Yesterday was my second son's birthday. I have told the story about his birth to several people, including his son, Shane, who wanted to hear it. Later I thought this story ought to be recorded. So, here it is.
It was about 3:00 am in the morning on July 12, 1962. I was sleeping away in our bedroom in Falls Church, VA. I was awakened by my nine month plus pregnant wife moving about in the darkened bedroom. She was busily packing things in her suitcase. I asked her if it was time. She nonchalantly replied that it was but I was to go back to sleep for there was plenty of time. This was her second birth and the first took two days to make it. Well, I am sure you understand that I couldn't go back to sleep.
So, I jumped up and dressed and started the expectant father fidgeting. I was very nervous because the word was that the second child can come a lot faster than the first one. I was a Captain in the U.S. Air Force fighting the cold war from the Pentagon. We had made arrangements for her to deliver the baby in an Army hospital in Ft. Belvoir, VA which was several miles away.
Promptly arriving at the hospital we checked her in. Now in those days the expectant father was not allowed in the delivery room. The nurse said to me, "Captain, why don't you go home. We will call you when the baby is delivered."
I went home and sat nervously waiting for the phone call. By this time it was around 7:00 am. So, I decided that I would shower, shave and just go to work. When I arrived at the Pentagon I called the hospital and was assured that everything was okay and they would call me just as soon as the baby was delivered. I called again at 10:00 am and was told the same thing. So, I got busy doing my work. Several meetings later at about 2:00 pm I suddenly remembered that my wife was supposed to be having a baby. I had gotten so preoccupied that it had escaped my mind.
I called again and was told that she had given birth at 11:00 am. I rushed out to the hospital. The hospital was very crowded. There didn't seem to be enough beds to go around. The halls were filled with patients on gurneys. I was told my wife was among these patients. I searched and finally found her on a gurney with a board taped to her arm and an I.V. needle in her arm. In those days we didn't have the ultrasonic tests that determine the sex of a child. You only knew whether it was a boy or girl after they were born. My wife had wanted another son and had picked the name Steven if it was a boy. I have forgotten the name she had picked if the baby had been a girl. When I walked up to her gurney and touched her, she opened her eyes from a groggy drugged sleep and looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes and said proudly, "I got my Steven" and then went back to sleep.
Happy Birthday, son.
P.S. One of the reasons my wife was so proud of having Steve was she had had problems getting pregnant. She had made up her mind that she should have another baby to grow up with our first son. She suffered through all kinds of tests, some of them very uncomfortable to get pregnant. So, in her usual head strong way, she had set out to have another baby and stubbornly stuck with it until she accomplished it on that 12th day in July 1962. Happy Son's Birthday, dear wife and mother of our children.
Last updated:07/26/04