FRANKIE AND JONNIE

FRANKIE AND JONNIE

 My brother and me

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He was adamant!

 He was determined!

 He screamed!

 He threw tantrums!

 He was also a 27-month old little boy.

 +()+

 While he was fighting the war in the Pacific, his wife, gave birth to their son, Frankie.

 She knew that her husband couldn’t just “sail” home and declare “all is well”. It was World War 2 and the world was crazy.

 So she coped. She was determined that until her husband came home, her son wouldn’t feel the emptiness of not having his dad around.

 She filled his days with songs and stories, play dates in the park when the weather permitted. Her mother visited regularly to offer some adult company.

 As they read stories, if a boys name was mentioned, she would always insert his name, Frankie. His little baby eyes would light up with delight! It was the same with songs. Since he was the center of her world, she made sure he became the center of his own world.

 ++

 The war finally over, her husband returned home and their life began. While he was completely delighted with his little son, Frank knew he had to find work to support his family. So, the center of their son’s world was still his mother.

 +++

 When their son, Frankie was sixteen months old, he mom discovered she was pregnant again. While she and her husband were thrilled, she also worried. His dad had been home from the war for just over a year, then filled his days with work.

 How would she manage to keep her little son from feeling neglected once a new baby was born?

 She decided to include him on every aspect of the pregnancy. She also kept inserting his name into every story she read, every song she sang.

 ++++

 Early in the morning on May 24, a car stopped at the curb. The man exited first, then hurried to the passenger side of the car and opened that door. He extended his hand and helped the young mother out as she held tightly to her newborn 6-day old daughter. (back then all maternity cases had a 6-day required hospital stay)

 +++++

 Outside the apartment, stood the baby’s grandmother, holding the hand of the baby’s 27-month-old brother, Frankie, who immediately tried to grab the infant from his mother’s arms.

 (remember, Frankie was only 27-months old and still spoke baby-talk)

 “I want my didter! (he’d been told by his grandmother previously that the baby was a girl.)”

 He was extremely excited.

 I want Donnie. I want my didter!”

 HUH??

 The mother sat on the stoop of the apartment building and said gently, “Frankie, she’s a little young. Let’s get her upstairs.”

 Even at the young age of 27-months old, he quickly ran and climbed the steps to the third floor apartment.

 He screamed again, “Gimme didter! I want my Donnie.”

 Finally, his mother asked, “Who is Donnie?”

 Frankie pointed to the baby and screamed again, “Dat my Donnie. Dat my didter!”

 “No, sweetheart. Her name is Margaret!”

 Frankie threw himself on the floor in full blown baby tantrum, still screaming, “Donnie! Dat Donnie! Dat Donnie!”

 Finally, Frankie’s grandmother, gently picked him up and calmed him down.

 “Frankie, your mommy and daddy call her Margaret.”

 Between sobs, he looked helplessly at his grandmother.

 “Nanna, dat Donnie. Dee’s my feetheart!”

 ++++++

 Now the light went on the household but what to do about it was the question.

 Since his mother kept singing Frankie and Johnny were sweethearts, it made sense that since he was Frankie, his sister should be Johnny – but as a 27-month-old toddler, his pronouncement wasn’t that great. His Js sounded like Ds, his Ss sounded like Ds and sweetheart? Well you guessed it.

 +++++++

 So, here I am 79 years later. My beloved brother lost his battle with cancer back in 1995 and while my legal name is still Margaret but to family and friends, I was then, am now, and always will be Donnie.