My parents had four kids in five years. 

Ten years later I came along … and surprised all involved parties.

My three sisters and brother are all between 10 and 15 years older than me. 

I grew up … looking up.

To a person they held up their ends of the big sibling bargain. 

Kim bought me my first album at the National Record Mart. Let me pick it out myself. Still remember the words to every song.

Laurie didn’t shoo me away when she’d invite her pretty friends over (swoon). 

Kenny would take me with him on his pilgrimages to WVU when he was teaching there. Always let me pick out some Mountaineer gear at the bookstore.   

Missy taught me my letters, numbers and punctuation marks by drawing them in soap on my back during bath time and having me guess what she drew. When my kids were little, I employed the Missy Method.

As a bonus … I knew all the cuss words before my friends did. As I remember it, Kim and Kenny did the heavy lifting there.   

At home the five of us were spread across the three upstairs bedrooms. 

Kim, the oldest, had a small bedroom to herself. Laurie and Liss shared the big bedroom across the hall. My brother took me in during the expansion draft of 1970. 

After graduating high school, Kim joined the Marines (um, as one does). Laurie, popular with the boys, got married a couple years after she graduated. 

Kenny went away to college when he graduated, which left just me and Liss at home.  

I had just turned seven.

Towards the end of the summer Kenny went away to school, Liss spent a week of vacation away from home (with my aunt, I think). 

It was the first time I had to sleep upstairs by myself.

I couldn’t do it.  

Scared me.

The wooden floors creaked. 

And it was really dark in my room. 

There was a light in the hall but it was too bright to keep my door open, so I’d have to close it tight. I could only see a sliver of light between the bottom of the door and the floor. I was always afraid I’d see shadows of footsteps in the hall … like I saw on a scary TV show once.  

There were two, big deep closets in my bedroom. I had clothes in one, the other one I was told not to open. Always imagined monsters lived in that one.  

Dad was on ‘tuck-in’ duty that summer. 

It was also the summer he taught me the Our Father. 

I remember us taking turns with the lines.

Me: Our Father, who art in heaven … 

He:  … hallowed by thy name.

etc. 

Once I had it down, I’d vary the line breaks. 

He’d pick up where I left off. 

Me: Thy will …

He: … be done. 

Me: Give us this day our daily … 

He: … bread. 

Kept us payin’ attention.

I’d follow it up with the requisite “God Blesses,” starting with “Mom, Dad, Lissy, Laurie, Kimmy and Kenny,” and work backwards from there.

It’s funny the things we remember.

The first night Liss was away, after trading lines and tucking in, Dad went back downstairs.

I lasted maybe 10-15 minutes with the creaky floors, the light under the door … whatever was lurking in the closet.  

Got outta bed and trudged back down the 14 steps.

Told my parents that I missed Liss and was too scared to sleep upstairs by myself. 

I think I lobbied to sleep on the couch in the living room … unsuccessfully. 

I remember Dad walking me back up. 

Tucking me in again. 

Closing the door behind him. 

And going only as far as the tiny hallway, which was really just a landing.  

Sat down on the top step. 

He’d brought his Bible with him.

Cracked it open and read under the hall’s bright light.

I couldn’t see him. 

Even if I left the door open, the top of the steps were parallel to my room, hidden from my view. 

So I’d call out … to make sure he hadn’t gone back downstairs. 

“Still there, Dad?” 

“Yep,” he’d reply. 

“Still here.”

Even though I couldn’t see him, just knowing he was there … made things better. 

I liked his chances against the monster lurking in my closet. 

I don’t know how long he stayed that first night.

Until I fell asleep is all I know. 

I had trouble falling asleep every night Missy was away. 

After we’d “Our Father,” Dad would close the door behind him, go sit on the top step and read his Bible.

There were at least a couple of nights — maybe all of ’em — I couldn’t fall asleep right away. 

I was a big worrier back then. 

On those nights I’d test the emergency broadcast system more than once. 

Sometimes a few times. 

“Still there, Dad?” 

“Yep … Still here.” 

No matter how late it got. 

No matter how many times I asked. 

Each time … “Still here.”

Not sure how long I made him sit there. 

Several chapters worth is my best guess … which is more Bible ground than I’ve covered in a while.  

Until I fell asleep is all I know. 

__ 

Last Sunday would have been Dad’s 98th birthday. 

My sisters and brother were blowing up the group chat all morning. 

We’re about 50 years removed from our last sleepover. 

To a person they are still holding up their ends of the big sibling bargain.

I think of my Dad every day. 

When I hear certain tunes. 

When I retell the same stories. 

When the world gets scary.

When I remember to say the Our Father and God Blesses in my head before bed. 

I can still hear him finishing the lines sometimes.

When I can’t fall back asleep.

I can’t see him.

But I know he’s there.

In my mind he’s sitting on the top step reading his Bible under the bright light.

No matter how late it gets. 

No matter how many times I ask.

Still there, Dad?  

Yep. 

Still here.