My Earliest Memory

My earliest memory centers on the day I first met my brothers. We were in the car bringing them home from the hospital…twin baby boys. I don’t remember having a problem with the idea of new siblings. I do remember being upset that they were both boys. I mean, why two boys? Why not a boy and a girl? I already had an older sister, but she didn’t really like me that much. In fact, I don’t remember this, but I was told. My sister asked my parents to return me to the hospital when I was first introduced to her. She liked being an only child. That attitude continued for a good portion of our childhood, so it was only natural that I would want a little sister that I could play with or ignore at will. Boys!

Then, there was the name thing. My brothers were born in an Irish Catholic hospital. In those days, many of the nurses at the hospital were also nuns. The nuns took an immediate liking to my brothers and decide to call them Pat and Mike, much to my mother’s chagrin. Mom had already picked out names, Robert and Rodney. Nice rhyming quality. Even after the birth certificates officially declared their names to be Robert and Rodney, the nuns continued to refer to them as Pat and Mike. So, you can see how a three year old could find the entire situation a bit confusing. Robert and Rodney? Pat and Mike? How about John and Mary? I loved those names. I don’t know why, but I really wanted to call my new brothers John and Mary. John and Mary were the names of two characters in a book my mom had read to me. John had dark hair and Mary’s hair was blond. It all fit perfectly. Rodney had dark hair, so he would be John. Robert’s hair was light. Mary seemed a logical choice. Nope. My opinion didn’t count. Robert and Rodney stayed Robert and Rodney. Looking back, I must admit that being called Mary could have made Robert’s life a little difficult. I guess my parents were right, but my brothers will always be John and Mary in my mind.