Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I certainly have a lot to be
thankful for. I could make a very long list indeed, but what is on my mind
right now is something which is happening next week. It’s the birthday of one of
my little brothers. The middle one. The one who came the day after Thanksgiving
the year he was born, something his mother will never let him forget since she
went into labor just as her Thanksgiving feast ended.
But what I remember most about him was his enjoyment of
riding in his stroller. When our family first moved to Rexburg Idaho, he was
eighteen months old and he loved his stroller to the point that when
anyone headed for the front door, he run out and climbed into it (it
was the old style which didn’t fold). This made things difficult for our father
and his mother when they left for work, but for the rest of us, it just meant the
first teenager to leave the house during the day had to take Ben with them.
Quite often it was me. I ended up taking him with me three
or four times a week. Now let me remind you, I was fifteen back then, and
well endowed. More than once someone thought Ben was my son. I can’t tell you
how many times someone asked me, “How old is your son?”
I’d always answer, “My little brother is eighteen months
old.”
Sometimes, just to make it clear,
I’d add my age, and when that didn’t work, I added my status as a virgin, but it was only once I had to do that. It was Rexburg after all,
and most the people were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day
Saints, and they don’t even let their children date until they're sixteen. I
might add I wasn’t a member yet, but I was a good girl.
Of course, that was also the
summer when my then only two brothers walked to the park a block away and
returned with one huge dog trailing them! Once upon a time I wrote about that
dang dog. I might add I’m not a dog person, never have been, and I really don’t
like large dogs – they scare me. And Jim Boy was exceptionally large.
Later on we learned his
size was due to being half timber wolf! Yeah, he was big, but he won the heart
of my stepmom that day by stopping Ben from falling off the steps. Dang dog.
Though that’s another story, getting
back to memories of Ben. He, being so young, came up with nicknames his older siblings,but he had hearing problems, so he didn't talk much beyond those nicknames, and it didn’t help that there were so many people in the family, we got used to
his hand gestures. And even after his hearing was fixed, when he was around four, there were still some
words he wasn't saying.
Namely Dadda. He started with
Momma but then went on to those nicknames; Be for his big
brother, Le for me and De for Konnie, and I believe he called Jacki Jay, but
he hadn’t said Dadda yet. And Dad was getting annoyed about it to the point that he
told Bryon, Konnie, and me that he’d do the chores for one week for whoever got
Ben to say Dadda.
Several weeks later I managed it
while Dad was at work, so I called him and got Ben to say, “Hi, Dadda,”
into the phone. Then I pointed out to my dear father which of his twin
daughters had managed it, so there was no mistake as to who earned one week
without chores.
Near the end of the week Dad
complained at dinner about the bathroom not being clean and demanded to know whose
chore it was; my stepmom smiled and said, “Yours, dear.” To which everyone else
agreed, but Bryon told me I should have held off and let Dad know I’d won the
deal when my chore was dishes for the week. Which wouldn’t have worked because in the
rotation we had bathroom came after dishes.
Ben was a cute kid, and sweet, my sister’s
and I used to sing “Close to You” to him all the time. He isn’t so little
anymore, in fact now he has a sweet little teenage daughter. Where did the time
go?
And right now, I need to get baking,
so happy Thanksgiving and happy writing everyone. 😊
