It all began 60 years ago. I was just 5 years old (OK, math whizzes, figure it out quickly). My pregnant mother and another missionary woman, along with me, were encamped at Victoria Falls. We were awaiting the birth of . . .a baby something. Brother? Sister? Who knew? In the middle of the night, my mother went into labor. They loaded me, mostly asleep, into the car, and drove to the hospital. The missionary woman helped my mother into the hospital, leaving me asleep in the car. When I awoke, I was alone.
That's how I first experienced what life would be like with this new baby in my life--a brother, as it turns out. I know I have written about this traumatic introduction to my brother before. but it's a great story to trot out in celebration of his 60 years on this earth.
So, in honor of this event, I will forego any sibling stories. I will simply say, again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, brother.
My brother and his wife (then to be) 30 years ago, and my brother and my sister-in-law, last summer at their son's wedding.