Ricky

March of 1953

Linda vomited again. Bobby Jack Wilson sighed. Ever since he learned his fiancé was pregnant, he was forced to get a better job than working in a shop that sold cigarettes. He even quit smoking for Linda's sake so that the baby wouldn't be harmed. Smoking hadn't been the only thing he had to quit. Alcohol and pot also went into the bin.

"Are you okay?" he called.

"Yeah," Linda called out weakly. "I just need to sleep." No surprise there. It was especially hard, since the baby was due this month. The doctor said it was due in a couple of weeks. Bobby didn't say it out loud, but he secretly hoped the baby was a girl. He never understood why having a boy was more important than a girl. Besides, it would be nice.

Linda slowly stumbled out of the bathroom, hand on her chest, breathing heavily.

"The baby....." She suddenly screamed. "Labour!"

Great. Just the last thing he expected to happen.

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The labour was a long and hard one, but the boy finally came out. Bobby did want a girl, but he was just as happy with a boy. Maybe happier, even. When he finally got to hold him, it was like....

How would he describe it? The euphoria, the thrill, joy, happiness. This was what it was like to have a child. Nothing would take that feeling away.

"What do we name him?" Bobby asked Linda, just two days after he was born. They still were not allowed to leave the hospital yet, but soon they would be able to.

"He's a lad, so you should name him."

Carefully, Bobby took him out of his mother's arms and cradled him.

"Ricky Helton Wilson," he said. Then he kissed his forehead. Little Ricky opened his eyes and smiled. His father smiled back.

By the Lord, his eyes were just as blue as his father's.

This was it. This was a new life.