I was three years old when my brother, Michael, was born. I don’t know how it is possible but I do indeed have a vague memory of him as an infant. My family was living in a house on Kingsbury Street where my best friend was a beautiful dark haired girl named Merrily. I have a shadowy image of him coming home from the hospital with my mother and being frisked to the back room where he would stay until he was old enough to move to the third bedroom in the house that had been lovingly prepared for him.
The birth of my brother changed my world and I found myself spending more and more time with my father while my mother cared for the infant who seemed to come from nowhere into our midst. Mama spent a great deal of time behind the closed door of her bedroom where my new brother slept in a bassinet next to her bed. He was a quiet baby who hardly ever seemed to cry or make noise but I quickly surmised that he was somehow sick because the family doctor made house calls to our home now and again. I would later learn that he suffered from asthma and often had difficulty breathing.
I suppose that I did not really pay much attention to Micheal during that time. He was a quiet little soul and mostly fell into the background of my life. His unobtrusive and steady demeanor would identify him for the rest of his life. I never felt any kind of sibling rivalry with him because he was simply a very pleasant little soul who sweetly went with the flow of our family in whatever direction we were going.
Michael was a curious child who always seemed to be exploring the world around him to find out how things worked. Once he sat down right on top of an ant bed when he was no more than two years old later explaining that he wanted to see the critters in their home. The insects instantly attacked him and their stings must have intensely painful but he barely complained.
On another occasion he found a screw somewhere in the house and I witnessed him placing it up his nose. I ran hysterically to my mother who calmly inspected his nostrils and surmised that he was going to be fine, and he was. Still I worried that somehow the foreign object was lodged in his brain while my mother and our family doctor both assured me that he was going to be just fine.
Michael was the perfect person to anchor the family dynamics. As the middle child he was so complacent that there was no evidence of sibling rivalry even after my younger brother, Pat, came along. Michael was the calming force in our trio who was so loving that we rarely had any squabbles. He was logical and peace loving even as a child.
My mother was quite intuitive, predicting when Michael was a toddler that he was brilliant. Three years old Michael walked around the house toting one of my father’s books written by Wernher von Braun who described a futuristic journey to the moon with illustrations that delighted my brother. He was always counting things and taking things apart to see how they were made. Lucky for him we had parents who encouraged his curiosity when he explored the world around him. I remember feeling quite proud of the little guy who was always deep in his thoughts.
Michael would prove to be as brilliant as our mother and father had thought he was. Sadly he was only five when our Daddy died so he did not get the full understanding of how remarkable our father was in his own right. He relied on the books that Daddy left behind and had only vague memories of the man who read the comic strips to him from the daily newspaper.
Michael graduated at the top of his Jones High School class and then attended Rice University where he earned a Master’s degree in Electrical Engineering. He was courted by several companies but excitedly gravitated toward working with NASA, fulfilling a childhood dream. He would spend his entire career writing programs for space travel, ending with computer innovations for the International Space Station.
Along the way Micheal would prove to be a great partner in the care of our mother. He seemed to have a way of loving and communicating with her that was so special that the two of them were on a different spiritual plain than the rest of us. Even when Mama was in the throes of a terrible bipolar episode he remained the main influence in getting her the help that she needed.
Michael is celebrating his birthday today. For seven decades he has unobtrusively impacted so many lives with his serene, composed and always loving personality. While I am the oldest child, he has always been the glue that keeps our team functioning without rancor. His goodness binds us together in love without bounds. To this very day he brings calm to me and our younger brother.
There was a time when we were all three still children with a single parent mom. January was usually quite cold and somewhat dreary back then. Christmas was over and most people were weary of celebrating. Michael’s birthday was always a simple affair but he was satisfied with even the smallest efforts to wish him well. One of his favorite treats was to receive a gift of Fig Newton cookies. Somehow that was more than enough for him, proving once again just how easy and wonderful it has always been to be around him. Now I get excited on his birthday with the realization of how blessed we all have been to have him in our lives. He is a most extraordinary middle child.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 