Out of all the places we've lived, Goldsboro, North Carolina was easily my least favorite. There's one thing about out time there, however, that I wouldn't trade for the world.
Cameron Raphael Crockett first graced the world with his presence on May 19th, 2002. 8 pounds, 6 ounces, 10 fingers, 10 toes--everything was as it should be. He was my parents fourth child and first son together, my first baby brother. His birth was uneventful; no complications or anomalies stood out in the beginning.
They were in the car when my mother's water first broke. Mom says one of the first things my dad did was complain that the amniotic fluid was going to ruin the car's interior. Dad doesn't recall any such thing. They drove to the hospital, and a few hours later, Cameron was safely delivered. I remember the first time I held him more clearly than I remember holding my other siblings. I had fallen and broken my wrist at school a few weeks before and still wore a cast. Cameron's little legs rested awkwardly on my cast while my right arm cradled his neck and head. Thick, spiky black hair, dark brown eyes, the tannest skin yet out of all us kids; his face all scrunched up in complaint against the overhead lights. He was a drop-dead gorgeous baby, and we all fell in love with him from the very beginning. Even Aleah, who was one and thought she owned the world, was gentle and tender with him.
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