Holiday Centerpiece

I don’t know of many people whose birthday is the center of holiday traditions.

I’m Grandma’s favorite. If you don’t believe me, just ask her; she’ll tell you.

She told everyone.

Whether you asked or not.

Every year, her favorite subject to talk about was the day I was born.

My Mom wanted me to be born in a different state entirely. She carefully planned everything from the doctor to the day of inducement: December 2. That’s extremely specific, and Mom’s planning level was bold for a woman in the 70s, especially in the south.

The week of Thanksgiving was a weeklong tradition of family activities and festivities (mostly church related) before Thanksgiving dinner. The week ended on Sunday with the largest feast before Christmas season starts.

According to the family, Tuesday of that week started off oddly. Family that was scheduled to arrive that day couldn’t make it. Every food step and prep misfired for Grandma. Her kids – my Mom and her siblings – who usually got along were snapping and griping at each other. Instead of the usual gentle falling snow, a relentless blizzard pummeled the town.

As the day got closer to dinnertime, Mom got quiet. Then she started shifting around. She said nothing.

She would stare off into space and rock back and forth. She continued to say nothing.

Then she suddenly stopped moving. She said nothing.

“What’s wrong with you, girl?” Grandma asked her.

“Nothing, Ma.”

“Something’s wrong. I know you better than you know yourself. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m okay, Ma. I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

Mom stood up, and water fell around her legs and feet.

The youngest son – aka the town crier – noticed it first. “Dang, girl you wet yourself!”

“I knew something was going on with you,” Grandma said. “Your water broke; you’re in labor.”

What happened next was a flurry of excitement, electricity, and a hint of confusion, wrapped in a ball of stress.

Mom was sent ahead to the hospital, and Grandma and two of her sons set out on foot to meet her there.

By the time they got to the hospital, Mom had given birth. When Grandma got to the maternity floor, it was quiet, save for a baby screaming at the top of their lungs. She told the nurse whose child she came to see and asked one of the nurses whose baby was screaming.

The nurse read the baby’s bracelet. “This screaming baby is your granddaughter,” she said with a soft chuckle.

“Lawd have mercy,” Grandma exclaimed. “She sounds like she’s in pain! What happened?”

The nurse explained that the doctor cut my heel during the C-section; she lifted my blanket to show her the tiny bandage on my heel.

I was 8 pounds, 13 ounces and 19 inches long with bright red hair, and thanks to my endless crying - my skin was red too.

Grandma used to like saying that I was a mean, redheaded baby. She said that day – the day I was born – was the best part of her life. She showed me that every day.