On Christmas Eve of 1994, I was very anxious to get to my Grandma Brown's house in Pryor. That would be my first chance to meet two little men who joined our family right after school had started that summer: my brother's boys, Logan and Nolan. They had been a bit of a surprise; until July, my sister-in-law had been told she was carrying one baby, and then a month before they arrived, it was discovered that Nolan had been hiding Logan all along. Since they were born in South Dakota, I hadn't been able to see them until Christmas. I walked in the house, walked straight to them lying side by side on a blanket on the living room floor, and fell helplessly in love with them, with their round Welker features and their big eyes with little bags under them, just like my brother. Not one thing about that love has changed in the last 19 years.
Dear Nolan:
You are the coolest customer around with a dry, witty remark, and I know I have really accomplished something when I make you laugh. Ever since you picked up a guitar, you've been a different kid, one more confident, but also with a little bit of a mask to hide behind. But I still see you: the little toddler who would growl at me, "Hugs, but no kisses!" when I threatened to kiss your whole face (and then did); the competitive brother who was dominate even when you were in the womb, and who was probably behind tricks like taking a door off its hinges when you were barely two; the eyebrow you would arch sky-high to express everything from skepticism to a punch line. It may be that eyebrow was the first thing that made me realize that I would always love you best.
The twin language that you and your brother spoke gave you your first run as the family comedian. You would yammer something at Logan, and he would start belly laughing at you; that just egged you on to go on another rant, keeping him laughing the whole time. Once in a while, you'd let him get a work in edgewise, and you thought he was absolutely hysterical. There was NO WAY I could watch that exchange and not laugh along with you both---it made me positively giddy, maybe because I was sure that you'd be little geniuses. I'd give my eyeteeth to know what those conversations were about, but I feel privileged just to have witnessed them.
Between the summer I spent there with you just before you turned a year old, and the trips down here that you took with Grandma and Papa, we had lots of time together. You both loved going to Camp Texas (I don't know which of you started calling the grapefruit orchard that name) and staying in the ancient 13-foot camping trailer that was installed in the barn there. Now we jokingly call it the Citrus Hilton, but you always called it the "cool camping trailer." That time you spent with Grandma and Papa, I am sure, was one of the best times of their lives. All their friends loved to have you along when you traveled, and you and Chris were all so well-behaved that I know they were and are incredibly proud of you all.
One of the most terrifying things I've ever known was when you had to have your bowel surgery at only two years old and couldn't eat or drink for nearly two weeks. When your mom told me on the phone about you begging, "Dink, Mama, dink," I hung up the phone and wept the rest of the evening. Your parents and grandparents were absolute towers of strength, but I've always been grateful I couldn't be there. It still breaks my heart to thing of it.
Your little Terminator voice from childhood, though, can always make me laugh. It was so dang funny. It gave you and Logan both some odd pronunciations: I lived in "Muhdroh" (Muldrow) and Sheri lived in "Chickenshakes" (Chickasha); while you loved music, you couldn't stand "guhl" (girl) songs by Logan's favorites like Shania Twain, Dixie Chicks, or Martina McBride. And somehow, out of this time period, your nickname of Charlie Crab came about because you were tired of being pestered by somebody, so you told them your name was "Chawlie Cwab." I can remember talking to your mom or dad on the phone at times, and I'd hear the most awful growling and roaring sounds from you and Logan, but they would say, "Oh, they're just wrestling." I never had a moment's concern that you were competitive with each other, because even when you didn't agree, neither of you went far without the other.
When you and Logan started school, the different sides of your two personalities became more evident, and I was glad of it. You have always been a little miniature of your dad as he is now, keeping your emotions in check, playing close to the vest, and popping off a smart remark when it applies and isn't meant to cause trouble. In school, things came easy to you, and after a while, your attitude was usually an I-know-I-can-do-it-and-don't-have-to-prove-it coolness, an attitude I admired a little since I was more obsessive about grades, but which also worried me a bit. Clearly, there was no need to worry; your Gates Scholarship is the true reflection of how hard you worked not just at being a good student, but a good man.
I love your attention to your music, and I hope that light will burn in your soul forever. I know it because I had the same light and the same mask to put between me and the world, but not as much talent as you. Keep your talent and your mind open to new ideas and experiences, and you'll be amazed at how the world will respond. And have no fear in life, because you have a heart and spirit of faith that will brook no foolishness from anyone who would bring you down. On the contrary, you are meant for great things we can't even imagine right now. I thank God for the chance to see what those things will be. Happy 19th Birthday, Charlie.
Love,
Cathy
Dear Logan,
You and your brother were never really identical to me; his face was rounder, while yours was more narrow at your jaw. Your eyes had bit more of tilt to them, and the two things combined gave you a little elfin grin even as a baby---you still have a hint of it now. That little elfish face is the first thing I think of when I realize that there was no chance that I would ever forget that I would always love you best.
You've always been like your dad was as a little boy: sweet, quiet, dreamier, a little bit of a wanderer who didn't get in a big hurry about a lot of stuff---unless there were bugs to escape from. In fact, I've always understood your mind a little better than others realize, because we are a lot alike. I could get lost in a book at school and not hear the teacher calling on me until she called me two or three times; you've taken a lot of kidding for that sort of thing from all of us, sometimes when you're reading, sometimes when you're just thinking your thoughts. We just go far away in our minds at times. We both felt driven to do well in school; second best was not really good enough for us, most of the time. And we both could get totally involved in music and block out everything else going on around us. NO ONE in the family will ever forget that video of you at the beach when the tamale man's music started in the background, and you began twitching your backside along with the music as you walked toward the surf! From your early days playing piano, to your sax, fiddle, mandolin, and bass talents, you show so much promise for a future that has art at the heart of your life. You've done a much better job of expanding on that than I did, and I can't tell you how proud I am of that.
When you were little, you were more of a daredevil than Nolan. Grandma talks about how they would have to watch you as a toddler because you would jump into water of any depth, anywhere. As time went by, you became more cautious, but you also were a gentler person as a result. When your little sister was born a few months before you turned 10, she owned you from the first minute. You were always the first one at her crib, because you "just couldn't stand to hear her cry." She was so attached to you, too, that she wouldn't even let us change her diaper unless "Ogie" was holding her hand. I think that experience is what gave you the talent and patience to work at the Club E after-school program for the younger students when you were in high school. These kinds of experiences make you more tender-hearted and will guarantee some heartbreak in life, but they make you a rare and exceptional young man.
You've taken a lot of kidding from the family about your dislike of bugs, especially flying ones, but you might not know that I took the same kidding for a long time. It's hysterically funny to remember you as a little bitty guy, running away screaming from what you universally called a "wahs-hoppah" (anything with wings and legs), looking for someone with a "fly-flapper" to kill it. Grandma always thought I was silly for being terrified of spiders and ticks, but you and I, we just have a healthy respect for things that should not be sharing space with us!
I'm afraid I'm to blame for your nickname "Slick"; one day you were running through the family room at Grandma and Papa's house, and you slipped on a magazine and fell. I looked up, said, "Way to go, Slick," and didn't think anything about it. But Papa latched on to that name because it was when Bill Clinton was in office, and they called him Slick Willie because he told some lies....which you had a tiny problem with at the time---things like "Who left the ketchup out?" "Not me," you'd reply, although no one else had used ketchup in days. So that's my fault, and I apologize, but you're stuck with it, you know.
I think the "singer" you and Nolan had is one of my favorite memories from when you two were little. The little tape player had two microphones that you could sing into along with the tape. The only problem was that the two of you didn't agree on most music. But I remember that you both loved that Tim McGraw song "Where the Green Grass Grows." I can hear the two of you singing along, "I'm gonna live where the green grass grows, watch my corn pop up in rows," and really coming out with a distinctive "pop!" on that word---I still hear the song that way, more than 15 years later, every time I hear it.
And, too, I still see the sweet-natured boy beneath the man, now a college student with a Gates Scholarship to his credit and the whole world opening before him. I see your curious nature and brave spirit in the face of change, leaving the life you have always known for one that you will choose, after careful consideration and heartfelt prayer. I see just the palest, shimmering reflection of who I was at your age, knowing that you will have and make some better choices than I did, because you are wiser and more level-headed. I love having been a part of your life growing up and will look forward to your next two decades as much as the last two. Happy 19th Birthday, Logan!
Love,
Cathy
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