He was turning eight on February 8th, 1968, wondering why none of us had wished him a happy birthday. We were just following instructions, but bursting from our little bitty seams, because we knew…we knew there was a surprise coming.

After dinner was cleaned up, my brother Jimmy was moping about, dropping hints about what day it was. Momma took him by the shoulders, hugged him tight and said, “Happy birthday, son!” That was it. Unusual in our family because Momma made holidays and birthdays extra special. I thought I saw his heart drop to his stomach…but still he smiled with those big brown eyes and said, “Thank you, Momma”.

She sent us to wash our hands and tidy our bedrooms. Calling us 15 minutes later for homemade cake and ice cream…and yes, a couple of birthday presents!

Just then the doorbell rang and this time, Momma insisted on answering it herself. One after another, our family members and friends filed in singing “Happy...