A Story Comes to Mind of Another Time

“A Story Comes to Mind of Another Time.”
I was born at a very early age toward the end of June up north in the state of Connecticut, and by some strange fate, my mother was the woman who gave birth to me and my twin brother that eventful day in our life. Her name was Mom, but that wasn’t always her name. She had a different one before marrying my dad and bringing us boys into this world. Unfortunately, dad wasn’t with us as a family man for very long, he died, but before that, which was fortunate, he was the guy who so happened to donate his sperm to my cause in life. Actually, I think that gives me reason to be right proud of my dear dad. Well, guess what! The year before me, he was a pretty thoughtful fella then too, if I may say so, because he was also kind enough to donate so that my year older brother showed up, and before I forget, as I said in that first sentence, I got me a twin brother, who was ahead of me by just a few minutes. Yeah, he’s older, and he likes to rub that in.
This great dad of ours picked up a new name from us kids and he was named Daddy, and he held onto that name his whole life which as I also mentioned, didn’t really last that long. When I was two years old, he got himself killed on his motorcycle. Wasn’t his fault though, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Okay, back to the story, and this might explain a lot! My twin and I were born in 6 months instead of 9 (required) months. Just call us impatient. I don’t think mom falling down a flight of stairs the morning of our birth had anything to do with it.... do you? My brother and I would each fit into the palm of an adult's hand and we both weighed less than a pound apiece, and to say the least, we were quite small! Because we were so small and early, we were put into incubators and cooked till done. Good golly! We had to live in that hospital for almost a year before mom could take us home, but I guess that had something to do with the aforementioned stuff about getting here before time, and because while in the cooking units, my twin got too much oxygen and his left optic nerve burst causing him to go blind in that eye and hindered the vision in the other eye to 10% vision. Can you believe he has gone through life not really knowing just how ugly he is!
I love joking with him and telling him this, but he always tells me that’s my opinion and that he got all the brains. He might have got the smarts, but I got common sense, but we won’t dwell on that. Back to what I was saying, and while in those cooking units, I didn’t get enough oxygen and therefore quit breathing for about 3 minutes, that might be something to the brain issue my brother harps on. Well, talk about confusion, two doctors tried to get me going again and what they were doing wasn’t working, or I was being stubborn. A third doctor decided to try something never done on a newborn much less a preemie. Least ways, that’s what I was told. Yep, I was told he inserted a shot of Adrenaline into my heart just before he took a pair of heart paddles and hollered, "CLEAR!"
That zap gave me a charge even the ever ready bunny can’t beat. I'm still ticking like a good Timex. AND NO side effects! That’s not everybody’s opinion, ask any of my brothers, but who listens to them. You might have to be my age to get my pun here.
After Dad died... mom moved us boys south to her parent’s house, and boy oh boy, has it been a wild ride since! After mom moved us boys to the south, we did all the normal things little boys do growing up and we had us a Granddad! He’s the old guy in our lives that even mom got quiet for…. Her Dad! We all loved this guy, and to us, his name was Granddaddy and he was the first father figure in our lives, but boy, was he ever strict! Not only did he spank us when we acted out, he made us go out and cut our own switches!!! Don’t come back with no baby switch either, cause then he’d grab you by the collar, take you out back, show you what size switch to get and continue showing you after he got it, for what seemed like eternity… and him being a preacher type and all that! I know! Cause I was there, and more than once!
The fact that I didn’t have a father did play on me a bit. I would see the other kid’s dads with them. Their dads would be horsing around and doing things with them. My Granddad just wasn’t able to, and it was kind of sad… BUT…When I was 5 years old Mom, ohhhh dear sweet Mom, brought me home a new DADDY!!!!!!!
YeeeeeeHawwwwwww!!!!!! That’s southern for “You Rock Mom!” and a lot of other stuff too. I was so thrilled about my new dad, that I ran around the neighborhood and collected all my friends to come to my house so that they too could get to see, “MY NEW DADDY!” I even charged them each 5 cents to see, but Mom made me give them back their money. Maybe, I shouldn’t have told her about that part until after they all left, but when she saw all those kids piling into her house to see her husband, my new dad, she remarked that somebody was gonna have to run down to the corner store to get more lemonade.
I volunteered and proudly stated I even had the money to pay for it. I’m starting to believe my twin might be onto something here, I’m a loudmouth. Can you believe my mom talked about that day for years to come? I don’t know if she wanted to remember it, or if she didn’t want me to forget it. I guess it was for both reasons.
Oh! This NEW DAD, I called him Daddy right off!!! He didn’t mind either! When mom and him got hitched, mom changed her last name to match his last name, but wouldn’t let us boys do it, cause she said we had to honor our father by keeping his name tagged onto ours. I even remember hearing mom and my new daddy talking about daddy wanting to adopt us, but she was set on us being who we were.
Daddy loved and raised us boys better than or as well as any real father might have. That was pretty cool! I feel that in my heart and I’m thinking I was his favorite, because he took me everywhere with him, even to his work when I wasn't in school. Now that part of loving me, well … maybe he could have been more slack on that! If it were left up to me at the time, I believe, because I had to dig holes, and tote shingles, and stack boards, and pick up trash, and gee wiz, when I got home, I was too tired to play.
Daddy was my hero even so, and I miss him here in my later years. He was a loving dad, even when my brothers and I kinda got outta hand and did stuff we weren’t supposed to do. Dad showed us love … the kind that burned the bottom side of your little self (tailbone), but he did it, “even if it hurt him more”. Yeah, that’s what he said, but I never really understood how that was possible, we were the ones getting the licks! But you know, even when Dad spanked us, he would explain why we, mainly I, were going to get a whooping, and he only gave you three good whacks with his belt, most of the time, unless you really got him upset,like the time a friend of mine and I got into his wine cabinet, but we won’t go there. Even today I can still see him pulling that strip of leather out from around his waist, folding it in half, curling the buckle over and placing it in his hand, so as not to hit you with it, might hurt something powerful if he did, and then he would “pop it” once or twice. That was the mental whoopin that came with the rear whoopin. After the correction of wrongdoing was adhered to the rumpus, dad would tell you he loved you, but to me, didn’t seem so much like love at the time though.
Yep, he was my hero, and I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. Then it happened, the unthinkable. I became a teenager! That story will have to wait for another day!