Birthday

Yesterday was my younger brother’s birthday.  We’re all pretty good about keeping in touch, and making birthday calls within 24 hours of the day.  This year I sent him a few things from our mutual childhood.  A few photos, newspaper clippings from the tornado were in, a tattered New Testament Bible our Mother had when she was in the Navy during WWII.  Going through the memories, in the context of his birthday brought back the memory of how I found out a new baby was coming.

I was five years old and in kindergarten, definitely too young to have noticed anything about Mama’s increasing weight or fashion statements.  One morning when I got up and went downstairs for breakfast, I saw a bunch of little clothes and things on the spare bed.  I started looking at them and Mama came in and explained that they were gifts she had gotten the night before from friends because there was going to be a new baby coming to our house.

I was really excited.  The little clothes and blankets were so soft and pretty, I remember looking and touching them and wondering about what it would be like to have a baby wearing and using all those wonderful things. 

“Does Daddy know about this?” I remember asking.  “No, I don’t think he does," she answered. 

“Then can I tell him?”  I waited expectantly for her reply. 

“Yes, I think that would be nice.”  It was what I wanted to hear.  “But you have to go to school first.”

I remember nothing about that day in school, but the moment I got home I ran into the spare bedroom and looked at each of the little gifts separately.  I then arranged them as neatly as I could all around the edges of the bed so they looked like a store display.  I patted and fluffed and straightened until I felt they were perfect.  Then I closed the doors to the bedroom and waited for Daddy to come home.

I knew it was nearly time, because I could smell the coffee perking on the stove.  They always sat down for coffee the minute he got home, but this time, I knew he had to wait.  I met him at the door and grabbed his hand and told him I had a surprise for him.

We got to the bedroom and I made him close his eyes, opened the door and led him in.  When he was standing at the foot of the bed with the wonderful baby things so carefully arranged by my toddler fingers, I said, "Open your eyes!"  As he looked in wonder at the display I shouted, “We’re going to have a baby!”

He did a double take of surprise and then just beamed at me.  He must have said something to the effect that it was wonderful, and I could see that he was excited that a baby was coming.  I led him back to the kitchen table so he and Mama could have their coffee, and I went back to play with the little clothes some more.

Neither one of them ever said anything to let me know that I actually wasn’t the one to break the good news about the baby to Daddy.  Not ever.  Eventually I realized that of course he had known, but I have always loved them both a little more for giving me those moments of pride and excitement, and playing along so completely.

What’s Zen got to do with it?  This experience is about love, and the special moments that help define us and those we love.  Even after so many years, I can still feel that joy and excitement, and be glad that “we” had that baby.

Happy Birthday, "little" brother!