There
are some holidays you can remember for months, even years afterwards. Then
there are others that seem more like normal days and within a couple of weeks
you’ve forgotten exactly what transpired. For me Labor Day falls in the latter category,
generally a very forgettable day.
Generally.
To
this day, thirty-eight years and counting, I still remember a good deal of what
occurred the morning of Monday, September 3, 1979.
I
can remember my bedroom. It was so pink. Pink walls, pink dresser, pink carpet.
I even had a pink bedspread. I’ve always assumed the total pink color of the
room is why I didn’t have to share with anyone. At the time I had two brothers,
and though the youngest probably didn’t care, he was sharing with his older
brother. I can guarantee our oldest brother wasn’t going to sleep in a pink
room.
As
for my two sisters, well neither one of them have ever liked pink. So yeah, I
had the luxury of a whole room to myself for the first time in my life. I even
had a nice big full sized bed to myself. (My siblings all had single sized beds,
and roommates.)
So
on this particular morning I slowly came to realize the sun was peaking over
the distant mountains. I looked up for a moment noting how the cloud cover
turned everything into more hues of pink. I was appreciating the view and the
thought came to me that I normally didn’t have time to see it because I was
getting ready for school.
Wait!
School!
I
very nearly jumped out of bed before I remembered it was a holiday. Sleepy me snuggled
back down for some more sleep.
A
few minutes later Dad appeared at my bedroom door. “Get up.”
“Why?
There’s no school today.”
“To
help Margo.”
“Help
her with what?” Bear in mind that Dad was a pro at forcing us kids to do someone
else’s chore because he thought he had the right kid doing it. I was not
budging unless it really was my chore.
“Pack.”
“Pack?
Why? Where is she going?”
“The
hospital.”
Well
that did it. I bolted up telling Dad I was coming and he could leave so I could
get dressed. I finally realized my stepmother, Margo, was in labor with her
second child.
To
this day I don’t understand why he didn’t just come right out and tell me what
was happening and why she needed help. But I also find it funny that I went
from groggy still snuggled in bed to wide awake in a split second when it
finally hit me.
And
I did go downstairs to help her, though I don’t remember what exactly I did to
help. Most women are smart enough to pack go bags well in advance so all I can
think of was I gathered a few last minute items for her then helped Dad get her
to the car.
It
was much later, after we got to see our newest little brother that Margo told
us about the funniest part of the day. You see she delivered in the same tiny
hospital she worked in. Her co-workers were snickering clear through her labor
about her being in labor on Labor Day.
So
for me our youngest brother’s appearance into the world is a day I’ve never
forgotten.
Then
about nine and half months later the little squirt made Father’s Day memorable by
walking, for the first time, clear across a country kitchen and into Dad’s
arms. Made Dad’s day.
Smile.
Make the day a brighter day.
