Friday, June 13, 2008
Probably just about exactly 18 years ago, I came home from a prenatal appointment and was met at the door by my five year old son who demanded to know whether the doctor had told me the gender of the new baby. I smiled at him because I knew that after two sisters, this answer was very important to him.
"It's a boy," was the answer--he closed his eyes, tilted his head toward the sky and said "How did God know just what I wanted."
He was an incredible big brother, every bit as responsible as Henry Alden from The Boxcar Children
In fact, if circumstances were ever such that he and his three siblings were living in a boxcar, they would have been just fine. I remember one day after reading the first book, he asked if we could have bowls of bread and milk for dinner. We did.
The children searched every old home we ever happened into looking for a wardrobe that they could use as a passageway to Narnia and Ethan was always ready to don a beaver coat and become Peter.
He was always Kermit when the kids played Muppet Babies and in the stories that I told them sitting under our elm tree, he was Blue Feather, a little native american boy with 3 little siblings. He was always the first one to do everything and to make sure that his siblings were safe when they tried it. I honestly think Ethan did at least as much parenting as I did over the years (and I'm not especially proud of that).
Well, the big brother is an engineer now, all grown up and living in another state with a wonderful wife and a few days ago invited his little brother to come out and spend some time over the summer living and working. Sometimes it's a good thing just to get out of Dodge--so I'll put the teenager on a plane this weekend with a hope and a prayer.