I was upstairs painting 24 years ago this night. The carpet guys were due the next morning to cover the new attic bedroom floors. I had a an all-night job ahead of me. That was the plan.
Then Sheila called me down to time the contractions. Plans changed. By the time I got her to the hospital emergency room parking lot, the spaces between contractions were just long enough for Sheila to stumble from one car to the next where she held on for dear life till the next contraction eased and she could get a little nearer the door.
Our friend Cotton Franklin met this exhausted new father at the house at daybreak to clear the attic and clean it enough for the carpet men to do their job. Then I went back to Floyd Hospital to gaze at the beautiful mother and child, then fall asleep on the hard floor for several hours.
Happy Birthday, Branny-roo!
Here is a motley assortment of photos of the last two dozen years:
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