I don't know how I missed it.
I did not have a clue that there was going to be a new addition to my family.
It was 1955. A time of innocence. And me, at six years of age, I guess I
did not notice anything different about my mom. Looked like the same old mom to me
but then again I was busy with my playing and now a new distraction, school.
So maybe it just escaped my attention. Or equally probable, I just did not know what
I was looking at if I saw it.
I had no reference for expectant mothers. If Mom was getting a little heavy, I
probably figured she was just getting fat and never thought her weight was in any
way related to our family growing in size.
I did not even realize that the time was growing close.
I went to bed one night and woke up to find my mother and father missing. My
grandmother was in the house with me.
I asked my grandmother where everybody was and she told me they had gone to the hospital.
Now I knew a little something about hospitals. I had my tonsils removed, so
my first impression of hospitals was not necessarily a favorable one.
A short time later, the phone rang. My grandmother answered it. She talked
briefly. A smile crossed her face. As she hung up, she turned to me.
"You have a little brother," she explained.
I knew what brothers were. A lot of my friends had them. Some were
younger, some were older. They all were pains. My first impression of brothers was
not necessarily a favorable one.
Big ones picked on you and little ones got in your way. There just was no winning
with brothers.
My new brother apparently came a little early. He must have been in a hurry to meet
me! This necessitated both he and my mother staying for a longer than normal time in
the hospital.
I think my Aunt Helen joined the take-care-of-Johnny force. It took at least two
sets of hands to handle me at this point.
My father was running back and forth between home, work and the hospital and my brother
and mother were gaining strength.
I still remember the day my brother arrived home. He was very tiny. Wrapped in a blanket,
despite the August heat, all I could see was a little face. And he was peeling, like
some of the kids in the neighborhood I had seen after they had to much sun.
He had little hands, and not a lot of hair. No teeth. And despite all of that,
everybody wanted to be around him. Family came to look at him. Friends
came to look at him. Neighbors came to look at him. Nobody came to look at
me. After six short years, my reign as the only and favorite child came to a
shattering halt.
I brooded, I pouted, I swore I never would like that little pinkish-brown kid. He
made too much noise, took up too much of everybody's attention. I knew I just would never
learn to like him. He was too little to play. So what good was he?
Jealousy had dug its teeth into me. I knew there was no way I could get rid of him
but was there any way at least to make his presence worthwhile.
All my little friends were curious about the new arrival at my house.
I guess their mothers and fathers had told them there was a new baby at the Fisher house.
Little Jeffrey Fisher had made his mark on the neighborhood and all he could do was
cry.
They all wanted to know about my brother. What he was like.
We were all gathered on the wide porch at the front of my house. Had to be a half
dozen or so of my closest associates gathered about me. All the little boys
and girls from my street who had yet really to discover the marvels, mysteries and
misfortunes of having a baby added to the family.
I looked through the screen door and discovered that mother and new son were just inside
on the couch.
Suddenly, baby brother started making sense to me. I began reeling off the story of
my new baby brother. How he cried. How he was fed. Probably even tossed
a diaper story or two in for good measure.
But then with true P.T. Barnum flourish, I assured each and everyone in attendance, they
could see this brand new miracle of nature, this marvel or infancy themselves if they
coughed up whatever change they had in their pockets. I think I started the
admission at a dime but then reduced it to a nickel so I could have more takers.
They lined up like it was a sideshow attraction. And me, I was the barker, building
up the expectation of the event,. And then, once I had their nickel clasped in my
little fist, I would swing open the screen door and usher them into a private audience
with my mother and my new, now purposeful, little brother.
I was about up to fifty cents before my enterprise was busted. The steady stream of
my playmates into the house, one at a time, caused my mother's suspicions to arise.
It did not take her too many questions to discover she and my brother Jeffrey
were now a paid event.
I had to give all the money back. My day of play was over and so was my cash cow called
baby brother Jeffrey.
It took me a while to get over the fact I no longer was the lone star of the show.
That I had share billing with my baby brother.
My mom still teases me about the day I charged admission to see my brother. My
brother Jeff asks me if I saved his cut of the action.
Somewhere along the way, and it did not occur early in life, I discovered baby brothers
were not that bad of a thing after all. They could be trained to get things for you
and do some of your jobs you were too busy to do.
But baby brothers also grow up to be good companions and a source of strength and support.
Only problem is, when they get old, you no longer can sell admission to see them.
