I celebrated my 47th birthday yesterday. It's hard to believe that my earliest memory is almost 44 years old.
On August 5, 1971, when I was 3-years-old, I became a big sister. I will never forget that day. Of course, things were different way back in the day. There were no "big sister" t-shirts and cute family photos in the hospital. When my parents went off to the hospital, I stayed behind at home in the care of my great-grandmother and we awaited the phone call (Yep! a rotary dial phone on the wall with a cord and all) that would tell us if the new baby was a he or a she.
When the call came, Grandma Bonnie and I held hands and danced around the wooden living room table. We danced and sang together "I have a baby brother. I have a baby brother." I've never forgotten those sing-song lyrics, that special celebration, the feel of her hands in mine. It was a magical moment as she introduced a new kind of love to me. She, too, had a baby brother and their bond was beautiful. She lived love and taught me how.
It is my earliest memory.
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