I always wondered what had happened to my missing brother. Could I ever forgive my father for driving him away?
Growing up, I had so many questions about Marshall, my hippy older sibling who left home and got embroiled with the Manson Family cult. Years later, I embarked on a quest to find out his true storyOne morning in March 1995, my father and I were having coffee at the kitchen table when somehow the conversation deviated to my brother Marshall. As always, I had questions.“He was tall for his age,” my father said, gazing at the memory of his estranged son, as if he was standing beside us in the kitchen. “At school they always wanted him for the football team. His hair was red, deep red like your grandmother’s, and his eyes …” my father paused, searching for the right comparison. “Copper. His eyes were copper-coloured and he’d tan so well in the summer he looked as if he’d been dipped in wood stain.” Continue reading...
Growing up, I had so many questions about Marshall, my hippy older sibling who left home and got embroiled with the Manson Family cult. Years later, I embarked on a quest to find out his true story
One morning in March 1995, my father and I were having coffee at the kitchen table when somehow the conversation deviated to my brother Marshall. As always, I had questions.
“He was tall for his age,” my father said, gazing at the memory of his estranged son, as if he was standing beside us in the kitchen. “At school they always wanted him for the football team. His hair was red, deep red like your grandmother’s, and his eyes …” my father paused, searching for the right comparison. “Copper. His eyes were copper-coloured and he’d tan so well in the summer he looked as if he’d been dipped in wood stain.” Continue reading...
