My Brother Steve Villanueva by Mia 'Lucy' Lowry

This is my greatest memory of my brother Steve. In the 6th grade I was very anemic and looking back I can see why someone who saw me would think what these boys thought. My picture of me in the 6th grade shows my complextion is greenish yellow (and no, it is not because it's an old picture either). Well, I came home crying one day because two boys told me the following, "We took a vote and found that you are the ugliest girl in the school."



I went home in tears. I was unconsolable. Finally, Mom and Steve got it out of me. Steve was angry and ready to go to the school and beat up those boys. I asked him not to do it because I worried it would make matters worse for me. He said he wouldn't because I asked him not to do it. He was so angry, and in his anger I saw how much a big brother loves his sister.



Another memory I have of Steve is when he would practice his trumpet. I remember walking home and hearing it blast throughout the neighborhood. At times it was my welcome home and at other times when I had a headache I hoped he would stop when I got home. How he could play! I loved to see him play a "special song" in church on his trumpet.



One day while I was a freshman in high school Steve called from Phoenix. He pretended to be a police officer. Steve loves to play practical jokes. He could and should look into being a stand-up comic. I picked up the phone and in a professional sounding voice he proceeds with the following: "This is the Yuma Police. We have been tracking some criminal activity at the local high school. We have been following your daughter, Lucy. She has been seen with some students involved in (I can't remember what crime he said)___________. Wait....who is this??"

I got very scared. I had always tried to do what was right and keep myself out of trouble. He kept yelling "Who is this?" Finally, I said, "It's Kiki. It's Kiki." My heart was pounding so hard I thought it was going to rip my chest in two. He started talking again and asked for my parents. At that point I recongizned his voice and said, "Steve, is that you?" He started to laugh. I'll never forget this joke.

Steve was always doing jokes. No one was past his sceming ways. He would try to get anyone or everyone he could. The next joke I remember was on he played on me late at night. The house was dark and if I remember correctly we had just finished watching a scary movie. I was walking to our room (the one that was once a garage) and had to pass the dining room table. He was hiding under it. When I walked past, he reached out and grabbed my ankle. While he did this he let out a wicked laugh and was breathing heavily. I am not sure if he was making himself sound more scary or if it was because he was excited about getting someone with his joke. I screamed so loud and freaked out. He came out and felt bad that he had scared me that bad.

Steve was and is a good brother. He is giving and he would do anything to help his family out. Our family is blessed to have him as a sibling. I know my father was proud to have him at his bedside during his last moments of life. He took great care of our dad in the ICU and in Hospice.