November, 1970

My earliest memory… I think.

Mathew is still a toddler in diapers and I am helping him crawl up the stairs of the house. The stairs, most likely some type of northern pine, are painted in a glossy brown paint. I help Matthew to crawl, one step at a time by grabbing the back of his diaper and pulling him until both his knees gain one more step. The effort is made all the more difficult as Matthew, at 18 months, is still refusing to relinquish his bottle and is insistent it come up the stairs (as with everywhere else he goes) with him. The bottle dangles from his mouth as he clenches its nipple between newly formed teeth. After several minutes, and unknown to anyone is the house who surely would have been horrified to see me dragging my younger brother up some dangerous and slippery steps, we reach the top of the stairs. Matthew gets up to his feet and takes his bottle in hand and we both walk down the hallway to a tiny room at the front of the house. The room is, for now, being used as storage for things not yet unpacked – predominantly my father’s stereo equipment and records.

I walk across the room, Matthew, chugging away at his bottle stays close behind, and I open the little window that looks out over the small front yard. I pushed the lower half of the double hung window up, letting in the cold November air. I then proceed to pull an unopened box over to the window. I lift Matthew up to the box so he can see outside and I then point to the walkway below that leads up to the front door. I am not sure exactly what I said to Matthew that day but essentially I challenge him as to whether or not he could hit the walkway with his bottle. Also unknown to me if it took much coaxing to make him throw his bottle out the window but the sound of it smashing onto the concrete below prompted my mother to yell. A few moments later my mother was standing at the door of the small room, her black hair, pulled back into a ponytail and wearing a dress with large flowers printed on it. My mother - the first words I can remember her saying – asked, “What are you up to, Cyrus?”

I am not sure if Matthew willingly gave up his bottle afterwards or whether his old bottle was just not replaced but from that day on he had to live bottle-less. I like to think I helped him through a small portion of his childhood development.

Number one from November, 1970
We’ve Only Just Begun by The Carpenters