The Most Interesting Man in the World -- Chapter Four

Chapter IV. – In Which Byron Warren is Upstaged, not Once, but Twice.

Be he, or be he not, destined to grow up into the most interesting man in the world, a young firstborn lad in most average American families is bound, sooner or later, to be subjected the most unpleasant of indignities. Call such indignity what you will – newcomer, usurper, pretender to the throne, competitor, or rival – it is bound to be welcomed (or not welcomed, as the case may be) in roughly the same fashion by all young firstborn lads. This fashion is bound, in more cases than not, to be quite a surprising nuisance in the eyes of the parents of young firstborn lads; but be that as it may, it remains true, as many of my fellow former young firstborn lads may tell you, to a man.
Byron Warren was seven years old when it happened. In fact, he had but lately turned that bright age of seven, for the month was June. Mr. Horatio Warren had, for roughly nine months previous to this point, maintained a strange but nonetheless stoic and consistent silence around his son, which no doubt perplexed the latter and not a little embarrassed the former. However, though I speak entirely upon my own initiative in this matter (and not from direct knowledge of the case), I believe the cause for this unease between father and son is quite explainable, though not quite understandable or excusable to most of us.
You see, the notable Santa Claus episode had greatly damaged Mr. Horatio Warren’s psyche as a father, for obvious reasons to those who read that notable chapter. After finding that Mrs. Leona Warren was with child, Mr. Warren’s injured ego forced him to take drastic, though probably entirely unnecessary, steps. He determined then and there that he would not tell his son Byron about this development until the moment of birth was at hand. The fear that drove this action was simple – if he told young Byron that he was going to have a younger sibling, he feared he might be forced to sit down with the former and discuss the facts of life much too soon for either of their good. And since Byron was now bound to take most of what his father said with a grain or two of salt, Mr. Warren found it prudent to keep his mouth entirely shut. And since Mrs. Warren pledged that if her husband wasn’t going to say anything about it until the last moment, neither was she, Byron was simply not going to know until that moment – for when Mrs. Leona Nora Warren, nee Crabapple, pledged something, it was as good as backed by the full faith and credit of the United States government, and then some.
Well, you can imagine, since we all know that Byron Warren was a thinker even at that tender age if he was nothing else, that the young firstborn lad was wondering why his mother’s tummy had suddenly assumed a strangely round and ever-growing shape. You can be sure that he gave voice to his inquisitive thoughts and asked both his parents what was the matter with Mom. At which Mrs. Warren just quietly assured him, “You’ll see”; and Mr. Warren would nervously pick up a book or the newspaper and tell his son not to bother him. It didn’t help when he saw his parents furnishing a spare room with all manner of baby toys and clothes and furniture, things that even Byron knew he was much too old for. He tried to question even this, but all he got was a curt reply that he should stay out of other people’s rooms.
But at last the day, June 19, came. Mr. Warren did not yet know it was the day, for he was sitting quite calmly in his easy chair; however, Mrs. Warren’s shriek quickly jolted him to attention. He ran to where his wife was, and by a series of hand gestures, facial expressions, and semi-intelligible phrases, he was notified that “it” was coming, and would not wait.
Horatio Warren first attempted to help his wife walk out to the car, but she was not even able to arise from the couch. Then he attempted to do what he was not then in the habit of doing (that is, carrying his wife) and found himself unable to do it; whereupon Horatio Warren picked up the telephone and called Dr. Merrill.
Now, Dr. Merrill was not wont to make house calls, but this would surely be an exception. You see, ever since he had helped the Warrens name their firstborn son, and ever since the Warrens had obligingly named Dr. Merrill as young Byron’s godfather, the good doctor was never known to deny a request from that family. Indeed, he was known to dine with them on occasion and even to golf with Mr. Warren. On the day in question, Mr. Warren’s telephone call could not have come at a more opportune time. Dr. Merrill had no sooner heard Horatio’s plea for help than he at once cut short his appointment with old Mrs. Jennings, the hypochondriac, by giving her a placebo. Then he was off to the Warren residence at speeds well over the accepted limit.
Meanwhile, young Byron was very much perplexed by his mother’s pained wailing and by his father’s confused attempts at allaying her distress. When he asked what was wrong, Mr. Warren realized that the time was at hand to tell his son. Mr. Warren, as you shall soon see, could not have more royally botched his opportunity.
“Well, son, you see…ah…you know how your mother’s tummy is all big and round?” he began cautiously.
“Yes,” replied the boy.
“Well, it’s about to not get so big and round!” stated Mr. Warren as emphatically as if that was all there was to the matter. Byron’s scrunched face assured him otherwise.
“You see, son, your mother is about to have a baby. That means you are about to be a big brother!”
Byron smiled broadly. “Oh, so you mean it’s like what Freddy says about what happened with his mom and how…”
Mr. Warren cut his son short. “Yes, yes! It means you will soon have a new little baby brother or sister to play with!”
“But how did…” Mr. Warren did not let his son finish. Mr. Warren, in his excited state, was too ready to jump to conclusions. He assumed, incorrectly, that his son wanted more information than was needed, and since he assumed this, he did not give his son a simple seven-year-old answer, as you or I would no doubt have. Instead, he gave his son a three-year-old answer and told a totally needless whopper, as follows.
“Um…you see, son…when a mommy and a daddy are lonely and want a new son or daughter – not that we’re lonely with you around, son, but perhaps they want more than one child – you see, they send for the stork!”
“The stork?” Byron’s face was even more scrunched than before.
“Yes. The stork is a big white bird with long legs and a long beak, and he delivers babies to mommies and daddies!” The whopper couldn’t have been bigger if he had added that the stork makes dill pickles.
Even Byron knew this, which is why he ignored his father’s answer. “But how is mommy’s stomach going to get smaller – and why is it so big now?”
“Well, son…” The words were hardly out of Mr. Warren’s mouth when there came a sharp rap at the door. Before Mr. Warren could move to get the door, the door opened of its own accord – or should I say, it was opened by an energetic newcomer with a black bag.
“It is I, the stork!” shouted Dr. Merrill good-naturedly, as if delivering babies were the most joyous, knee-slapping good time you could imagine. “Where’s the patient?”
“She’s on the couch in the living…” began Mr. Warren, but Dr. Merrill strode past him as if he already knew the answer to his question. He kneeled by the couch and quickly assumed firm command of the situation.
“All right, Pa, no slacking now – we’re going to have a home birth here! Boil up some water, man – you should have been doing this fifteen minutes ago! I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s here before you even get back! And I just know it’s going to be a ‘he’ – I can tell by the way she screams! Easy, now!”
As Dr. Merrill was busy barking orders to everyone including the house cat, Mr. Warren was nearly ready to swoon. In fact, that is just what he did after he had complied with several of the doctor’s requests.
“All right, Pa, we need a couple more rags, wash cloths, handkerchiefs, whatever you have handy…Mama’s sweating up a storm, and what good is a Pa if he can’t – Pa? Oh, blast it all, he’s out cold on the chair. Hey, B. W.,” – this was Dr. Merrill’s pet name for the boy – “could you get me another wash cloth or a towel or something? Hurry!”
Byron was off in a flash, and he ran more than a few other errands for the doctor during the whole process. In fact, the boy even mopped his mother’s brow and soothed her by giving her gentle hugs around the neck – something Mr. Warren would no doubt have been doing himself if he was not still laid out on his easy chair. Mrs. Warren, as has been duly noted before, was a strong woman, and seven years had not abated her original child-bearing strength; besides, having a strong man and a competent doctor beside you and being surrounded by the comfortable environment of home don’t hurt matters one iota.
“Pa, look alive – here they come!” shouted Dr. Merrill. Mr. Warren was not so far gone that the sudden sharp cry from the doctor did not cause him to open his eyes and to faintly stir.
“What? What did you say?”
“I said look alive, Pa! Here they come!”
“They? Who’s they?”
“I’m not talking about the IRS, man, or the police! I’m talking about your twins!”
Mr. Warren slumped back into his easy chair, ashen. “Twins!”
“Yes, twins, or my name isn’t Dr. Merrill! B. W., looks like you’re about to be outnumbered!” At this the boy smiled broadly again.
Mrs. Warren even spoke up now in between her groans. “Are you serious, doctor? There’s two in there?”
“Yep…sure enough…unless it’s got two heads…only question now is who’s gonna come out first!” A shrill wail pierced the air. “Well! It’s a girl!” Byron frowned a little but a hint of a smile still remained.
“And here comes the other right now! Stop the presses! It’s a boy!” Byron let out an audible cheer even as a second shrill cry pierced the air.
Mr. Warren mopped his forehead with the back of his hand; one would have thought he had just given birth to octuplets himself. “There are two? Twins?”
“Oh, get a hold of yourself, Pa, and come look! You’re the proud parents of two wonderful identical twins!”
Byron smiled as he looked at the newcomers. “Hey, that’s just what happened to Freddy’s mom – she had identical twins, which means they both look the same! Neat-O!”
A shadow passed over Dr. Merrill’s face. “Now comes the hard part, you know – what are the names going to be? You know, I have a grandfather in Buffalo and two aunts in Trenton if it looks like I’ll have to arbitrate…”
“No, Doctor, that won’t be necessary!” said Mrs. Warren in a strong voice. “We’ve already decided on alternative names for a boy or a girl, and I suppose we’ll just have to use both – right, Horatio?” Horatio, for his part, was out on the easy chair again.
Mrs. Leona Warren looked proudly at her two newest children as she held them both for the first time – quite an armful, if I do say so myself. “The girl will be Alice Vera Warren…and the boy will be Robert George Warren!”
“Fine names, fine names!” said a beaming Dr. Merrill. “Now let me get all of the data copied down on a piece of paper…too bad my nurse isn’t here…I forgot to look at my watch as I was delivering…guess I’ll have to estimate…”
Ah, yes, but it was a fine, joyous, splendid day at the Warren residence, June 19. Strong woman that she was, Mrs. Warren even offered to get up and heat something up for Dr. Merrill, but Mr. Warren wouldn’t have it. He stumbled to the kitchen and popped a heaping bowl of celebratory popcorn for everyone. And that was the way the Warren family grew from three in number to five.
Young Byron was not as put off as one might have feared by the addition of two new siblings. He was already quite accustomed to entertaining himself, and he actually felt quite proud of himself as he helped his mother care for both twins. After all, he was a big brother – and there is nothing trifling about that job description.