And... He Graduates

Many, many years ago, my mother and father gathered their tender flock to the living room and told them some startling news. "Your mother is having a baby, " my father began. I remember her sitting as they said this. She smiled. I can't remember our reactions as a group, but I'm sure mine was a bit of confusion (don't we have four already?) and a great deal of joy (Hooray! Babies!)

My mother confessed to me years later that baby five, baptized as Andrew Calvin but known to all of us as "Drew", was not planned. It's not that he was not wanted. He was not planned. There is a difference.

Until that point, baby number 4, "Becky" was still in her adorable, dramatic 2-year old cuteness. Our baby cravings were still satisfied by her.

When life is already quite full, it's hard to know how to let another little life squeeze into the cracks. But it happened. He happened. He came. And I'm so glad he did.

I was 12 when Andrew arrived on the scene. I was every bit the awkward, gawky girl/woman creature that being twelve allows. I wore very large glasses. I didn't really do my hair so much as untangle it every morning. I wore bright, rainbow-y colors. And that particular year, my parents had moved our abode to a more country setting where I would make new friends.

My first years in junior high give credence to all the clichés about junior high. I had a boy ask me out with one of those "check yes or no" letters. And almost every day on the school bus a gang of girls would single me out and whisper "You're ugly" the whole. Ride. Home. It was brutal. I quickly embraced every key of junior high survival by borrowing my sister's too-short-for-me skirts and donning some art supplies on my face as makeshift makeup. I needed to be loved and accepted.

So it was in this time of life that I came home from school, wondering who I was, and cuddled my baby brother Drew. I took care of him a great deal. When he cried at night, I brought him to my mother for feeding. I loved to change him and take care of him. I played with him on the floor. I loved to make him laugh. He needed me but I needed him more. Babies are very healing that way.

Additionally, Andrew was born shortly after my dear, beloved great-grandmother had died of cancer. My mother took care of her and wept deeply when she departed. The spirit of this great women would be dearly missed. Andrew provided healing there, too.

Some children are born with great, great anticipation. Some are never wanted at all, but come anyway. Andrew was the child who we didn't know we needed until he came. Against all odds, our gentle intruder became instantly fused into our crazy web of family in a way that was different from us all.

For one thing, Andrew is athletic. For those of you unfamiliar with my family, that is a stunning statement. From an early age, Andrew would watch baseball (I dunno... some kind of masculine sport?) and keep a ledger of scores and strikes. The kid could barely write, but he wrote that. He seemed to instantly understand every sport he attempted. Wrestling. Baseball. Track. He was good.

Secondly, Andrew is extremely easy to get along with. "Played well with others." That sort of thing. He could tame the wildest bunch with his easy manner. We all love him for this to this day.

Strangest to me is that Andrew has a way of setting his mind on something and running after it. His sweet nature would suggest that he doesn't have ambition. Au contraire. When he wanted a dog as a young boy, he did something about it. Some kids would just beg and whine. Not Drew. He sat for hours in the morning, pouring over books about dogs. He wrote in large, careful handwriting "Boxer", "Dalmation", "Labrador" on his long list of dog-wishes and peppered my parents with these until they finally succumbed. I can't be sure, but I think someone told me that if you pull out the "D" encyclopedia at my parent's house, it will automatically open to the dog section. He looked at it a lot. For the record, he did get his dog: a lab.

Finally, I just love my brother's heart. He loves to love others. He has a sensitive, soft heart that is fiercely protective of family and friends... and little creatures.

And this year, my dear little pipsqueak of a brother persisted in a long college journey and became-- drumroll, please-- a graduate. Somewhere between being the freckled, silly, energetic little boy who followed the older sibs around the house, he became a man.

He has his own dog now. A pitbull named Taj. And now that he's graduated, he will show this world his soft, caring heart, his fierce commitment to friends and his inability to say "it can't be done".

Congratulations, Drew.
I'm proud. And I love you.