Aaron's Smile

I put Aaron on the potty seat in the bathroom, he was 20 months old, then I went into the kid’s bedroom to finish nursing Ana. After I finished with Ana, I heard Cannaday’s high pitch voice coming from another room, “Be still Aaron. Be still.” I was so busy getting ready I forgot Aaron was on the potty seat. It was December 1988 and we were getting ready to attend a Kwanzaa celebration and dinner. This was going to be our first big family outing since having Ana in August.

We were living in a two‐bedroom townhome. The bathroom and bedrooms were upstairs and the living room, kitchen, dining room, and family rooms were on the first floor. I assumed their father was in the basement level of our townhouse ironing his clothes. I tightened up my bathrobe and headed for the bathroom down the hall to get Aaron off the potty seat. The light was on, and Aaron was sitting quietly on the “throne” while Cannaday, his 3 ½ year old big brother, was standing in front of him. The “throne” is a potty chair that fits over the toilet seat. It had a small two‐step ladder and handle bars on either side. Aaron was too young to get on and off the seat by himself, so he had to sit there until his father or I picked him up; otherwise, he was a captive to the potty chair, or in this case Cannaday’s captive audience.

Cannaday sensed my presence and turned around. He wasn’t smiling but had a serious look on his face, as if he was concentrating on something. As I got closer I could see Cannaday had my pink razor in his hand. He looked up at me and said in his high pitch voice, “I’m shaving Aaron’s leg.” I exclaimed, “Cannaday! No, no. Give me the razor,” as I approached them and processed what was going on, or could have happened. Cannaday gave me the razor, and I examined Aaron’s legs for cuts. No cuts, but I could see a track of hair was missing from Aaron’s left leg. “Now where did he get that idea,” I thought. I suppose Cannaday was trying to help get Aaron ready because his parents were too busy.

Aaron was what I called my “hairy baby.” When he was born he had hair everywhere, not just on his head but his neck, down his back, shoulders and forearms. Aaron’s hair was dark and fine, the kind that laid down when you wiped your hand over it or when it was wet. His skin was light, but the dark fine hair across his body gave him a Middle Eastern look. Cannaday gave me the razor and ran out of the bathroom, almost as silently as he had entered.

I looked at Aaron trying to see if he was hurt, but my concerns quickly melted as I looked at his face. He was smiling. I think he was enjoying the attention. Aaron had such an infectious smile, so bright. People said when he smiled his whole face smiled. When Aaron was younger he didn’t know how to smile for pictures. Many times pictures of Aaron showed him looking puzzled at the camera, not knowing what to do or what to make of the contraption, like a deer staring at headlights. 

Tina and Aaron less than 1yr old, 1987

Cannaday, Aaron, and their father Roger, 1987

Eventually Aaron learned to smile for the camera. We now have family photos of Aaron showing evidence of his infectious smiles. Balancing himself on the potty seat that day he was all grins. I couldn’t help but smile back at him; he was so patient.

Aaron and his full face smile, 1988

Aaron eating Cheerios, circa 1989

Aaron must have been on the potty for over 30-minutes, but he wasn’t fussing. He just sat there quietly while Cannaday shaved him, while I scolded Cannaday, and now while I was examining his body for cuts. I think he was just happy to have his big brother “help him” get ready. But then, I noticed something different about Aaron’s face. His left eyebrow was missing. “Cannaday!”

Aaron was still smiling.

From Tina's journal, 11/22/2009