I can remember the day he was born or at least I have a collage of feelings and images that have melded into memory. It was a warm September day and I was out on my bike along with much of the neighborhood. We were all tooling up and down Crabtree Lane, crisscrossing between driveways and each other. The sun was high in the bluest of Autumn skies when my father came driving home, top down in his red convertible, the blaring orchestral music filling the whole of us. Before that day our family was comprised of 3 boys and 2 girls, and I wished for months with fervent prayer to even the teams. I can still picture my father stepping out of his car, beaming with news of the latest son. I turned my wheels fast and headed down the block in defeat, but that sorrow was short lived, because when the bundle did finally arrive home, I was taken in by a kindred spirit.

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