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Saturday, May 15, 2010

Happy Birthday, Kevin


Moey's son Kevin will be 18 tomorrow. He's the first baby I ever visited in a hospital, the first infant I ever saw through the nursery window. [And I just made him a big pan of brownies, from Baked, the hip cookbook pictured above. The bakery is in Red Hook, Brooklyn. I'm dying to go. Oprah Magazine raved about the brownies.]

Birth Announcement
When word spread that Kevin was born [and we didn't all have cell phones then, so it was by regular phone], Moey's parents, brothers, H. and I all headed over to Mountainside Hospital in Montclair to peek at the new bundle through the window. Kevin hadn't been around long before Mrs. C's instincts as a fiercely protective Nana kicked in; she was worried to see, through the glass, that a nurse was poking a needle into his tiny foot for a blood test.

Now the baby is a high school senior, heading to Syracuse University in the fall.

Little Boy Blue
Kevin was more than my best friend's first baby; he was my first baby for all intents and purposes--the one who would give me a close-up preview of how babies did or did not nurse, eat, sleep, get colicky, smile, laugh, talk, read, get potty-trained, play and share. Also, he could fix VCRs at a very young age--which we all found amusing. He was like Mr. C. that way and not at all like Moey. She and I froze when we had to go to computer class at Dumont High School--the machine took up half a room, you had to feed some kind of ticker tape with dots into it, we were scared of Mr. Daly, and we had no idea what we were doing.

Kevin had a miniature blue denim jacket and matching jeans as a toddler. He was so adorable. He had blonde hair and big blue eyes. He and his Dad and his grandfather and uncles were all Yankees fans, and Kevin had the requisite jacket and cap. He was a Cub Scout. He loved SweeTarts.

He was also the being who would change my best friend into a mother--she went to Mountainside Hospital that May night as a woman on her own and emerged a few days later as a parent forever involved in the shielding of someone precious under her steady [or sometimes quivering] wing.

As for every new mother, it was a gradual learning curve. Kevin's presence on this Earth would bring Moey great joy and cause her worry; over the next 18 years, she and I would have endless conversations about him. He gave Moey and Ted a real run for their money with his head-banging phase when he was about two feet tall. He would bang his fair Irish forehead on any surface, even the concrete playground, if he had to leave or do some other undesirable thing. But as Ted once wisely said, "Kevin is just being Kevin."

Pumpkins and Hoops
I saw him dressed for Halloween--jack o'lantern, bunny rabbit, ghost. [The year he was a ghost, he also acted like one. At the neighborhood Halloween parade, he barely uttered a word, in a ghostly way. It was as though he truly expected me not to recognize him inside the bedsheet.] He had some difficult teachers, and some tricky, even dishonest friends, who once took some of his money when he was a young boy. He liked sherbet from Applegate Farm; he had a play kitchen.

I spent a lot of time with Kevin, in the years when we were hoping and praying for a baby of our own, and of course, after Fig [and Kevin's baby sister, L.] arrived. I shot hoops with him. I drew pictures with him. When H. had to work at a party one New Year's Eve, Moey, Ted, Kevin and I went out to dinner at Winberie's in Montclair. On the way home, Kevin's parents sang the Barney song to him while I sat next to him in his baby seat in the back:
I love you
You love me
We're a happy family
With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you
Won't you say you love me too?


I remember thinking, as they drove me back to our apartment, How sweet. How lucky these three are.

Young Man, Take a Look at Yourself
You're still handsome, with blonde hair and those blue eyes. But now you're tall. A high school basketball player. You bought your own used car. You're kind, witty, poised. You have character, and you're really funny. Your voice is deep. There's a girl you're taking to the prom.

As you have grown, Kevin, so have your parents. We don't just teach our kids. You teach us, too. You take us back to what was, make us remember. About what matters, about hard work, realizing dreams, doing your best, believing in yourself. You choose roads we did not take, pursue goals that scared us and kept us on the sidelines.

Kevin, as you move into adulthood and through your life, I wish you godspeed and safety. Please don't do anything stupid [involving drinking, or drugs, or mosh pits at concerts] that will cost your life. Please think twice about when you're ready to be a parent. I wish you happiness. I hope your heart will be safe and you'll dig deep and work hard with your brain. I know you will continue to be kind and compassionate, as you have been, as you've seen in your parents, your grandparents, your uncles. Kevin, you come from a long line of extraordinarily generous, smart, hardworking people. Don't ever lose sight of that. It's your legacy, your line.

Go far, Kevin. Be proud.

Happy 18th Birthday. I love you.

Love always, Aunt Alice

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