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| Ginny and I went to lunch Tuesday with Janet Wray and her daughter Tina. Tina's been putting on a lot of weight lately, and, instead of politely letting that slide, I figured honesty is the best policy. | |
| "Tina," I said, "you're sure putting on a lot of weight these days." | People from nearby tables turned around to catch sight of this rude boor. |
| I remembered my sister once asking me, when she first noticed I myself was adding a few pounds, "When's the baby due, Chuck?" | |
| "So, Tina, when's the baby due?" I asked. | |
| I could hear the nearby diners gasping at my uncouth behavior. | "Actually, it's due literally any minute now," Tina replied, as I took a step back from her at the table she and her mother had reserved for the four of us. "It's been kicking something fierce lately," she continued. "I sure wish it would get here soon." |
| Funny, I remember Jessica kicking inside Ginny before we knew the child was a girl. Whatever gender, it moved around inside Ginny, its head moved around like a baseball under a rug. That was almost 40 years ago. Then, she was born, and we discovered the baby was a girl. I remember vividly the first night when she woke up at midnight. I jumped out of bed, assured Ginny I would take care of everything, and placed the kid on her back in the bassinet. I opened her diaper, and then came the yellow stream, like a Kansas City fountain. (I didn't know whether to be thankful she wasn't a boy.) As time passed, we learned. Jessica was, after all, our first infant. We learned, for instance, that when a baby grins, it's not a sign of pleasure; it just means the kid's got a touch of gas. And that when her face suddenly turns red, it means she's left a little something in her diaper for you. | |
| In the spring before moving to Minnesota, there was an Andrew Wyeth exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art, and I wanted to go in the worst way, even if Jessica was only three or four months old. And so, one Saturday morning, I got into slacks and my herringbone jacket and, carrying infant Jessica, together with Ginny, descended into the IRT subway (it cost 15 cents back then) and rode into Manhattan, getting off at Grand Central. From there the three of us walked up to the MOMA and began enjoying the exhibit. | |
| Before long, however, I began to detect a strange odor. And not particularly appealing, either. When we were on our way home, walking down Lexington Avenue, passers-by smiled at me, and I thought it was because they were admiring our youngster. What I soon noticed, however, was that Jess had thrown up all over the shoulder of my herringbone jacket. I learned that day to check your appearance every minute you're in contact with an infant -- especially after a big breakfast, riding in a swaying and bouncing subway car. |
Jessica showed a peculiar taste for books early. Not all books, mind you. In Minneapolis, she insisted on picking out a small, drab brown-cloth-covered Social History of England in the 19th Century, a nondescript volume I'd been left by an old-timer who had once taught Spanish and History at Clark College. At his death at an honorable old age, his widow had wanted to give her husband's sizable collection of books to the New York Public Library, but there was so much red tape that she left it to the library's interested employees. And that is why Ginny and I came to rent a chocolate-brown panel truck and drive way out to eastern Long Island. This particular book was a real loser, outdated and pictureless, but somehow it ended up in the bottom shelf of a bookcase we kept in the living room. So, it made sense that being on the lowest shelf, it might have been conveniently at hand for our infant.
But there were other, more colorful, illustrated volumes on the same shelf. But, no, it had to be Social History of England in the 19th Century. Maybe the kid had an early affinity for deep browns, who knows?