Born in the early light of day,
the baby’s eyes are shut tight, so are his fists. Swaddled and lying in his
crib, he wonders who this strange thing is that smiles at him, flashes lights
in his eyes, and laughs so loudly.
One day he will understand why
she props him up against the corner of the sofa and giggles when he teeters
over and falls onto the soft cushions.
She tickles him, but he forgives her because she smells of milk and she
is warm when she cuddles him.
Pages turn. Birthdays and
Christmases come and go. Some school day pictures capture smiles, others don’t.
Only his family, his grandmother, or Farrah Fawcett gets a smile out him.
He loves to swim, to eat potato
chips, and to play outdoors. He doesn’t smile in soccer pictures. He hates being a little teapot, and he hates the
jerk who stole his bike when he was ten.
He dyes his hair purple and
green, and the camera turns its attention on the baby sister and the little
brother. Instead, Mother collects his stories, his poems, and his art in the
album.
The pages slow down, but that’s
okay. Now a new face smiles on those pages. . . .
Born in the early light of day,
the baby’s eyes are shut tight, so are her fists. Swaddled and lying in her
crib, she wonders who this strange thing is that smiles at her, flashes lights
in her eyes, and laughs so loudly. He
tickles her but she forgives him because this person she calls Daddy is so warm
and cuddly.
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