Even miles apart, East St. Louis’ Mackin brothers are more alike than they are different

I’ve written columns about my kids, parents, grandparents, aunt, grandson, coaches, teachers and friends.

I have not written much about my two brothers, Bill and Bob.

Sure, there is plenty to write. But I have always respected their privacy. I’ve left them alone and out of the BND.

Last month, we spent our annual week together at brother Bill’s home on Peak’s Island, Maine, in Casco Bay near Portland.

It was a cold week in Maine. Winter starts in October there. We spent a lot of time indoors, trading memories, insults and laughs. We talked a lot about our parents. We talked about our kids. We talked about our lives. Success and regrets. Hopes and dreams. Quests and compromises.

It was on this trip to Maine last month that I sat back and realized that geography separates us, but blood unites us, and the three Mackin Boys are much, much more alike than we are different.

I am the youngest of three sons of the late Betty and Bud Mackin of East St. Louis. Bill is the oldest son. He lives half of the year in Maine and half in Florida. Bob, the middle son, lives on the Indiana side near Louisville. I’m the baby. I’ve stayed here in our roots of East St. Louis and Belleville.

Our parents, Bud and Betty, have been gone for more than 30 years. They were our base. Without our parents, well, we went on with our lives with holes in our hearts. Due to the distances between us, we were divided more than united, and our children never became the close cousins we had hoped. We had our own careers, dreams and responsibilities.

A lot of our week together last month on Peaks Island was me bringing my brothers up-to-date on their old friends and our extended family here in the metro east, and the status of our hometowns.

We talked about the floods of our childhood neighborhood on Terrace Drive in East St. Louis. We reminisced about the good old days and many characters we met at the old St. Philip’s Catholic Grade School in East St. Louis, from where we all three graduated. R.J. Krause. Eddy Bench. Monsignor Fournie.

We talked about growing up in the Loisel Village and Loisel Hills areas of East St. Louis. The old Mississippi River Festival concerts. House parties that got out of hand. Sledding on Suicide Hill near our home on Woodcrest Drive. All the freedom, safety and security we enjoyed as kids.

I always joke that when it came to me, thanks to my brothers, Mom and Dad were worn out.

I had few rules.

I came and went, all hours.

We talked about picking peaches at the orchard next door to our grandparent’s home in Centreville. On a hot summer day, we rested in the cool indoors of Grandma’s house while our old Aunt Marie picked peaches in the blazing summer heat.

Bill and Bob graduated from the old Assumption Catholic High School on East St. Louis. I went up the hill to graduate from Althoff Catholic High School. We furthered our educations, became professionals and chased our careers and dreams. We caught a few more than we lost. Overall, we turned out pretty well for three boys from Terrace Drive in East St. Louis.

Grandparents now.

Where’d time go?

You can tell we are brothers. We like to joke, tease and poke fun at one another. We have the ability to laugh at ourselves. We got that trait from Mom.

We spent a lot of time talking about our kids, and their kids. We had great parents. We learned well from them. We have grandkids now. I think they have brought us the peace of mind and heart that we have chased all our lives.

Growing up, having two older brothers toughened me. The Wrestling at the Chase in the tiny bedroom we shared. The tickling. The constant punches in the arms and legs. The thumps on the head. I was far from perfect, but I wasn’t a sissy.

I have worked hard in my adult life because of them.

I have wanted to be a success like them.

I have waited a long time to write a column about my two brothers.

I figured out what I wanted to say and how to write it. I’m grateful for them. Our parents, Bud and Betty, would be proud that we get together every year to fondly remember, reflect and talk about them.