Happy Birthday, Mikey!

47 years ago today my mom gave me the coolest present; a baby brother! I was in Mrs. Meyer's 4th grade class at Maplewood elementary school. Mom and Dad named him Michael but I chopped that off to "Mikey" in a flash. The timing was perfect for me but I think it must have sucked for Mom and Dad. Buddy was in college, Neanne was in nurse's training, I was 10, David was 6, and Dad was being transferred to a place called Arkansas. Oh yeah, and my parents were 42 years old. That's not such a big deal now but it sure was in 1960.
Our family was friends with a family who had a daughter with Down's Syndrome and I think Mom was worried that Mike would be affected with this form of mental retardation. There wasn't a test to check for it so we rode it out, excited and worried and full of hope. Mom tried to prepare us for what could be ahead but I was just excited about getting a baby.
The day Mikey was born the Good Year blimp landed in the airfield behind our house. What an omen! Our baby was perfect! Mrs. Meyers let me stand up in class and tell all about him.
I don't remember all the particulars now but I really did love that baby. I probably made a pest of myself, trying to help out and feeling grown up.
Of course, Buddy and Neanne's friends were at the house all the time, passing Mike around and acting silly over him. Mike has been a people person from day one but who's to say if it's his personality or a defense mechanism he learned as an infant. Whichever, it works. He has a ready laugh and an easy manner. That's not to say he's a pushover. Far from it. He's the caboose on a highly opinionated and motivated freight train of siblings and if he hadn't had the strength to hold on he might have been left behind. After all, 20 years separates the oldest from the youngest.
I don't know when he went from a tow headed baby in a striped life jacket to the man who manages transportation for the Arkansas Department of Education. Growing up, he entertained me more than any of my toys. I was always terrified that something horrible would happen to him. The day he turned 16 I cried when he drove out of the driveway, convinced I'd seen the last of him. I was 26! Mom told me to get a grip. She'd live through it 5 times already.
And, as usual, Mom was right. Here we all are, able to fight another day.