In 1978 when my parents told us that we were going to have a new little brother or sister, I do not remember ever being jealous. I was so excited! I even came up with the perfect name for the little one. I remember exact place where I announced my perfect names. We going over the railroad tracks not to far from my home and I proclaimed if it is a boy name him ——- (my Daddy’s Name) and if it is a girl name her ——- (my Mother’s name). Brilliant idea of a 4 year old.
Something else I did constantly in my excitement was sing. No, not a sweet little lullaby, but a silly ditty. I asked Mother yesterday where I got it from and she was not sure if I was a TV show or what. I did a web and YouTube search, but came up empty handed.
But this is what I sang:
Hambone, hambone, chicken and gravy. Mama’s gonna have a balded-headed baby.
It is really quite a catchy tone, and I sang it over and over and over again! I am suprised that the little did not come out singing it.
So when the little fella made his grand entrance into the world BALD, I cried and cried. I knew it was my fault. My song had some how made my new baby lose his hair.
I am happy to report that he has a nice full head of curly, well wavy hair now. I did not curse him for life. Well in the hair department, growing up with three older sisters might have some sort of curse-like effect on a boy or at the very least make him feel like he is cursed, but that is another post all together.