60
On Saturday, August 22, 1964, at 7:07 AM, Dr. James A. Langdon, assisted by nurse Brooks Betts, delivered a 6 lb. 2 oz. baby girl at Jackson-Madison County General Hospital. As the firstborn child of Wayne and Bonnie Brown and the first grandchild on both sides of the family, my arrival was the cause of great celebration. From the beginning, I was swaddled in love.
My mother kept a meticulous record of those early days in my baby book: “Baby’s Milestones: Birth to Seven Years.” Because of her attention to detail, I know the names of the doctor and nurse who delivered me. This baby book includes black and white photos of my parents, my first home (Ellis Hall at Union University), and even the hospital.
On one page, my birth announcement hangs precariously from its deteriorating envelope above yellowed clippings from the local newspaper. The hospital bracelets my mother and I wore are affixed to another page.
My mother’s stunningly beautiful cursive handwriting fills in the blanks throughout the baby book. Her entries in the “World and Local News at Baby’s Birth” section provide a fascinating glimpse into the summer of 1964:
World headlines: Election Year - Democrats Are Seeking Way To Avoid Party-Split Over Civil Rights
Local headlines: Announced expansion of Williams Building
The President was: Lyndon Baines Johnson
Popular Entertainers: The Beatles
Fashions and Fads: Boots; Textured stockings; Reptile leather shoes; Topless swimsuits and dresses
The most popular song: “Hello, Dolly!”
The most popular dance: Watusi
I usually peruse my baby book annually on my birthday, because the book’s very existence reminds me of my late mother’s loving attentiveness. I am fortunate to have a happy origin story.
Since I am celebrating a milestone birthday this year, I have been anticipating the date even more than usual. While some folks dread birthdays that end in a zero, I wholeheartedly embrace these big days as an opportunity to give thanks. Ever since my sister died at the age of 34 in 2001, I have approached every birthday as a gift, for I am marking milestones that Tifni never will.
On the night of my 50th birthday, my son and I camped at Lassen Volcanic National Park on the first night of our cross-country road trip from Oregon to Tennessee. With a campfire flickering at our feet and the Milky Way Galaxy glowing overhead, my heart blazed with gratitude. I felt very settled that summer - professionally and personally. I had no idea how many twists and turns my life would take over the next ten years.
During the past week, I have been thinking about the things I have learned over the past decade. I know myself better at 60 than I did at 50. Conversely, I know far less about God now, but I would rather embrace mystery than grasp for certainty. I have learned to seek out the holy in surprising places. At the age of 60, I am seeking to follow Mary Oliver’s instructions for living: “Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”
Halleluiah
Mary Oliver
Everyone should be born into this world happy
and loving everything.
But in truth it rarely works that way.
For myself, I have spent my life clamoring toward it.
Halleluiah, anyway I’m not where I started!
And have you too been trudging like that, sometimes
almost forgetting how wondrous the world is
and how miraculously kind some people can be?
And have you too decided that probably nothing important
is every easy?
Not, say, for the first sixty years.
Halleluiah, I’m sixty now, and even a little more,
and some days I feel I have wings.
