Chapter 1 - String Bean

Riley turned 10 in November. My earliest memory of him was during my 8th month of pregnancy. I had awoke from a vivid dream that had included me removing my unborn baby from my protruding belly to hold him just for a brief moment and then restoring my undercooked little tot to the oven for further development. As I attempted to describe our embryonic being to Chet while we lay in bed that morning, I could not get past the huge dark-brown eyes that at the time seemed I had imagined, but yet pierced through me like two small bullets lodging deep in my heart, there to remain until the day they were realized. Those peepers, to this moment, are the ideal centerpiece to his perfectly ball-shaped head—unchanging, even with the more frequent eye-rolls and occasional stare downs they perform. So dark, you have a difficult time identifying where his pupil stops and his iris begins. I think it might actually be possible to drown in them.

After 32 hours of labor, he was born a whopping nine pounds six ounces. I distinctly recall the look on Chet’s face, gazing down at our brand new bouncing baby boy. Expecting a look of pride, I was a bit confused to look up and see no trace of a smile—his eyes unsuccessfully hiding the resemblance of panic. I later learned, Chet’s first impression was that the Doctor had smashed our baby’s head. Due to our little bundle from heaven’s size, it was necessary that he be pulled out with a metal contraption that looked as if it belonged in the kitchen or mechanic's shop—not wrapped around my little one’s head. Thankfully, it was proven that a newborn baby’s head can be smashed beyond all recognition and recover quite nicely. Riley’s head is a testament to that.

From birth he had a natural charm, a way of drawing attention, even at times when it would have been nice for his parents to fly under the radar. One of his first words if not the first words were “big truck”. He loved trucks and he glorified biiiig trucks. Although, even through his constant exploration of new words and sounds at his young age, he had difficulty in pronouncing the “tr”, replacing it with an “f” (or a “ph” as I like to say). And so it rang through the aisles of the neighborhood grocery store and uncomfortably enclosed in the sacred walls of our local church—a belting “biiiig ph---!” It was as if someone had pushed slow motion on life’s remote control, allowing each syllable to reverberate through any empty space surrounding us. The response from those favored to witness such a lewd display was an occasional look of shock, but in most instances a snicker together with an immediate stare in my direction. It was apparent, if my undersized show-off was going down; he was dragging me with him.

I call him my little string bean. It’s conceivable that I worked just as hard bringing him into this world as I do trying to fatten him up these days. For over a year now we have been actively engaged at maintaining anything over 60 lbs. I credit this struggle to a very sporadic appetite combined with the lack of ability to sit in one place for longer than 20 seconds. In my mind, this defies all logic. Does it not take food to generate this kind of energy? He is the human pinball.

I plainly remember as a child that “look” from either of my parents warning me that I had better stop what I was doing or else! Nearly all of the time it worked. I have since come to the depressing conclusion that I don’t have the “look”. I have admittedly tried to use the “look”, but my “look” is broken, it does not work. Cue the eye-rolling and stare downs—now Riley seems to be well on his way to achieving his own “look”. Maybe it skips a generation. I should think about taking lessons from him. He is a smart kid, “an ideal student” his teacher said this year. Smarter than his parents? I sure hope, at least, not yet; although it feels at times like it won’t be long.

With your first, I hear it is normal to push a little for perfection. After all, you could never admit that your mother’s curse had worked and you indeed had a little whippersnapper just like yourself. Everyday I think I learn something new from my oldest baby boy. Among those in the long list of lessons he has taught me are; my tastes in fashion are not evolving—I don’t welcome the faux-hawk, I do not care for the hat worn sideways and I hardly have the stomach for the pants cinched-up tight underneath the buttocks; additionally, I have learned that I am not as speedy or nimble as I once was. I have also learned that no matter how hard I may push him to do things the way I want, it's plausible that my way may not be all that amazing and ultimately ends up driving him farther away from me. Finally, throughout this short oral history I have learned that Riley was easy and that it's likely he was just a warm-up for who was waiting for me just around the corner.

Once again, to be continued…