It all started September 7th. My son, Joshua, wasn't feeling that well in the morning, but being his first day in Joseph Lister High School, I dismissed it as a bad case of nerves and sent him off. Well, actually, I asked my oldest son, Ryan, to take him, but that's beside the point. The point is that I knew he wasn't feeling his best, that his stomach was bothering him, and I made him go to school anyway. I'd forever blame myself for it. Anyway, last week he'd had a concussion playing soccer, so he'd been taken ibuprofen and I thought maybe the slight nausea was from that, and the pain in his side was probably due to muscle soreness.
I sent him off with the usual "be good" and "study hard" requests, hoping for a much needed day of rest. After all, spending a summer with a couple teenagers, a five-year-old and a three-year-old isn't what you could call "restful".
Ryan was sixteen and thought he had suddenly become an adult. He was part of a basketball team which was doing well thanks to him, and this made him feel like the king of the world: great and important. That was probably mostly the reason that the tall guy was so moody in the first place. However, even if he is blond, he's got a good head on his shoulders. He's pretty smart. And I can count on him to take good care of little Jamie and Michael, so he's pretty responsible too. Still, he got these weird mood swings all the time which made him an unpredictable person to live with. In terms of looks, he was kind of tall (5" 9), had blond hair cut short, and gray eyes. He was more on the thin side, probably because he liked sports so much and was always on the run. Ryan was not one to sit still.
My second son, Joshua, couldn't have been much more different, in terms of personality. He was fourteen and half years old. He was the most peaceful of all four, his passion being, like mine, music. He had grown up listening to the great classics of music, which included the Beatles, Elvis Presley and Frank Sinatra and could sing very nicely, however what he enjoyed the most was playing the piano. If you put him in front of one, you could pretty much expect not to see much of him for the next few hours. He was a very good player, having done so since he was only five years old. You could count on him to be the sweet guy and was the most empathetic of all four of my children, actually stopping to think before he did things, and was not at all selfish. That was what I liked most of him. There was so much of me in him, and yet he was so much unlike me. He was also blond, but his hair was a lighter shade than Ryan's, and shaggy looking. It covered most of his forehead. He was not as tall as Ryan, 5" 5', but also he was thinner, particularly over the summer of '05 he grew thinner, almost too thin in my opinion. His eyes, a piercing blue, were beautiful. They had a twinkle in them as if he was always about to laugh out loud, which was probably his most handsome feature.
My only daughter, Jamie, was five. Beginning first grade, she liked to show off about her knowledge by correcting everything and everyone around her. Like her brothers, she was smart, and could already read. She was very curious about everything and cheerful. Like Josh, she wanted to learn music, and I could already tell she had an excellent voice, it just needed training. I had signed her up for singing, hoping that she would like it as much as I used to. She could be rather bossy, though, and whinny whenever she was in a bad mood, which was, fortunately, seldom. She hated the Beatles and liked Hilary Duff and Kelly Clarkson, which, in a way, was lucky for me, as I could arrange for her to meet Hilary Duff, but the Beatles? Tough. She was a red head, and her soft white skin was sprinkled with cute little freckles. She was short, which would be expected for a five-year-old, and was on the chubby side, but she was still young enough that it looked cute. Her eyes were gray also, like her mother, Julia.
My youngest son was Michael. Michael was a quiet little guy, forever shy and bashful, but irresistibly adorable. I know I'm his father, but what can I say? It's true. He was short and blond, with blue eyes like Joshua's, though lacking that edge that was uncomfortable to some people, that sharpness that seemed to bother people and make them feel like they were being x-rayed. What he liked most was art. The refrigerator was covered with all kinds of finger paintings and marker drawings, and the kitchen counter was always full of his clay-projects and play-doh. The other children, too stuck in their own things, didn't really mind this. But I thought that, in the amateurish style of the art of a three-year-old, I could see talent peeking out, thought of course, I'm biased. In some ways, he was a lot like Joshua. He was just as curious and sweet, and a beautiful personality was hidden behind that shy, irristible smile, that made you want to pick him up and give him a hug.
Between these four kids, there was enough to make a set of parents crazy! Subtract the mother and you get what I always think of as "the nut house", which would be our mansion.
In other words, step into our lives. Welcome to the Carters.
Author's Chapter Notes:
This is one of my first stories, so be nice (also, be honest about it!). Please let me now what you think.
