Hatching Memories

I was coaching my seven-year-old to crack an egg this morning without catching the shell when I told him the story of my aunts. They were each in their early twenties when one complained that the other was a terrible cook, made clear by the crunchy scrambled eggs she served.

Both aunts were my heroes. So cool, they taught my cousins and I to jump from bed to bed while singing, "Jenny, Jenny, I've got your number--867-5309!" These memories were made in Old Chatham at a house set up on a hill. From the back deck, we looked out on a giant pie-shaped swath of land bordered by forest. Every day, deer would wander out of the woods to nibble on grass, and my grandmother announced their arrival. My cousins and I gathered round to see.

It was at this house, I told my egg-scrambling son, that Papa (my Dad) woke everyone up one early morning with an urgent message. "Get up! There's a bear outside! You've all got to see this!" The house was full of cousins on twin beds, trundles, and pull-out couches. We rubbed our eyes and followed him to the window with more an air of compliance than curiosity. My cousin Jenica said, "Uncle Jim, that's a dog." A dog, indeed. Even if it was a chubby, wide-nosed, black-haired, scruffy Newfie, it was a dog just the same. We laughed at my Dad and went back to bed.

"Do you know how many sisters Papa had?" I asked as put the bread in the toaster. He shook his head. "Four. Do you know many brothers? Three. And he was the oldest. What would it be like to grow up with seven siblings?"

We pictured the other children in our little house, sleeping in cubbies under counters and on ottomans in the family room. "I could fit at least two more in my bed," he pledged.

It wasn't often that the house in New York was full of so many people, but the days are impossible to forget. My cousins and I hiked to see an impressive view of the Hudson Valley from a rock cliff, led by an uncle. We rode horses together, even though I had no idea what it meant to cantor or trot, thanks to an aunt. We swam in the pool and listened to them talk about what it was like to be in college and why hot rollers are better than a curling iron. We ate crunchy eggs.

"I always wished I had loads of brothers and sisters when I was growing up," I told my youngest. "One of my favorite movies was Cheaper By the Dozen because I loved the scenes when the oldest kids were leading the youngest." I pointed to the eggs on the counter. "How many are in a dozen?" I asked.

"Twelve!" he said.

"Can you just imagine?" I asked with a lovely row of stair-step boys from twenty all the way down to seven forming in a thought bubble above my head.  Lord knows, I had enough years to make that family, but...

"Ping," went the toaster and breakfast was served.