Upside down boys

Today's Raleigh N&O column is about why I don't have children. I figure nobody can fuss at me about it like my Grandma Tommie did in the last thing she said to me, knowing it was me, before she died 11 years ago. I was just sitting there, minding my own business on Christmas day when she suddenly snapped out of her Alzheimer's dementia into total lucidity, looked directly at me, and yelled, "You're too selfish to have young'uns!"

Have a fantastic Tuesday. (Sorry about the line breaks, can't seem to fix them.)

Happy to be a world-class aunt

News & Observer, The (Raleigh, NC) - Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Author: Leigh Ann Frink, Correspondent

I consider myself a fairly private person, and I am not prone to personal confessions, but

I get asked sometimes why I don't have children.

It's an awkward conversation, but I'm going to just go ahead and put it out here in this

column to answer it once and for all.

It's not in my control; it's genetic.

Somehow, when my parents' DNA came together to create mine, the chromosome that

causes maternal instinct got left off the double helix.

All differently abled people have skills and propensities that make up for their

shortcomings. Think of the theoretical physicist who doesn't get the punch line of a

knock-knock joke or the copy editor who breaks out in hives when faced with the

simplest algebraic equation. I can't begin to imagine what it's like to be a parent, yet I am

the World's Second-Greatest Aunt (my aunt Jo is the first).

This superhuman ability came as a complete surprise to me. Now that I'm making

confessions, I have to say that when my sister, Jill, called to say she was expecting, I

went into mourning over the loss of my favorite party buddy to this "motherhood" thing I

couldn't comprehend, and I resented this imposition into my social life.

But when my sister laid baby Joshua in my arms, my heart nearly exploded. As I gazed

on his beautiful face, I promised him I would give him both my kidneys if he ever needed

them.

Jill and her family moved to Asheville when Josh was six months old; Banyan was born

a year later. I was burning up I-40 every couple of months to hang out, not with my

sister, but with my two little buddies. Aside from stinky-britches time, when I'd run

squealing from the room, I was all about playing with my littles.

We'd roll around the floor wrestling and making monster sounds. I'd toss them in the air

then pick them up by the ankles to let them be Upside-Down Boy. I'd tickle them and

make rude sounds blowing on their bellies as they shrieked with delight.

Without fail, I'd wear them out, and my sister would come in to announce it was their

bedtime. They'd start wailing and I'd raise my arms, announcing, "Thank you, I'm out of

here!" and retreat back to my hotel. Piece of cake, I thought, all I have to do is be the

cool one and they'll love me.

So when Joshua turned 4, I brought him to Raleigh for a weekend of "Lilo and Stitch,"

the dinosaur museum downtown and the teddy-bear-building store at the mall.

"Aunt Lee Lee?" he asked as we drove down I-40, "are you my mommy's sister?"

"Yes, buddy, I am. Just like Banyan is your brother."

He thought about that for a while before deducing, "You and Mommy have another

sister. She lives in heaven."

It was the first time I had heard him speak of my sister, who died before he was born.

As the tears started to stream down my face over the pure, unadulterated sweetness of

that moment, I felt the searing, almost painful heat of a love I didn't know I was capable

of feeling.

I just wanted to wrap that little boy in safety and comfort and make sure he never, ever

had to feel pain. I wanted to make sure he had ice cream for every meal and Disney movies playing on a nonstop loop all around him.

I wanted to give him a pet unicorn that could fly over rainbows. I wanted to mortgage my

house, max out my credit cards and buy every candy bar in the world so he could have

the golden ticket and live in the chocolate factory with the happy Oompa-Loompas. I

realized at that moment that I would give anything and everything to keep sadness from

coming anywhere near that precious little boy.

Joshua's 10 now and Banyan is 8. I can't lift them and play Upside-Down Boy anymore,

but they know they can count on Aunt Lee Lee for a fun time. And I know that I would

do anything in the world to protect them, make them feel happy, safe and loved, then

give them back to their mama when they're cranky and ready for bed.

: Final

Section: Life

Page: D1

Column: Our Lives

Record Number: ka5qoo89

Copyright 2008 by The News & Observer Pub. Co.