Twenty-one years ago, around 7:30 AM, my little brother was born. Sam’s birth was quick, and a little traumatic, but I think (by now) he’s overcome the hurdle of birth.
When Sam was born, I was 4 ½ years old. My parents wanted to do sibling-attended childbirth, so I had attending all the birthing classes, and I was in the car on the way to the alternative birth center. When we pulled up to the building, I was told firmly to stay put and not move and my father would be back in less than one minute.
Sure enough, maybe thirty seconds later, Dad reappeared, grabbed me, and we went inside. Sam had been born.
Evidently, if you’re a woman in labor and you say, “The head is in my pants” , you’re just a hysterical woman in labor.
(I would like to state at this point that the problem with labor is not that the uterus is floating around making the woman crazy – the way hysteria is defined- but rather that the uterus is EXPELLING A PERSON.)
When my father and I entered the room, it looked like there had been a massacre. Sam’s umbilical cord had torn when they de-pants-ed my mother, and Sam hit the ground. One of the nurses said that she caught him, but Mom is fairly certain that Sam hit the ground. Catching a slippery baby is not easy.
Things calmed down, and Sam was successfully born.
Since then, Sam has been my partner in crime, my sidekick, and my co-star. Whether it was a distract-and-drop scheme at the grocery store, preparing arrangements for a song, or growing closer through shared suffering, it’s always been me and Sam.
Sam’s likes include martial arts, liberal politics, and musical theater. My influence there is obvious, I would hope. If he runs for office, I’m supposed to be his head advisor. A wise choice, right?
Today Mom and I called him (at 8:30 AM) to wish him a happy birthday. He’s a college student, so this was pretty cruel and unusual, but we had to beat the rush of birthday wishes.
Happy Birthday, Sam. Drink as much water as you do booze, take an Advil and call me in the morning.
Happy birthday to my favorite wheelchair pusher and rescuer! Sam was perfectly patient with me on the day I most needed that. He is totally my hero. (I've decided since then that there are easier ways to get to have a conversation with him than dropping 260 lbs on my foot.)
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