Tomorrow my little brother, a big wig officer in the USAF, turns 34? 35? Whatever my age is now, minus 10 years. I thought I would dedicate today's blog to him.
For years, and years, what seemed like an eternity for a little girl, I wanted a baby brother. Personally now, I think someone placed that idea in my head when I was very small, and I just assumed it was originally my idea.
Every night, before I went to sleep, I would kneel by my bed and pray the lord my soul to keep. The new version is much better, but when I was a child it was something like, "now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, if I should die (this is the part that a two or three year old children should not have to worry about) before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." (We didn't know any better, but now looking back I'm surprised I wasn't afraid to die in my sleep).
Sorry, chasing rabbits again.
After saying my prayer, on my little knees, by my bed, with my hands together and eyes up towards God, I would ask God to bless mommy, daddy, aunt Ruth, Uncle T, etc., and "please baby Jesus," (still not sure why he was referred to as a baby, maybe to help children relate to him?) "Bring me a baby brother, Amen."
Then I would jump into bed, and get tucked in, snug and tight, with all the stuff animals I owned around me.
This was my night time ritual every night for years.
Until I was 9 years old.
I don't remember what I have to buy from the grocery store. I can't remember people's names, most of the time. And, I always, always forget what I walked into a room of the house to get. This however, I don't think I will ever forget.
I remember the phone ringing in the kitchen (the yellow phone with the extremely long phone cord) mom answered and was talking to the doctor or nurse. Her face kinda froze for a second, then she said "really?" Then came that sorta laugh - crying thing we do, she looked at me, while still on the phone, and said, "Mama's gonna have a baby". I started crying too. In my mind my hard work of praying every night had finally paid off. I came to the realization much later in life, that I was not solely responsible for my brother coming into this world. (Still think my prayers are the main reason he's here today. Mom and Dad had a little somethin' to do with it).
So then I waited, and waited, and waited, and waited. Till mom's due date came around. I didn't want to go to school, but they made me. At the end of the school day, and a two hour bus ride home,(the bus picked up all the children going to catholic school in the entire north part of the parish.) As I was about to get off the bus I say the mustard colored, '73 Dodge Dart (later to become my first car) waiting for me. My little heart sank for a moment. I was hoping someone else would pick me up because that would mean my brother was coming. But wait, that shirt, that red hair, that's not my mama, it's Aunt Ruth! I screamed and ran off the bus saying my mama's having my baby brother. Now remember this was a long, long, long time ago. You didn't get ultrasounds and the only way to find out if you were having a boy or girl was to actually have the baby. Or do that ring on a string thing, and that was only right half the time.
I knew. I didn't need anyone to tell me different. My little brother was coming and I couldn't wait to see him.
Now I was not yet ten, so I didn't understand that these things took time. Back in those days you had to be 12 to go to the hospital, people smoked in the waiting room (no lie, there's pictures) and everyone including the father waited in the waiting room. No family picnic in the delivery room.
So I had to stay with my Uncle T, and the poor man had to find a way to entertain me. There's a picture, I'm not sure who has it, but it is of me when they told me it was a boy. I have the biggest Cheshire cat grin on you've ever seen.
Fast forward to the day he came home. I remember waiting and giving everyone the look.( I was eyeing everyone, letting them know I was going to hold him FIRST).
I remember when they put him in my arms for the first time, just like I remember holding my son, and my daughter for the first time. (Three years ago, he had a little girl of his own, and all those memories of that day came rushing back the second Steph put her in my arms. But that's a story for a later blog).
I held him all day. I fed him. I held him. I didn't change him, gross. But I did hold him ALL day and rocked him. They had to put sofa pillows under my elbow to prop my arms up because they were getting so tired. I just didn't want to let him go.
Flash forward a few weeks..........
After many, many sleepless nights and headaches, I began to rethink this little brother situation. You see Russ (little Russell back then) loved to scream his head off all night. And guess whose room was right next door to his? Only super loud Opera, or classical music would shut him up. That, and the vacuum cleaner.(Weird kid).
That is when I decided to leave a message for my parents. Who had not totally informed me on this little brother thing. I found a cartoon in the newspaper that expressed my feelings exactly.
I found a daily comic panel that put everything I was feeling, at that time, into the perfect context. It was a picture of a little girl stomping her foot, hands on her hips, looking up at her father. The caption read "yes I wanted a little brother, but I did not mean he could live here!"
Throughout the years after my feelings of course changed. He was that pest, that all little brothers are, and he was always getting me into trouble for no reason except to divert the punishment from himself. (Again a whole other story saved for many blogs to come).
But at night, if I woke up from a bad dream, or I just woke up because I heard him crying; I would go get him and put him in my room, and I could go back to sleep knowing we were both safe.
I guess even way back then my little brother was my hero!
HAPPY Day God gave me you!
Love always,
Nae'
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