Happy Birthday Kids

Thursday,August 25, 1955: We visit the doctor, whose name I cannot remember, and whose whereabouts are now shrouded in the misty past; he had us in so he could examine Thelma and could, like Merlin of Camelot, predict when the baby would be born. His ever-to-be-remembered statement that on this Thursday was his day to "look for twins" culminated in his peroration that "No; just one big baby". We thanked him for his delusions and gleefully suggested to each other on the way home names of boys and girls. There was no way back then to tell ahead of time the sex of the fetus. At least I don't remember there being a device that could do that. I suggested Cleopatra for a she, and Marc Antony for a he. However, Cleopatra Ross didn't seem to work too well, and Marc Antony Ross came out much better as Marc Antony Rossi...or Rossetti. My ex suggested Ambrosia for her and Meritritious for him. And so on and on with our naming game until the moon went down.

Saturday, August 27, 1955: I'm at home taking care of 5 year old, Robin and 3 year old Joel. Thelma is in the hospital with labor pains. And I'm very busy trying to find the most effective TV program that would entertain the kids for a few hours while I trod back and forth in the hall waiting for a call from the doctor. Finally, after what was an interminable wait--similar to waiting for your PC to boot up--the phone rang and this is the conversation as it truly happened: Me: "Hello"...MD: "Hello, Norman?"....Me: "Yup, what's new?"...MD: "Well, your wife gave birth, and she's OK."...Me: "So what have we got--blue or pink?"...MD: "Guess what."....Me: "Boy?"... MD: "Yes...and what else?"

After that bit of dialogue, complete silence. I found it difficult to breathe. And "What else?" This was worse than the briefing before a combat mission. And what else? What else could it be but another baby...or two...or three. Of course we had baby stuff left over from the first two kids, but now only one crib and one carriage, and one stroller. (No car seat). I could not visualize how we were going to fit five cribs into one small room for quintuplets. Even before I answered the doctor's "what else" question, I vowed right there and then to get a vasectomy on Sunday. With much misgivings I uttered, "Twins?" The doctor announced proudly that we did indeed have fraternal twins. Now, we really had a problem naming the babies. I decided that they had to rhyme so without any further discussion they were called Bobby Lou and Bonny Sue. And what's what they are today.

The "kids" are 52 years old now and both have had successful careers. I am so very proud of them. Bonny's son, Sean is now twenty-four and Bobby's daughter, Katrina is twenty. Bonny is the entrepreneur of a dog grooming business, Bobby is a crack Harley Davidson sales agent, Sean is an accomplished surfer and artist, and Katrina is a motorcycle mechanic. The one glitch in this story is that the twins are separated. Bonny is in California and Bobby is in Virginia. I wish them both a very, very Happy Birthday. And it just so happens that the stars and planets are honoring their birth today. Mars will be as close to Earth tonight than it will be again in umpteen thousands of years. Who could ask for anything more?