Please Allow Me to Introduce Myself Part XXIV

Steven wasn’t the easiest child to raise, despite him growing into a fine young man that we are very proud of. I wasn’t a father (of a small child) with the most patience in the world, either.

Understand, I am not writing a bio that glorifies me. That would be a sham and unfair to readers.  Like any other human being, I have my own set of quirks and faults and I have no problem admitting them. 

Funny, I didn’t even have lots of patience for small children when I -myself- was a child. My grandmother (Pearl) helped raise my sister and I and sher, herself, had little patience for kid behaviors. Unlike my sister, I never wanted to upset my grandmother and was forced to mature and be much more yielding, earlier than I might otherwise have been with a less stern grandmother. And, make no mistake - I loved my grandmother and was her favorite grandchild.  It's just that she shaped me to be more adult-like as a child.

With Steven - in particular - I yelled a lot – probably, too much.  I am sorry for that and I think Steven has forgiven me; as we are great "friends" these days.

Was Steven what anyone considers a “bad kid?”  No, he wasn’t.  But, he was a bit of a whiner and a very stubborn child over what he wanted and when. He also had many fears growing up. If he noticed a spider in his room, he would freak out and end up sleeping on the floor. I suppose he was too young to figure out that most bugs start out on the floor on the way up the wall and onto the ceiling.  If sleeping on the floor got him to stop screaming and crying, so be it.

Surprisingly, Steven didn’t have much of a sense of humor as a child, either.  My father-in-law used to call him “the stoic.”  It was difficult to get him to smile or laugh until he was about twelve.  At that point, he became more of a rebel with a little sense of humor!  When I call him a rebel it is not to say that he bucked authority, directly. He did not. In fact, his school teachers loved him.  

When a local reverend, who worked part-time at his school retired from his employment, Steven used his own money to buy him a little church music box as a parting gift.  Reverend Steele was deeply touched by his gesture and still always asks me how Steven is doing when we run into him. Reverend Steele's wife was also Steven's elementary school teacher.  She often referred to Steven as one of her "Little Angels."  He liked that and would call her during the summer to say hello.

What Steven did do was question society and rules. He loved to argue with us about the need for having to learning math; being required to do homework; and just about all of the conventions that most of us accept as the way things are. 

As he grew up, this actually has become a great strength of his. Granted, it is much easier arguing with a young adult that is able to make a reasonably convincing argument, than a small child whining about what is required of him by his teachers and by others in authority.

Steven will also admit that he was not the most popular among his classmates, until later in high school. He was always much smaller than the other kids and he didn’t like sports very much. I remember when we enrolled him in youth soccer and he was wherever the ball wasn’t. “Steven, you need to go after the ball,” I would encourage.  His reply, “I’m not getting in there will all of those legs kicking.”  In reterospect - smart kid.

Betsy and I got him involved in as many activities as we could, so that he could find his place within a broad range of interests.  Of course he went to summer camp with his brother, most years.  He also took art lessons; signed up for soccer and basketball; gave gymnastics a try; joined cub scouts (I was den leader); and took music lessons (trumpet and guitar).

He seemed to enjoy music the most from early on. That seemed to be his main interest back then, as it is today.  And, he always had a great ear for quality music.  In fact, he was an amazing judge of what was "good stuff" from the 70s through the 90’s.  His favorite music always seemed to be female songwriters with a message like Joni Mitchell, Alanis Morrissette and Tori Amos. 

I would have to say that Steven’s favorite musical category was indie alternative rock.  Not the kind of musical preference most kids his age started out with.  He quickly understood that the major label, pop music scene was all about artists, who sell their soul just to make hit records and lots of money.  He was listening to those people, who would rather sell fewer albums than push meaningless music without substance.

I did mention that Steven wasn’t the most popular kid in school.  He had a couple of close friends to spend time around the neighborhod.  At school, he was often picked on and ignored, but he rarely ever got into fights over it. In fact, he rebelled against those kids by designing his own style of dress, which he would refer to as "alternative". That is, he rejected what the “Hommies” and “Skaters” were wearing and was careful to pick out clothing that weren't considered square or too urban. This was his way of dealing with being a bit of an outsider – and in a very positive way.  By the end of high school, he was greatly admired by most of his classmates and remains friendly with many of them, these years later.

Steven was born in October 1981.  Sean came along in May 1986.  So, for four and one half years, Steven received all of the family attention that our love and his whining earned him. The "party" of being an only child had come to an abrupt end with the arrival of baby brother.

Sean came into the world in a very scary way.  Betsy went in to labor normally and the delivery seemed to go well.  We did note that the doctor seemed to be most interested in me getting some good photos in the delivery room and didn’t focus on suctioning the baby’s fluids. When my mother came to the hospital to see him behind the glass, she noted that he was struggling to breathe and looked a little bluish around his mouth.

When we brought this to the attention of the nurse and visiting doctors, they passed it off as Sean having a “little cold” that would take care of itself.

Later that night, my mother returned to Freehold Area Hospital with a friend of hers that was also a nurse.  Barbara was measuring Sean’s respiration through the maternity ward window with her wristwatch and determined that the baby was in crisiis; cyanotic and having great difficulty breathing. My mother and Barbara coaxed Betsy and me to get Sean transferred out of this hospital to nearby Monmouth Medical Center in Long Branch. It was a St. Barnabas hospital and had a much better reputation with problem patients than our local hospital.

Betsy was a post-partum wreck at this point and struggled with the decision until her mother and father arrived on the scene.  Her mother immediately jumped on my mother and told her to mind her own business; the baby would be fine.  A loud argument ensued and it got pretty dramatic and ugly until my father-in-law stepped in and told his wife to be end her verbal onslaught, immediately. 

At that point, I decided that the baby should be moved to Long Branch and plans were made to do so, immediately.

Upon the baby’s arrival at Monmouth Medical Center, Sean was diagnosed with Amniotic Pneumonia from swallowing his own bowel movement during birth.  It was severe and he was placed in an incubator in the hospital’s neonatal unit. The doctors would not guaranty that he would live.

I remember going home that night and crying my eyes out.  I was all alone in the house and fearing that I would be losing my little son. Later that night came a knock at the front door. It was my dad carrying a sleeping Steven in his arms. He figured that I wouldn’t feel so along if Steven was home sleeping in his bed.  He
was right.