He is such a huge surprise. A wee little boy, he is. Born with dark blackish-brown eyes, First Nation Cherokee skin, and a tug-your-heartstrings animal cry. He asks for everything, and nothing. His sisters stare at him as though he is magically manifested into their lives.
They are too young to understand that their young mother carried him inside her body. Three births by the age of 20 with the third being this thunderbolt of a brother.
His sisters, both still in diapers, share a crib in their own nursery. It is the singing crib of their Uncle Tim who is now a professor of linguistics and a composer/lyricist at the university. They go to sleep and waken like a gaggle of gibbering babies talking. It is a symphonic masterpiece to their mother. It is balm and music for her young yet old soul.