In the spirit of my new tradition – writing a story about my loved ones on their birthdays, I’m saluting my brother, Craig, who turns SIXTY! today.

It was the Fall of 1960.  I got home after school, walked in to the house and found three of  my mother’s four sisters, in our kitchen.

Somewhat surprising at that time of day, but nevertheless, my family got together ALL THE TIME for the slightest of reasons.

I could soon tell something was up.  Was it the fact that they were all staring at me, waiting expectantly? 

I think it was Aunt Marie who spoke first and said, “Did you know your mother was pregnant?  And that we all thought she had a stomach tumor for the last couple of months.”

WHAT?!  I put things together quickly.  Weeks earlier, my  boyfriend (Larry) said to me, out of the blue, “I think your mother’s pregnant.” I don’t know what prompted that statement.

I laughed him out of the room.  How could I miss something SO obvious?  I thought she was gaining weight through her middle – common for women that old.

My GOD, my mother was FORTY YEARS OLD.  What a stupid idea.

After Marie broke the news, I ran into the bathroom and locked the door.  

I was a senior in high school, for goodness sakes.  How could they have done this to me?  My parents were OLD.  Is it possible they were having sex at this age?  It was such an embarrassing and humiliating thought that would certainly reflect on me.  My god, I lived in a house of perversions.

I stayed in the bathroom for about half an hour, but when I came out my heart and mind had changed. 

 I decided it might just be the greatest thing ever, and as it turned out, it was.

The next day at school, I told everyone we were having a baby!  They all looked at me as if I were crazy, and I guess I was a little bit.  At this point, I was very excited and could not wait for this new addition.  Of course, we didn’t know what to expect – no ultrasound scans in those days.  And how thoughtful of Mom to not tell us for SIX months.  We didn’t have long to wait.

Mom spent the last days of her pregnancy immobile on the sofa.  

One day in particular – I think I was taking her to her doctor appointment that day – I observed her sitting on the sofa in the living room, looking beautiful and wearing a two-piece maternity ensemble.  It was made of a velvety black corduroy material. The top had a scoop neck with three-quarter sleeves, and the skirt was a pencil style.  

She was dressed up to go to a doctor’s appointment,  but our mother always looked her best – pregnant or not.  I did not take after her in this regard.  You wouldn’t want to see me during this pandemic.

I took her to her doctor’s appointment that day, where Dr. Mary* told us the baby was coming soon and that I should buy some cod liver oil for her to take to speed up the process.  Dr. Mary felt it important for my family to have another tax deduction before the end of the year.

I’m not sure if the oil worked, or if it was just nature, but Craig was on his way out soon after that appointment.

Karen, Frank (my siblings) and I were waiting at home for the news when we got the call from Dad that Craig had arrived.

He gave us the full report and said that he was perfectly healthy, but that his nose was bashed in a bit – as if he’d been in a boxing match.  I guess he was, in a way. 

When I went to see him in the hospital, he was in isolation due to a case of impetigo, a skin disorder, but he was a 10-lb bundle of boy who looked very smart and handsome.  I worked part-time at San Antonio Hospital, where he was born, so I could run down to the nursery to stare at Craig on my breaks.

I was crazy about him from the beginning.  I loved taking care of him – except when he was screaming his lungs out.  Then I would give him back to Mom.

I took him everywhere with me.  On the way to the library one day, a favorite excursion for us, he was standing next to me in the front seat when I had to slam on the brakes on Euclid Avenue.  Of course, he flew forward and hit his face on the dashboard.  

I was devastated.  What do you mean I should have had him in a car seat or at least a seatbelt?  We had no such requirements or equipment in the early sixties.  

The next event seems extraordinary to me, considering that our mother was kind of a helicopter mom, but she used to allow Craig to play in our 1961 Pontiac while it was parked on the street.  I think he loved the dials and gizmos so much that she figured he was safe with the brake on, and the car was parked just outside the kitchen window so that she could check on him.

One day, he came running into the house, saying, “Car, car, car, …”  “Yes, I know,” said Mom, thinking he was talking about one of his Matchbox cars.  After some seconds of wild gesticulating and pointing out the front window, Mom saw that the car was no longer just outside the kitchen window.  

When she ran outside, she saw the Pontiac two blocks south where it had coasted into the curb.  This could have been a disaster. Mom was pretty shaken.

He couldn’t have been more than two because I don’t think he was talking much – hence the “car, car, car…”  

Frank, Karen and I taught him how to do the raspberries and were thrilled when he would do them with a mouth full of food at the dinner table while sitting in his high chair.

There was an ad running on television in those early days of Craig for Aqua Velva that had a catchy tune. The refrain went something like this: “There’s just something about an Aqua Velva man.”  I would chase him around the house, singing that refrain, and he loved it, but he had to act as if it annoyed him no end.

In the fall of 1964, I returned home from almost three months in Europe.  

I couldn’t wait to see Craig.  He was on his way home from a friend’s house, when I went out to meet him on the sidewalk.  It was just like a movie.  We went running towards each other, and I picked him up to swing him around.  I’ll never forget the look on his face.  I wish anyone liked me that much today.

Every night at dinner,  a glass of milk was spilled, upsetting my father, but sending us into gales of giggling, so that, along with Craig’s flawless execution of the  raspberries we had taught him, made us laugh again as a family – even Dad and Mom.

He brought some much-needed joy to our family and made dinner at the table seem like fun again. 

By the way, he grew up to be a very fine man, as well as husband and father.

The End

*Dr. Mary McClellan, our family doctor forever.  She made house calls, too.