Brother Preacher-man's Birth Day

I remember standing in the parking lot of the Tupelo, MS, hospital and looking at a window on -- I believe -- the third floor. Mom had just had Brother Preacher-man, the brother that came after me. At that time, you had to be at least twelve to go up and see patients, so me, being six, and Brother Number One, being nine, weren't old enough for an official visit. Brother Running-man, being the youngest of we four brothers, was yet to arrive on the scene. Dad (who was in the parking lot with us) helped us find the window and Mom came to the window with Brother Preacher-man (no, it wasn't a Michael Jackson moment - the window was closed). So my first view of my new little brother was through the third floor window of the Tupelo hospital, and while Mom waved he just bawled (at least that's how I remember it). I'm guessing he thought she was tossing him out the window; he was probably fairly insecure at the time, given what all he had just been through.

Fast forward to the birth of my second child, Number One Son, many years later; Number One Daughter was only four but was able to come and check her new little brother out only minutes after birth. Yet back when Brother Preacher-man arrived, not only were we siblings not allowed up, Dad wasn't allowed back in the delivery room. While I wasn't in the waiting room, I picture Dad pacing the floor, smoking cigarette after cigarette; I'm not sure he smoked at that time, as he gave them up somewhere around then, but that's the mental picture I have -- probably from watching old movies.

Of course, by the time SWMBO and I got around to having children, I was back in the room holding her hand and suggesting she breath - why she would forget to do so, I've no clue. Perhaps in the excitement of childbirth it can slip the almost-mother's mind, so husbands hang around and remind them. I assume prior to the time when the fellows started going back with their spouse, a nurse took care of the reminder. Given all these nurses had to do, maybe they occasionally forgot, and the new mom would pass out in the middle of giving birth. So along with slapping the new baby's backside, Mom had to be smacked a time or two just to bring her around. This was probably seen as a bit much to the new Moms, so I'm guessing husbands started going back to handle the chore. It has to be something along those lines; otherwise, what use are we back there? One thing I can tell you for sure, from the experience of Number One Daughter's birth: pointing out the newly arrived baby's ears are on crooked isn't appreciated. I knew better than to make such comments when Number One Son came along. Oh, and don't worry, Number One Daughter's ears straightened out within a few minutes.

Anyway, to get back to the point of the post: Brother Preacher-man, just remembering your birth day here on your birthday, and passing warmest wishes your way. I hope today is the first day of a fantastic new year of life.