everything in between. Which reminds me there is still a bet outstanding. Then there were the pranks: Putting Orajel on my toothbrush so I couldn't speak clearly for 3 hours; my purchasing an identical hat but one size smaller than the one you had purchased the day before, then beginning the campaign to convince you you were ill and your head had swollen; you palming the spare keys to my car and moving it - first shifting its position in the driveway, then over a few aisles at the mall, then (after a night of carousing) onto the lawn with the doors open. I was fairly convinced my mental faculties were in jeopardy ,until I caught you. But revenge is sweet. I sent you a wire (back when Western Union still did those type of messages) which read "Disregard previous wire. Stop" You spent the entire day harassing W.U. employees via the phone and visits to their offices searching from the first mythical communication. Then there were the trips. The trip to Nassau and Andros Island were classic - your introduction to the night life, female impersonators, over-protective fathers, and flying a 3-seat piper cub. But then there were other trips - impromptu, with no destination and no specific time to arrive. Someone would yell "Roadtrip" and off we'd go, piing into a vehicle with only a sense of adventure and the clothes on our backs. The adventures were always a hoot: 60 miles to end in buying a pizza, 200 miles to end in building sand castles, 800 miles to end in a snow ball fight, 50 miles to buy duplicates shot glasses, 75 miles to end in taking a picture of a star apple, 300 miles to end in watching a full moon rise over a lake. So it went. Now you've heard someone else yell "Roadtrip" and off you've gone on a new adventure. It may be a while before someone yells "Roadtrip" to me but I have no doubt I'll be able to navigate to your destination. So, have a margarita waiting - straight up, no ice, and plenty of salt on the rim. Love you, guy!!!