Eight years ago my parents found themselves providing shelter for a young, pregnant woman. Mom was 75; Dad was 82. A few months after the baby boy was born, the unwed mother disappeared back into the streets, leaving the little one with my elderly folks.
After considering their options, they contacted CPS and asked to foster the abandoned child. As time went on, the baby’s future seemed unstable. Someone had to take responsibility for him. My parents had fallen in love with the little man and decided to do something about it, so they became parents for the sixth time. Mom was 77; dad was 83.
On his second birthday, Mom invited us, his new older brothers and sisters, to his birthday party at Peter Piper Pizza. The next youngest sibling had just turned 40; the oldest was in his late 50’s. To offset the age discrepancy, some of us brought our grandchildren to the party, so that Baby Bro would have someone to play with. (Even they were older than their newly-acquired uncle.)
Mama is now 83; Dad would have been 90 on his next birthday, so one day our youngest sister will take over the care of our little brother, but he has all of us, his slightly older brothers and sisters, to remind him how much he was loved by his real parents, the mother and father who took responsibility for him and stepped up to claim him, regardless the odds.