Hello, girls!

"Hello, girls..." and the door would burst open to Lavern and Shirley's apartment on the 70's sitcom, as Lenny and Squiggy came into the scene with their traditional greeting. Craig and Brett were Lenny and Squiggy to me, always flirting with girls and having girls chase them and they always seemed to be together where Rand was more of a lone wolf. 


On the evening of June 30, 1994, we dropped off much smaller versions of Randall and Craig at my mom's house to spend the night, as we were headed to the hospital at o'dark:thirty to have Dr. Yeo deliver our third child by C-section. 

A summer storm caused the sky to shimmer green, like some sort of alien invasion, and I couldn't settle my thoughts. About three hours later my mind still fretted over some unseen concern. The pre-op for the delivery accomplished, epidural causing me to feel rather like a magiacian's trick with no lower extremities, music playing, I see a former neighbor walk in on the delivery team. 
"Dr. Turnbull? I thought you retired?" 
"I did, but sometimes come in to help out."
Huh. In the fog of epidural bliss I tried to calculate just how old Dr. Turnbull had to be, counting back  to high school and still puzzled at why a retired OB would be in the room. But, they called time on the surgery and went about the usual procedure of moving things around to deliver the baby, all the while bantering about golf and sandwiches and so on, while I listened, motionless, from behind the sterile blue drape. Suddenly the room went nuts. The 6'4' anesthesiologist loomed over me to assist in the delivery. Looking at the midriff of the doctor who is supposed to stay BEHIND you is disconcerting...and then the room went quiet. I looked at the boys' dad, and a single tear was on his cheek. "Where's the baby?" 
No answer from him or anyone. "Where's the baby?"
Baby Brett had no APGAR, no response upon birth, after being mishandled somehow during the delivery, prompting the anesthesiologist to run interference and assist.
"Where's the baby?"
Finally I heard our Saudi pediatrician lull in her marvelous voice, "There he is!" and the room came to life again.


Nearly eighteen years later, the baby has evolved into a fine young man, as my grandpa would say.


I sat and listened to him sing on stage last night, his voice true and clear, sounding like someone on the radio or a CD. I listened to him sing and it went straight to my soul, conjuring up 13 years of school. Walking to kindergarten from our little house in California, watching him chase down kids as the catcher playing t-ball, visiting his classroom on the AF base here in Texas, Little League ball games, going to plays, and awards assemblies, and field days. Sitting in a gym watching Craig play junior high basketball, suddenly getting a nudge from God to have Brett go to a different middle school than his brothers. Applying for a sixth grade academy and getting accepted. Watching Brett grow from a shy, reserved grade-school kid to a singing saxophone playing eighth-grader. 


His freshman year I had a mammogram, and my own journey with StupidCancer shadowed his high school career and Craig's senior year. Randall had seemingly concluded his own medical adventures ( little did we know) and I was looking forward to Craig and Brett having me all to themselves. They deserved it after all the years of dealing with dads, real, and step. (Craig never demanded much attention, even as a baby, but he secretly was glad I'd text him at 1 in the morning. Where are you? --even though he'll never admit it.HA )


Brett hid his worries about my cancer pretty deep. ( This was the kid that was worried about his second-grade teacher's baby having birth defects, after participating in the March of Dimes telethon. He is my kid, indeed, with a tender heart and lavish imagination. HA) 


Craig graduated that spring, and God covered that special treatment for me...Craig graduated at the top of his class, Student Body President, and Secretary of Student Council and earned himself a full ride to college. Brett got to tour with a huge church in the Dallas area the summer between his freshman and sophomore years, and go to camp, courtesy of the Methodist church. 
The nest three years were a repeat, with variations of freshman 
year: band concerts, homework, youth group, choir concerts, football games, homework, youth trips, basketball games, with surgery, chemo, and radiation thrown in on my end. 


Brett ( and Craig) never missed a beat. They kept their grades up, excelled, held themselves to a high discipline, and Brett is wrapping up nine years of Alvarez Boys at Wichita Falls High School. It may implode. LOL


More than a few folks helped me raise this kid here in "Hooterville"... his music teachers, his youth leaders, family friends, and his brothers -- who were good role models ( for the most part. Uh, Craig, I have some things to discuss with you that may involving punching you in the arm, but I digress) 


I have to say, though, that the single greatest influence on Brett has been touring with the Custer Road choir tour every summer. He'll go again this year, and along with the glorious sightseeing that they do with 150 kids, in New York, Niagara Falls, Chicago, Colorado, what Brett talks about most when he comes home are the spiritual experiences he has. How close he gets to God every summer, and how that carries him through the school year, knowing that there is a life beyond this town, these people, this world. 


Last night I remembered his pediatrician's voice, relieved and excited at his sudden thriving on the warming bed. "There he is.."

I'll sure miss him when he heads off to Texas Tech University this summer, who, according to their website, holds deep pride in "graduates [who] have governed three states, flown space missions, won Olympic Gold Medals, served as ambassadors to foreign countries, acted on Broadway stages, won Pulitzer Prizes, been educators at prestigious universities and even performed heart surgery on prominent late night television hosts (hope you're feeling better, Dave)." 


Brett will be a star in his own right at Tech, and once again, he'll be a freshman Squiggy to Craig's Senior Lenny at OBU. 


I looked at this bearded, beefy man singing his heart out and rocking the house, and more than a single tear rolled down my cheeks. The little girls in the front row turned around to see who was sniffling. 


That's my baby boy. Even all bearded and beefy. 


I can hear him now, cruising the commons at Tech. "Hello, girls..."  HA


What a joy he has been. 


What a joy he has stretching out in front of him.


There he is, and look at him go!