The Small Things

I am the firstborn.

When I was born, my mother was in a comma. She was only 27 weeks along in her pregnancy.

She *knew* with a surety that she was going to give birth to a girl. Amber Elaine Earle. Well... mom had a seizure on new years day in 1996. She went into a comma. Hours of fear, anxiety, uncertainty and probably many tears later, I was delivered via C-Section and passed through a small hole in the OR wall to the NICU.

When the nurse told my dad that he had had a son, he was slightly shocked at the mistake. He told her she was wrong; his wife had had a daughter.... The nurse, alarmed at her mistake, returned to the NICU and came back. "No, Mr. Earle, you had a son."

Well... my parents didn't even have a boy outfit to bring me home in. But that wouldn't be a problem. I would spent the next three months of my life in a hospital room.

My mother remained in a comma for 3 days after my birth. We sure are glad she woke up. :)

Though the odds were against me the whole time, I made it. No complications. Today I am a 6'1, strong, healthy swimmer. No one would guess that I was a 2.5 pounder. Some (crazy) people eat burgers that weigh more than that. Just sayin.



They say that firstborns are always more adult-like than their siblings. Most obviously because they are raised by adults without any older siblings to emulate. I have always been that way. More adult like than most kids my age. Height didn't help. I was always the tallest in my classes.

I grew up fairly spoiled. My parents struggled with the idea that they might not be able to have more children and so my mom didn't hesitate to love on me. I don't regret it. I have always had a wonderful life and have never wanted for anything.

Though spoiled, I was raised right. I was raised strict.

My dad grew up with a strict father. He raised me, in some ways, the same as his father had raised him. Strict.

I had rules. If I broke them, I got spanked. And I learned my lessons.

My first memories are ones of change and some turmoil. They came about the same time that my father joined the military. I was about three and a half years old when my strongest memories begin. For the next three and a half years, my father spent almost all of his time and energy into becoming a pilot in the United States Air Force. He says they were the toughest years of his life. Not only was he trying desperately not to "wash out" of Pilot Training, he had two sons, (Josh was born just before we left to start training) a wife, and he had demanding callings in our church.  He loved what he did. He loved the patriotism that flowed through all of his Air Force classmates. The Star Spangled Banner that played in the mornings, Taps at night. The sound of jet engines soaring overhead. He had dreamed of it since he was 4 years old.

You can imagine that a young child being raised in such an environment would grow to adapt and adopt the principles he was exposed to. I did.

I had a little green flight suit that I wore. I made ID cards (laminated with packing tape.) that I showed the military police as we passed through the Air Force Base gates. I would salute the guards. Sometimes they saluted back. :) I begged my mom for "boots. like dads." After a while, I was given a pair or khaki boots from walmart. I loved those things.

I also learned to respect the flag and love our country. I was surrounded by men who were willingly putting themselves into harms way to defend freedom and serve their country.

I was emblazoned with those values.

So to this day I am strict. I believe in America. I stop and put my hand on my heart when I see a flag pass or hear the anthem. I also... have trouble explaining my actions to others. Many people don't see the small things. I do. I am definitely a perfectionist in many ways. But I crave and understand respect.

I would do very well in the military. Structure. Rules. Respect. Attention to detail. Striving for perfection.

I don't think my parents thought much about how I would turn out. Again. Something oldest children have in common. All of their firsts are firsts for the parents. I am lucky to have parents who never pushed me to grow up or hit certain expectations outside of the home.

Its taken me a very long time to realize that I am rare. Not many people follow rules to a T. Not many want to wear an American Flag on their shoulder. Not many study for countless hours about important events in history so that they can be sure never to repeat the tragedies we see every few decades. Not many have upmost respect for others.

But I do.

Its the small things that define people. The imperfections. I love the small things.

Do you?