Being in part Scottish, my then husband, John, and I were excessively frugal, priding ourselves on not running the air conditioner. Even when the thermometer surpassed 100, we were convinced our dry heat was more tolerable than the hot, humid summers of Pennsylvania, where my visiting parents still lived in those days. The heating and cooling bills our forty-five-year-old house could produce, with its inadequate insulation and single-pane windows, were also daunting. My parents had been with us by then nine days, awaiting the birth of their eighth grandchild, despite my warning that this baby would be late. As the temperature climbed, my dad suggested they leave for their other children's homes in the cooler climes of the Bay Area, but my mom responded she'd made it this far, and she was not going to miss the birth.
As with each afternoon, on July 4, Dad and two-and-one-half-year-old Andrew splashed each other in the wading pool, and Mom and I and our black lab, Puga, looked on. To celebrate Independence Day, we no doubt had fireworks in the street, as we did every year, since we lived in a county island where they were permitted.
On July 5 it was 109. We went swimming at the gym, thanks to the membership of the law firm for which I paralegaled part-time. The water was somewhat cooler than the air, and it was grand to float. In my bouyant state, I informed my inhabitant that it was time to end his or her state of suspension, which proved prophetically to be a thematically apposite* comment, as this or-else pattern would occur not irregularly over the ensuing years with my second child.
Et voilà! John and I left for Community Hospital in downtown Fresno at about 2:00 a.m. on July 6. It was one of those Central Valley nights when the temperature does not drop thirty degrees, as is typical, and we were engulfed in stagnant air. At 9:35 a.m., with the temperature on its way to 111, we had a baby boy. I know this because his hospital card, which is taped into his Baby's First Year Calendar says, "I'M A BOY!" The "My Name" section is blank, although we did know his middle name would be Riddle, the boys' maternal great-grandmother's maiden name, as a parallel to his brother's middle name of Shawhan, their paternal great-grandmother's maiden name. "My Mother" confirms that he was ours, as it says "McDaniel."
My parents brought big brother Andrew to visit Baby Boy McDaniel later that day, and the now big brother with instant new privileges and responsibilities much enjoyed the wine that was served with the new parents' dinner. We were so careless with child-rearing in those days and had so few helpful gadgets. How our children became a pediatrician and a mechanical engineer I'll never know. My father nearly staged a riot when the nurse came to take Baby Boy for his male procedure, which had the corollary effect of finally waking him and making him want to nurse. His birth was the first and last time he would be too tired to eat. His somewhat traumatic entry to the outside world had been interrupted to cut the umbilical cord from around his neck, after which he had to put up with his home being pushed on from the outside by nurses, as only one shoulder at a time could fit through the exit—or entrance, depending on your point of view. No wonder it took him a minute to catch his breath in the bassinet while the staff hunted the elusive oxygen mask, which fortunately proved unnecessary as he finally gulped air.
We were left alone to rest for the night not only by our family, but by the hospital staff as well, which, as you know, is highly unusual in hospitals, where preventing rest seems the rule. I guess since Baby Boy and I were doing perfectly well, the nurses devoted their time to the mothers and/or babies who were not, or else they saw no reason to deal with a mother who didn't yet know her child's name, or else they were playing Words with Friends, er Scrabble, no iphones in those days, at the nurses' station. So we got to plan our ASAP escape, and sleep.
My mother and John talked long into the night, probably consuming a wee bit of wine for inspiration, and finally came up with a name: "Stephen," of Greek origin, meaning "crown" or "garland." Stephen was the first Christian martyr. I'm not clear whether he went by the Hebrew סטיבן (Stiven) or the Greek Στέφανος (Stephanos), which is derived from στέφανος, meaning "wreath, crown, honor, reward…that which surrounds or encompasses." In those dark pre-Wikipedia days, I did not know all these details, but twenty-eight years later, it all makes sense how fitting the name was. Andrew can attest how often Stephen played the martyr, and his sometimes all-encompassing demanding nature on occasion threatened my maternal adoration.
I'm not sure how long we would have gone on calling him Baby Boy had the hospital not insisted on a name before letting us go, but even Stephen didn't stick long. He was soon called Binky Beans, after the name of one of his brother's coterie of imaginary friends, who also included Abeghee and Abbeeyabbee (not sure on the spelling). He is still known today variously as Beans and Binks, as well as Rosarita, and even sometimes Stephen or Steve or Stevie. Last year, when he married the wonderful, stunningly beautiful and intelligent, warm, gracious Jessie, the mothers were asked to say a word or two during the ceremony. My first ten words were his nicknames, and I left out the essential "Helmet," acquired when he was in grade school and we should have bought stock in all hair gel manufacturers.
Yes, Baby Boy, aka Stephen, has been all grown up for some years now. For me, July 4, in addition to the birth of our nation, will always mean two days before the birthday of an astonishing human being who came into my life on a very hot day, and who is, with his brother, the profoundest joy of my life.
And by the way, on July 21, 1984, the temperature in Fresno dipped to a cool 96, the first time in three weeks it had been under 100.
* I learned of "thematically apposite" when a friend came across it in the current New Yorker. I thought I should incorporate it wholesale, i.e., not "thematically" alone or "apposite" alone, into my vocabulary.
No comments:
Post a Comment