As I write this I’m
getting ready to go to Syracuse to pick up my two oldest, James and Cate, so
they can come visit us on Martha’s Vineyard for a few days. It will take about
three seconds before one of them says, “Where’s Baby Jesus going to sit on the
way there?” They are going to say this
because in our family it’s a tradition to call the favored male child “Baby
Jesus”. I believe this extends to my cousins as well. In our family, they all
think my youngest son, Danny, is my Baby Jesus. I’m pretty sure my cousin Jeffrey
is my Aunt Sally’s Baby Jesus. At least that’s what his brothers say. My
brothers, Eric and Steve, were my mom’s dual Baby Jesuses. It worked out for
them because they’re about a dozen years apart.
I’d argue with
James and Cate but they have cited so many examples of me lavishing attention on
their brother it’s hard to defend myself so I just hug them all the tighter,
causing them physical discomfort so they’ll be distracted. I’m sure mothers
don’t mean to pick a Baby Jesus, and oftentimes it falls on the youngest child
in the family. That’s only because the mother realizes she’s aging and Baby
Jesus was her last hoorah. Now she has nothing but gray hair and varicose veins
to look forward to.
My little brother
Eric made a fine Baby Jesus. He actually got through it pretending like it
wasn’t even happening. The rest of us remind him still as often as we can. And
the older he gets, the more he evolves into our mother. The two of them have
some similarities. My mom was fairly regimented about housework and her
schedule and Eric brings the word “disciplined” to a whole other level. You don’t
mess with the schedule. Eric retired from the Air Force a few years ago but
even if he hadn’t been in the military, I think he’d still wake up at 4 a.m.
like mom always did.
All siblings have a
good time picking on the one they perceive as the favorite. The reality is as
siblings grow older they figure each other out a little better and usually stop
holding a grudge about Baby Jesus. They may even find themselves with a Baby
Jesus of their own someday.
Personally, I never really much worried about
Eric as Baby Jesus. Heck, it might not have been easy in those sandals. If Cate and James look a little closer, they’d
see that I am all over Danny like a fly on honey and maybe that’s not such a
great place to be after all. By now I’m sure they know a little distance can be
a good thing, and Baby Jesus still has to put up with me checking on his every
move. They might even consider themselves lucky to not be the one who walks on water. That’s a pretty tall order.
My
father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out
and say, "You're tearing up the grass"; "We're not raising
grass," Dad would reply. "We're raising boys".
Harmon Killebrew
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