The (Suspicious) Death of Swinger

It seems that some missed the link out of yesterday's blog to the story of The Swinger Incident.  Here it is, in all of its glory.

When Jonathan was 14 & 15, he would spend his summers babysitting his little brother Jordan, 10 years younger. It was a huge help financially, and, while it was a headache for Jonathan, who still swears, over a decade later, that he’ll never have children because of it, their antics provided my coworkers and me with more than a few laughs from the daily phone calls. This is the story of one of those calls.

Late one morning, Jonathan called me to say, in a very droll voice, that Jordan was upset and needed to talk to his mommy. Of course, my mind was skipping from one disaster scenario to the next with occasional stops at the not-so-huge scenes that involved a simple “My favorite cartoon isn’t on!” Nothing I could imagine, however, prepared me for what followed.

Jordan was quickly put on the phone with me, where he proceeded to sob, huff and stumble through some unintelligible mash of words. All I understood was, “Jonathan … killed … Swinger … dead…” I knew Jonathan wasn’t dead because he was the one who had called, so I did the only thing I could think of – told Jordan to put his brother back on the phone.

I asked Jonathan what had his poor little brother in hysterics, and he told that Swinger, Jordan’s beloved stuffed monkey and best friend, had committed suicide by hanging himself from the ceiling fan in the dining room. I did what any mother would and told Jonathan I wasn’t buying that story and asked him why he was torturing his brother that way. “It’s not me, Mom. Honest! Swinger was depressed, and he killed himself.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, so take him down and put your brother on.

I tried to console Jordan. I told him Swinger wasn’t really dead, his brother was just playing a nasty joke, but the poor little boy would have none of it. Swinger was spinning around the ceiling, so he must be dead. Wait … Swinger’s spinning? Put your brother back on.

Okay, so the stuffed monkey was depressed, hung himself from the ceiling fan and then managed to turn the fan on??? No, Swinger just hung himself. He started whirling around when Jonathan flipped the light switch to get a better look. Good Lord! Turn off the fan, take down the monkey and put your brother on.

I believe this is about the point where all work in the office around me ceased. Everyone was too busy laughing to get much done anyway.

So here’s the deal, Jordan. Your brother is to take Swinger down and fix you some lunch. How’s that? No deal. Swinger was still twirling. *sigh* Put your brother on.

Jonathan, seriously, take the monkey down and fix your brother some lunch. “Shouldn’t we wait for the coroner?” 

I’m pretty sure I started banging my head on the desk at this point.

No, there’s no need to wait for the coroner. I told your brother you didn’t really kill his monkey. *blah, blah, blah* “But I didn’t kill him. He killed himself.” Stuffed monkeys don’t kill themselves!!! “They do if they’re depressed.” Why would a stuffed monkey be depressed? “He was spending too much time cooped up inside with Jordan.” Please … just take down the monkey. “Okay, but we should probably wait for the coroner.” Put your brother on.

Jordan, your brother is taking down the monkey. He’s fine. Try to calm down. Eat your lunch. Don’t try to get even or anything like that. Just behave until I get home. Etc., etc. etc. Now put your brother on, so I can finish this up and get back to work.

Is the monkey down? Good. Fix your brother some lunch, and try to behave until I get home. Please. I’m going to attempt to get some work done.

It was a while before the office got over that one.

Happy Birthday, Squirt!

Today is my son’s 31st birthday, so of course I want to wish him a happy birthday, a wonderful day, and everything fabulous and tremendous in the world.  

Today also brings up memories.  

I called him Squirt because that was what Kenny called me. He was such a little thing. It fit.

I remember when Squirt first introduced himself and said hello. I was standing in the 5 East nurses’ station at, what was then, Cookeville General Hospital. It was a quiet night, and suddenly there were these little butterfly wings in my abdomen.    

The day I went to the hospital was beautiful. There were daffodils blooming and birds singing. It was warm and sunny. I thought it was a wonderful time to have a baby. Over 24 hours later Dr. Shaw asked me if we were going to have this baby today. My response was, “I have to have it by 11:30 because that’s when everyone upstairs gets off.” I almost did it – 11:34 p.m. on March 24. My coworkers were all at the nursery. They saw him before I did.

I didn’t see him at first because he wasn’t breathing and needed to be in CGH’s version of NICU at the time. The next morning a wonderful nurse – I wish I knew her name, brought me a Polaroid. There was my baby. With a cake dome over his head.   

I walked to the nursery every chance I could, just to sit and look at him. Finally, a nurse asked, “Have you even gotten to hold him yet?” She took him out of the isolette and placed him gently in my arms, wrapped in wires, oxygen, IV, and all. He was nearly two days old, but I was finally able to hold him. It was one of the most precious moments of my life.

After eight days we finally got to go home. It was snowing. I had come in with sunshine and flowers and gone out with clouds and snow. It was such a change, and I hadn’t even taken a jacket with me. The weather changed, and so did my life.

Things picked up after that. There were lots of firsts and moments. The smell of his head and the feel of his cheeks when I gave him a kiss. He hated green beans from the first. His first word was “kee kat” at 7 months. I thought I was hearing things, but there was Sunshine the kitty cat.  

He was late to walk, but I will never forget that moment because it was on Mother’s Day and was accompanied by his first sentence. I was sitting in the floor, and he pulled himself up on the coffee table, turned, walked four steps to me, wrapped his little arms around my neck, and said, “Wub my Mom Mom.” He always called me Mom Mom then. He was 14 months old.

He had those blonde curls and managed to con old folks out of money at Kroger. Sometimes he’d actually come out of there with a dollar or two. He carried that blanket everywhere, even out to the yard just to play.  

He was a picky eater, so I packed his lunch when he went to kindergarten. I cried that day. I also forgot to warn his teacher about his tendency to run fevers – normal to 105 in about 13.2 seconds. I can still see the look on her face the first time it happened at school, and she had to call me. She cried because she thought she’d done something wrong. Thank goodness he grew out of that.

He and his cousins were best friends – Ghostbusters and GI Joe were the faves. He loved Ralph’s Donuts even then.  

He still carried that blanket.

He developed a theory about how dinosaurs became extinct. It was all the fault of the T Rex. He was a meat eater so he ate all of the veggie eaters. When they were gone, he had nothing left to eat and starved to death. He even illustrated the concept. It made sense.

And he still carried that blanket.

He painted his dad’s truck white and the cat green.

Blankie kerner remained.

We drove around with music blaring, and he sang right along with me. We had a few adventures.  

He kept growing, and I was always amazed at his intelligence. He loved Jere Whitson. Avery Trace not so much. So much changed then, though. His dad and I divorced, and that was huge. Life’s not always easy for a middle schooler, and that made it worse.

Somewhere in there the blankie was put aside, and he started wearing hats.

Then he got a baby brother, and I moved to Nashville. I missed so many things then: birthdays, parties, school concerts and events. He missed a lot, too. He was with me in Nashville every weekend, so he wasn’t with friends or having fun. He never complained, though.

He did complain, however, about babysitting his brother. He called me at work once. “Mother.” I knew I was in trouble when he said it like that. “I’ve discovered the cure for the teen pregnancy problem.”  

“What’s that?”

“Make them babysit their little brother! I AM NEVER HAVING CHILDREN!”

Wally got revenge on the Beav from time to time. There was The Swinger Incident.

Things changed again in the summer of 2003. He didn’t just babysit his brother. He was my caregiver. He made sure I ate, he got me to appointments, and he saw me at my worst. He was a trooper, and that's when it really hit me that he was grown and would soon be leaving.

He moved off to college, and then he moved even further to graduate school. He spent his last day in Tennessee with me before he moved to Oregon. I was scared to have him so far away. I cried, but I was so proud. He was a brave young man, off on an adventure.

He’s still on that adventure. I miss him every day because he’s thousands of miles away, but he’s grown into a wonderful man, married to a terrific woman. I'm proud of him. 

I think he’s backing down from that never having children declaration. We’ll see.

Then he’ll have memories as his child grows. It’s a wonderful thing.

Happy Birthday, Jonathan. I love you.