And Then There Were Four ...

Karen was born October 30, 1964 at William Beaumont Army Hospital in El Paso, Texas.

Tony, age nine, tried to visit his newborn sister, but hospital rules kept him from being admitted. My room, thank God, was on the ground floor. A face suddenly appeared outside my window and there was my son, looking pleased with his detective work. (I shuddered to think how many private rooms his sharp eyes invaded before locating me.) With the baby in my arms, I stood on one side of the glass, Tony on the other, and the two of us admired Karen's fingers, toes, ears and nose. We were especially proud of her hair.

When Karen was 7 months old, the children and I made a trip to see grandparents before leaving for Germany. Tony, being eldest, sat in front with me and assumed complete responsibility for the baby on that long journey from El Paso to Little Rock. He did a good job ... spooning applesauce into her mouth, scraping applesauce off her chin, mopping applesauce off the dashboard, fastening cloth diapers with old fashioned safety pins and threatening, at fifty-mile intervals, to throw her out the window. His gruffness didn't fool Karen for a minute. She pulled his ears and drooled on his face and laughed out loud when he protested. He was her willing slave and she knew it.

As we crossed Wye mountain, getting close to our destination, Tony dug out Karen's best clothes and began polishing her up for display. From the corner of my eye I watched as he gave her curls a rough smoothing and forced her wiggling feet into tiny shoes.

My son was miles more comfortable with a baseball than a baby, but he could handle any job put before him.

Homefolks oohed and aahed over Karen, and her grandfather pronounced her perfect except for her scalp. Her scalp did not pass his inspection. I explained that she had a skin condition called exzema, doctors had prescribed special soaps and lotions and I was following instructions faithfully. Daddy wasn't interested in doctor's reports. He knew what was wrong. The baby had "cradle cap". That's what babies had in the olden days, and that's what Karen had right now. Cradle Cap. He rolled up his sleeves and prepared to show me how to wash her head.

I prepared to be well entertained.

This man had never washed a baby in his life.

The entire family gathered around the kitchen sink holding warm towels at the ready. Karen lay trustingly across her grandfather's left arm while his right hand scrubbed a more-than-generous amount of shampoo into her thick curly hair. He managed to rinse away the top layer of suds before handing her back to me, and taking himself off to bed, where he slept the sleep of the righteous, knowing he had single-handedly restored his newest grandchild to perfect health.

As soon as he was out of sight I took my daughter back to the sink where gallons of warm water were required to remove all the soap from her hair.

Forty-four years have passed since Karen received that once-in-a-lifetime shampoo. Her hair, in spite of, or perhaps because of, her grandfather's early intervention. remains beautiful today.