A Line Drive Straight to the Heart

If you were to tell me, the little boy who zoomed Hot Wheels for hours on a piece of racetrack carpet in the basement wouldn’t make his 29th year, I’d say you’re completely out of this ballpark.

I don’t remember the first time I met you. You were just always there. My little brother, as I knew you’d be the closest I’d ever get to having one. In fact, there aren’t too many days in childhood that I remember without you. Making our own mini golf courses throughout the house. Swimming in a God-made pool outside the cattle pen (and later realizing what the “pool” was made of.) Breaking copious amounts of fluorescent lights in the basement as we tried to become the next Harlem Globe Trotters. Life with you was always an adventure, one I occasionally chose to sit the sideline on. Like Zach literally roping you off your bicycle or dunking a basketball on the trampoline which inevitably led to your finger being surgically reattached. The Harter Household definitely raised me to rub a little dirt on it and keep going. And, of course, to speak up for myself. If you didn’t have a witty comeback loaded in the chamber for any one of the brothers, then you’d get eaten alive. No matter who you were, no mercy.

But you, Reed Glen Holden, were the softest, especially when it came to animals. We used to hide in your room as you quizzed me on all the famous basketball stars that you tore out of Sports Illustrated. Dirk Nowitzki —I’ll never forget the name. We’d hang out with the newly born kitties in your closet and eat Tractor Tire donuts that you’d hide under your bed for weeks. We never grew out of that brother and sister type relationship.

As we grew older, we still relied on each other. Our favorite day of the week was Friday (duh) because it was “Bar Night!” Probably not our parents’ proudest moment as our young voices shouted across the gym “see ya at the bar” which really translated to us snagging the latest flavor of Jones soda from Marilyn, you ordering a bacon cheeseburger, and then together running to the park to play Ghost in the Graveyard with the neighborhood. There weren’t many skipped nights at the park where you and Kelly wrangled up the emotion to show your “cousinly affection” until Rickita’s bacon cheeseburger was ready. It should go without saying, but the stray cats on the streets of Colome loved Reed’s attention too (and his extra fries).

Before we knew it, the park days were over and we had our own sporting events to partake in. You were one of the only kids my age whose advice I’d actually listen to. You really knew your stuff about basketball, which the Ethan Rustlers later came to find out.

Even in adulthood, we still made time for each other. Supporting one another through the loss of grandparents and grieving ex-relationships. Traveling to ball games and each other’s weddings. Big Sal making us Indian Tacos on holidays and listening to some of the best impressions from the Harter boys over a few too many Busch Lights. Looking back, you were there for so many firsts. My first cannonball into the pool. First snowboard attempt. First secret under the bleachers. First McDonald's french fry. First, of many, nights trick or treating. And without a doubt, my first swear word.

There will never be a more charismatic, athletic, truly caring person than you. You were a leader to so many, if your baseball Hall of Fame induction is any showing. You met people where they were and were never too big for the little guy. You were one of a kind.

You’ll never be forgotten, in my life and many others. Your smile. Your laugh. Your big ol’ affectionate heart. For you today, I drink a green Jones soda, watch the Denver Broncos, and pop a jelly bean blindfolded just to guess the flavor.

I love you forever and always, Reedo!

-Your favorite sister