Happy Birthday, Garth!

Most people, I believe, don’t really know what love is until they have their first child. People without children maybe experience the same joy when they first fall in love, or adopt a wonderful pet, or climb a mountain. I hope so.

For me, the first time I looked at my baby, Garth, on May 8, 1969, my heart exploded. I thought I knew what love was. I loved his father, but this love was different. When Garth was born, I would never be the same person again. I became a person who thought about him, day and night. A person who wanted only the best for him ~ even if I didn’t always know what that was. A person who would kill a mountain lion, if necessary, to keep him safe.

Jim and I lived in Idledale, Colorado, a small town in the foothills near Denver. Beginning May 1st, it rained every day. Flash floods caused the creek to overflow and flood the only road into Denver. Because I was close to my due date, the doctor suggested we find a place to stay in Denver, rather than taking a chance on not being able to get to a hospital in time. 

The afternoon of May 7th, I saw a doctor for early labor pains. The doctor thought maybe it was a false alarm and told Jim to take me out to dinner and get me a few “stiff drinks.” 

“If this is not true labor, the alcohol will stop the pain. If it really is labor, come back and we’ll deliver the baby.” 

Remember, this was 1969. Times have changed! Back then women drank and even smoked when they were pregnant. There was no way to know the gender of the baby, until s/he was born. “Natural childbirth” wasn’t a serious consideration until later, in the 1970’s.

Jim and I had a nice meal and a few drinks. Maybe I wasn’t actually drunk, but I certainly wasn’t sober, when we  walked into Jim’s parents’ house in Denver. At three in the morning, I awoke in full-blown labor and still tipsy. We checked into the hospital and Garth was born a few hours later. 

Garth was an easy, fun boy to raise. He grew up fast. He watched his little brother when I was working. He worked hard in school. At the age of thirteen, he took a bus ride from Denver to Minnesota by himself, changing bus stations in Des Moines. He went to work as a cook at a golf course when he was fourteen ~ a job he kept throughout high school. When my back gave out on a trip to the 1984 Olympics. Garth drove us all the way to Los Angeles and back to Denver, with just his learner’s permit. 

In many ways, Garth was lucky he inherited the genes he did. He has my ability to organize stuff and his father’s ability to fix things. Thank goodness it wasn’t the other way around! With his ready smile and quick wit, Garth is one of the funniest people I know.

Now Garth works as  an engineer with the Aurora Fire Department and drives a really big truck. He lives in Winter Park, where he skis in the winter and races mountain bikes in the summer. He is a good husband to Bethany, and a good father to  Chance. In his free time, he’s a volunteer DJ with the Winter Park public radio station. 

Garth was born fifty-two years ago. To me, he will always be that baby who stole my heart the day the doctor announced, “It’s a boy!”

Happy Birthday, Garth! You’ve always made me proud.