A Special Birthday

Today my baby sister turns eighteen.

Wow.

In spite of years and miles passed and tears and smiles of the past, i have no trouble going back to that balmly Miami day during my senior year of high school when my first sister born. I remember being pulled out of class with a phrase that most high school students are not used to hearing, "Your mother has gone into labor."

I remember stopping by my home on the way to the hospital to partake of my first ever attempt to make sweet potato pie. I remember wondering if it was the pie that induced my mother's labor since the contractions started while watching a Star Trek movie the night before with her sister-in-law - after she had ignored my brothers' warnings that the pie was inedible at best.

I remember getting lost on the drive to the hospital.

I remember my brothers and I seizing control of the maternity ward waiting room television and, thus, seizing control of the waiting room itself. I remember watching the Super Bowl-bound New York football Giants dominate the 49ers in San Francisco's Candlestick Park on one of the more memorable Monday Night Football telecasts.

I remember my older brother spending a good portion of the evening on the waiting room pay phone doing what he did best: be a Romeo to any one of a number of Juliets-of-the-moment.

I remember one of my mother's coworkers, who was the only girl in a family full of muscle-head boys, teaching us how to best cradle a newborn ("Hold it like a football," she said - I still do).

I remember getting the news - after midnight - that the little baby girl that my younger brother had lobbied to have named after his favorite NBA player under the false pretense that the name in question belonged to one of Hollywood's hottest box office draws of the mid-eighties (his efforts were successful) was finally out in the world.

I remember my brothers and I standing next to our maternal grandmother as we watched a nurse give our baby her first bath. I remember with every swoop and dip and wipe and rinse and scoop that the nurse executed with deft movements of grace and control how we all held our breaths during this roller coaster of hygeine.

I remember when she finally came home watching her nap in her crib one afternoon. All in the house was quiet and tranquil. In spite of that tranquility, a battle was about to be fought. This battle was one that set the tone of greatness for a great soul in a tiny package.

I watched in silence as my sister - who was laying on her stomach - tried to readjust her position. Her head was turned to her left and she wanted to turn it to her right. As many of you know, a newborn's head is disportionately larger than the rest of its body. Many of you also know that a newborn's neck is not strong enough to support the weight of that big head. Human infants also do not have enough upper body strength to push up from a prone position.

The problem with the aforementioned pediatric facts is that no one bothered to tell my sister - or maybe she knew but did not care.

With amazement, I watched this tiny baby try to turn her head. She would try to lift and head and stop. She would try again to lift her head and stop. She would try yet again to lift her head and stop. I noticed two important things: she kept trying and, as she kept trying, her head kept getting a little higher, she came closer to reaching her goal.

I was, by now, on the edge of my figurative seat with more anticipation than watching a seesaw battle between two athletic champions locked in sudden death.

My baby sister's umbilical cord had not even fallen completely off and she was already asserting her will.

I did not want to disturb her but I was cheering for her with great fanfare - silently containing my fervor within my proud heart.

As I continued cheering, she kept fighting.

Eventually, my sister succeeded in turning her head from her left to her right and went right back to sleep.

I realized at that unforgettable moment that my hermanita was born with the extraodrinary indomitable resolve that God gives to Its most favored creations.
I knew my sister was special from the very beginning but she convinced me that afternoon.

Sometimes the greatest wars are won in the smallest battles.

It is an eternal truth that sages throughout the ages have taught their students. I did not learn that from any of my gifted teachers, passionate professors, or inspired clergymen.

My sister taught me.