When I was a little girl I wanted a baby brother more than anything in the world, the way some little girls are supposed to want a puppy or a pony. When my parents were kind enough to come through with one several months before my 6th birthday I was overjoyed. It was not too long before I realized that this wonderful gift came with a few strings attached. He wasn’t really mine with whom to do anything l wanted. For instance, I couldn’t take him to school with me for Show & Tell or to bed with me in place of my favorites stuffed animal!
Nonetheless, the way I remember it he was an almost unmitigated delight from Day One. I always had a good time in his company, particularly once he could talk. We shared the same love of words and ridiculous sense of humor and still do.
I went away to school when I was 13 and, though I knew he would miss me, the only complaint I heard was that he would have to write to me in Poughkeepsie, N.Y. and why couldn’t I have found a school in some easy to spell place like Watertown?
We haven’t lived under the same roof since then nor, for the past 51 years, even on the same coast. Yet a week hasn’t gone by when I haven’t missed him. His birthday present this year, in years worth of great and imaginative gift giving, was himself. He flew West to spend a few days at great expense of energy and money and the time together was far too short.