the one where I cared.

On September 1, 1983 my whole world turned upside down.

That was the day that my baby brother was born.

I hated him.

Seriously, I remember that the best part of going to the hospital to see him was that the nurse gave me some straws. I love straws.

Have no fear, I will not talk anymore about how much I didn't like him.... instead, I will tell you about the first time I remember really truly caring about him.

I think I had just turned seven. The family was over to celebrate my grandmother's birthday. We were gathered around the dining room table of my parents house and were celebrating with a bucket of fried chicken from KFC. The colonel did not do Davito right that day.

While eating his chicken, he started to choke on a bone. My mom, dad, and grandmother made a mad dash for him and took him outside... He wasn't exactly choking, it was stuck, but he was still breathing... My grandmother gave him the Heimlich out on the deck, I stayed inside.

It seemed like they were out there FOREVER. I asked my aunt if he was going to be ok, and she was completely honest with me and told me, ' I really don't know.'

I went into the bathroom and sat on the (closed) toilet and prayed and prayed and prayed to God that he would be ok... I went back out into the dining room to see if my prayers had been answered. They hadn't. I went back to the bathroom and prayed again... everyone must have thought I had a stomachache or something...

When I came out the second time, my grandmother was walking back inside with the scoop.

'Well, he upchucked and he is going to be ok'

I was relieved. I think that was also the first time that I really felt like God answered prayers.

I love that my grandma used the word upchuck.

xoxox
smb