Little brother

Twenty-four years ago, my little world turned upside down. After 6 years as an only child, I had a little brother. My parents left for the hospital early that morning while I was still asleep. He was born via C-section shortly before 9 a.m., weighing 9 lbs, 11.5 oz.

My dad came to school during lunch to tell me that I had a little brother. Then he kissed me, told me he loved me, and left. My classmates teased me, so I got mad at him for embarrassing me.

I left school early to go to the hospital and meet my little brother. I remember the nurse instructing me to wash my hands and put on a hospital gown. She said it was a Superman gown.

They stayed in the hospital for a week and came home during a blizzard. I remember marveling at the sterile glass bottles of sugar water they brought home.

My mom brought him to school a few weeks later, so I could take him for show-and-tell. I also took a copy of his birth announcement. It was a blue sheet of paper folded in fourths, and it had a picture of a toolbox on it that my dad had drawn. (He had also done a pink one, with a pearl and oyster on it, in case the baby had been a girl.)

He’s all grown up now, with a family of his own. Because of the difference in our ages, he was still a little kid when I left home, and there were a few years when we couldn’t keep in touch. Sometimes it’s like he’s a stranger about whom I know nothing, yet I can tell him things about himself that he does not even know. I may feel like I hardly know him, but he’s still my little brother, and I love him fiercely.

Happy birthday, Buzzy!