Infamy? Just Fame.

Today in 1941 may have been infamous, but fifty-four years later, it was certainly famous. Twenty Five years ago, my baby was born. I was supposed to be induced on the the 6th…St. NICHOLAS’ Day, you see…also there was a very dashing and brooding vampire on TV that I was watching, and I loved the way his name was pronounced by his French co-star…NEE co lah…anyway, Dr. Brinkman had a schedule conflict so we were bumped to the 7th. I still remember the birthing center…that was a new concept. I was a little skeptical of it all, gingham curtains and a microwave? In a delivery environment? Nico’s dad burned popcorn in that microwave. I prefer the stainless steel and highly sanitized situation for such events. Anyway, labor was long and bed-ridden…they wouldn’t let me walk with the IV tree…I’m sure there are reasons why. There was much rejoicing when the epidural doc arrived.

This child has made his own way pretty much always. I didn’t always understand the winds that blew his sails in different directions, but he has grown to be such a good man. He is smart and thoughtful, clever and handsome, brave and kind. Treat him with respect and he will move mountains for you. Demean him or anyone within four city blocks, and he will flay your skin from the bone using just his vocabulary, or at least completely ignore you and what you represent. He defends the weak, looks out for folks who are struggling, and generally puts his own needs aside for the people he loves. He is talented and driven, poetic and hilarious. As he gets older he is more judicious with the use of his wit, at least with me. More and more he understands when gentleness is required more than being witty or right.

I am so very proud of him…one whole quarter century’s worth…plus that first year…and one for next year…and a pinch to grow an inch.