I risk sounding repetitive but there is no way this can be avoided. It was Oct. 31, 1993 and all that my then 7-year-old brother Jorge and I could think about was trickor- treating. Since I was 12 years old it seemed obvious that it would be my last trip walking around with Jorge on Halloween asking for candy. It was a Sunday and what stands out the most is that the sky was blue with a few scattered, white clouds. My pregnant mother wasn’t due for about another week so grandma took her out to buy some last minute items for a newborn (so I was told).
Jorge and I spent an uneventful day with my dad watching television and counting down the minutes for the sun to begin setting so that we could get dressed and join hundreds of other kids looking for candy. It must have been around 4:30 p.m. when my grandma’s light blue, fourdoor Chevrolet pulled into the driveway of the apartment building. From our apartment’s door on the second floor I could see my mom in the passenger seat, which was reclined. She had her arm over her forehead, blocking the afternoon sun. Grandma was telling dad something but it didn’t register with me. The sun’s reflection from my grandma’s Bugs Bunny keychain dangling from the ignition switch caught my eye. Mom’s waving brought me back and I smiled. She blew me a kiss and smiled back.
Dad’s voice kicked in telling us to get ready because we had to go to the hospital. Mom was having what we thought was going to be a little sister. Mom refused to know the gender of the baby so we assumed it was a girl. So instead of putting on costumes and grabbing trick-or-treat bags, we laced up our shoes and left eager to meet our little sister. Jorge was surprisingly not upset at missing his chance to get free candy. The moment Jorge the middle child, with his now rough exterior and 10-word vocabulary, found out he was going to be a big brother, his childhood fun seized to exist. All he wanted was to play with his little sister.
It was Kaiser Permanente on Cadillac Avenue. The maternity ward waiting room was nice but bland and empty. We waited. Jorge bounced from chair to chair, as my aunt pointlessly told him to stop. It was about 6:45 when my grandma told me to go inside and say hi to mom so that dad could come out to have coffee. I slowly walked into the room, afraid of what was happening only to be greeted by my dad’s smile and mother’s tired eyes.
“Grandma wants you to go have coffee” I managed to utter. As dad got up, mom tugged at his hand telling him with a simple look to stay. I walked back to the waiting room and told grandma what happened. So my aunt walked into deliver the coffee with grandma. No more than five minutes past when my aunt walked out crying, “It’s a boy” she said.
A 7-pound-and-somechange baby named Benjamin Vasquez was born. And just like that we received the best treat one could ever imagine for Halloween. It’s been a long time since any of us rocked him to sleep. He doesn’t need help walking and I can’t remember the last time I laid on my stomach to watch television from the couch only to have Benjamin climb on my back and assume the same position until we both fell asleep. Today we throw verbal jabs at each other from across the couch during football games, wonder what happened to the Dodgers or gang up on Jorge simply because I’m the oldest and Benjamin is the baby. This Friday night at 6:59 p.m. my baby brother turns 21.
I love you Chuy. Happy birthday.