February, 1969

A joke in my family is that my first steps were backwards. Kneeling on the floor, my pregnant mother held out her arms to me, I wobbled, hesitated, and then made a few quick steps back away from her. Then, having made my point, I fell flat on my ass. But as much entertainment there was to be found in the rotund little bundle of seriousness I was at 11 months, the house on this particular afternoon was filled with the noise of other people’s kids. It was my sister Debrah’s birthday party.

The birthday menu was always the same: Duncan Hines ready mix cakes decorated with sweet tinned icing, topped off with edible silver ball bearings, pastel-coloured cookies provided by the neighbourhood moms, and a tray of strange little balls of chocolate called mice cookies that bore little resemblance to either cookies or mice. All this was washed down with reconstituted syrup drinks of cherry and orange and everything was served in plastic cups, on paper plates civilly underscored by paper table cloths and serviettes. These would be the unvarying notes of birthday party sonatas throughout my childhood. My sister Debrah, sibling number three, was turning eight. Debrah was also the only person, without the aid of booze, who could make me laugh. And during the screams, giggles and frenzied energy of the boyless party that was taking place in the kitchen, I was stationed in the corner, in a playpen, holding myself up to peer over the rail of this overturned prison cell. From the table, Debrah, could see that I wanted out so she came over to where I was. Fueled by good intentions and sugar, my sister pulled me up and out of jumble of plastic toys and snoopy blanket and carried me to the table with her; not an easy feat as I was still a very fat baby. She sat at the head of the table and held me in her lap. There was a photo of me and Debrah in that moment. in the photo paper plates, covered with the remains of half eaten cake, filled the foreground, and showed my sister and I, she smiling broadly with her arms wrapped around my chest trying to support my weight as I slid off her of her leg. She looks happy and I look remarkably distracted. The photo was lost many years ago and with it a faded substitute for my own actual memory of that day.

I am one month from my first birthday.

Believe it or not, a top 10 hit from February, 1969
Sugar, Sugar by the Archies
(song actually co-written and sung by Canadian Andy Kim)