CALL ME A DOCTOR
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On Wednesday, November 1, 1972, we were
beginning to think the baby was waiting for JR’s birthday on the 4th
to make his or her appearance. But as the day went on, it looked like Clae
wouldn’t make it that long. We bundled up and made it to the hospital – it
wasn’t urgent, but rather prudent. JR and I stuck around for a while, but
it looked like it wasn’t imminent so we went home with promises that we would be
kept apprised of the progress. At 3 years old, JR was more interested in
his regular bedtime than anything else.
I had just gotten up on Thursday when the
phone rang – it was Clae. She sounded alert and fine and said “I’m sorry”.
My interpretation was that she had had false labor and was ready to come home
and I said as much. Her response was “Didn’t the doctor call you?” and I
said “No”.
Turns out Clae gave birth to about 8 pounds of
bright red, seriously wrinkled, boy-child in the wee hours of November 2.
No one at the hospital considered the event memorable enough to announce to the
father. Clae’s apology was for not producing a girl child to make the
“ideal” boy, girl, ma, pa family. I excused her.
Thursday and Friday JR and I visited the
hospital, did a little shopping, a little cleaning and prepared for the grand
homecoming. Oh, and we also prepared for the previously scheduled every
two-week poker club that was on the calendar for Friday night at our house.
By the time Clae was ready to be released, JR
had adapted to a family consisting of just the two of us. He announced
that he didn’t want us to bring them home. Over the years, sometimes I
wonder about the decision, but I overruled him and home they came. JR has
reminded me of his opinion a number of times.
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As soon as Stuart was home, Papa started
calling him Poops. Clae stopped that immediately, since that had been the
pet name I used for JR when he was a baby and so she felt it should be reserved.
I cast around a bit and started calling him Toot or L’il Toot. I’m not
sure how it all happened, but Toot eventually became Tooter and somehow the name
stuck. I think it was when he went into High School that he finally
started resisting the name. I’m certain that by the end of H. S. Tooter
was no longer in use.
Stuart got into Pop Warner Football and just
loved it. I remember him going on about how great it was to just throw
caution to the wind and block or tackle as hard as he could. I was a bit
concerned about physical dangers, but of course they had pads and helmets for
protection and still more important, the age/size constraints that assured
physical equity. It was interesting to note that his participation in the
sport stopped with high school. I have often thought that those 200#+ guys
in HS football may have changed his mind. Stuart pursued volleyball.
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I suppose Stuart did all the usual things that
kids do as they grow up, and we never knew about most of them, but one really
shocked us. The phone rang at 1a or 2a one morning. Clae answered.
A police officer asked if she was the mother of Stuart Sandin. Yes.
We have him at our station. No you don’t. He’s here in bed!
I’m sorry ma’am, but we have him in custody.
Clae actually was so certain that she made the
officer wait while she checked Stuart’s bedroom. He was not there.
It turns out that Stuart had a friend, let’s
call him “Howie”, sleep over. Howie had a part time job at a service
station. Someone had left their car overnight and Howie took the keys home
with him. Stuart and Howie removed the screen from the bedroom window,
went to the station and took the car for an adventure. They did something
suspicious enough to attract police and were now on the verge of a grand theft
auto charge!
Clae insisted on dealing with it herself.
She was angry enough, but I think she was concerned about where my shoe might
end up if I went to pick him up.
I think the owner of the car declared “no
harm, no foul” and decided not to bring charges, but I believe lessons were
learned by all.
Many, many years ago, when someone complained
about kids, my Aunt Julia always said “Oh they’ll grow up too”.
Eventually, Stuart grew up too.
This is an email that I sent out in 2003.
-----Original Message-----
I am bursting with pride and crying like a
baby and just have to share the good news with someone. My baby Stuart,
who finished his PhD just the other year is accepting a position with Scripps
Institution of Oceanography in
So why am I crying? In the wintertime in
CA we often had a fire in the fireplace. Stuart used to sit next to it
with his shirt pulled up to get his back roasty-toasty. Then he would run
over to me, pull up my shirt, sit on my lap, and share the heat with my belly.
How can my baby have a PhD?
When Stuart graduated from sixth grade he won
several honors that he really wanted. When we got home after the
ceremonies he crawled up on my lap and promptly fell asleep, as he had done so
many times in earlier days. He was so big and so heavy, I knew that would
be the last time, and it was. How can my baby be doing research for the
primary oceanography organization in the world?
Each one of my children has a special place in
my heart, but for this moment I'm filled with joy for and memories of my baby.
Thank you for sharing with me!
Aloha,
For some reason, my 40th birthday
was the most difficult for me – the typical self-evaluation, thoughts of
opportunities lost, questions about the future, etc. Now, what seems like
just a couple of years later, my baby Stuart is 40. Luckily, if this
birthday is his most difficult, he will not be alone. Jen Smith, Stuart’s
lady, shares the identical birthday! They are both PhD, Assistant
Professor, employees of Scripps. I wish the two of them all the best on
their 40th and thereafter.
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AFTERWORD
Stuart and Jen planned to spend their 40th
birthdays in New York and have wisely changed their plans due to the turmoil
caused by monster storm Sandy.
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