Tube Slide Demigod

I recently took Erin and Emma to McDonalds; though they have been to the golden arches, they have never really entered the play-place, due to their mother’s knowledge of germs and their pooled fear of ball-pits. They sat patiently eating their fries (which their Dr.mother does allow on occasion) and looked on as other kids left behind the deep fried yellow and red boxes to play first and think about lunch later. A hapless toddler ambled to the entrance of the play-place and threw in a hamburger, its pickles landing out of the bun, as if it was sticking its tongue out at us. The noise was riotous and echoing off the walls as though the golden arches referred to actual rock formations like the ones found in Southern Utah. After they finished their chicken nuggets, I reluctantly let them go into the giant germ laden beast. I did however convince them to go against Ronald’s better judgment and keep their shoes on. (That guy’s a clown for god’s sake)

Once inside I could hear them calling for one another-- over laughter and the sound other children crying-- I could hear them calling each other’s names. I remembered then that once you entered a jungle gym, all adult marshaling was off. Suddenly it is The Lord of the Flies and alliances and precautions are to be made. You have to keep alert to each others whereabouts because some kid has inevitably nominated himself as king and as any cruel demigod would do, is blocking the entrance to the tube slide. I remembered then calling out my siblings names, banding together to crusade and overthrow the tube slide king. Erin and Emma were no different; they called and called to one anther, saying things they had never said before like, “Be strong!” and “Be brave!” Erin being the oldest lead Emma by the hand, showing her the ropes though unknowing of them herself. If Emma got too far Erin would say, “Come back, come back.”

A flood of more childhood memories came to me and I got a little emotional right there in McDonalds, I am not sorry about crying into my super-sized Diet Coke. I was thinking about my childhood and my siblings. My youngest brother Jacob turned 21 a few days ago. One and twenty as they say. I do not know whom ‘they’ are or why ‘they’ have to talk about Jacob like that. I will tell you that since he is the baby of five children (where as I am in the middle) that it feels poignant.

Poignant.

I think the word poignant sounds very important when put alone like that in a sentence. Turning 21 is certainly a significant milestone in American culture, if not due to the legal drinking age exclusively. That aside, Jacob turning 21 seems more of a milestone, because he was the baby of the brood. A baby of five children is everybody’s baby. Each child before him feels a sense of ownership in his little life. We cooed at him, we taught him to say his first words and when he was old enough, we lovingly teased the shit out of him. Often we carried him into the heart of a play-place, our bellies full of French-fries and greasy hamburgers. If ever he was drowning in the ball pit, we would tie our socks together and throw him a line.

We got together for his birthday last Sunday; we laughed and ate pie and wished our baby happy 21st. Every time we come together, a bond holds us and ties us, like old war buddies. Childhood is its own type of battle, the adolescent years are hell and we were in the trenches together. Jacob is the only one of us who might see a real war, he is a medic in the National Guard and if this war goes on, he has been told that he will go next year. Over the ocean our little soldier will go and over the ocean our voices will call, “Be strong, be brave!”