New Story! August 17, 1956, was a Friday! (A glitch is making this story hard to find so reposting 3/4/2025)

Friday's Child is Loving and Giving

Chapter 1

Time. She looked at her watch; her baby had been sleeping for nearly two hours and he would be waking up soon. She enjoyed the time feeding him, holding him close—had time to warm a bottle before he woke; she'd tried breast-feeding but stopped after a few days which made her feel bad but she dreaded the experience so much and had decided that was no way to form a loving connection to her baby.

Betty Grissom had waited five years for a successful pregnancy; she and her husband had been surprised when she'd carried their son to full term. Even their friends had been surprised and had showered gifts for their beautiful baby after he arrived. And he was beautiful, a perfect head covered with golden wavy hair and vivid blue eyes, and showing a remarkable resemblance to his father even as a newborn.

By the time she'd stirred the powdered formula into warm water and tightened the nipple, she heard the gentle grunts and mewling that could quickly move to a full scale cry. She hurried; her steps covering the space between kitchen and bedroom in a few seconds. As she made her way to the crib, she thought again how they were outgrowing the apartment.

For years, her husband had used one bedroom as a study area for his class preparations and his botany projects. While he had an office on campus, it was easier and convenient for him to work at home. When they realized they would have a baby, he offered to clear out the bedroom before they decided it was time to look for a home.

"A child needs a place to play—and neighbors—a yard," he'd said.

Betty leaned into her son's crib, cooing and talking gently as the baby stretched, gurgling and babbling, obviously happy to have attention. Quickly, she changed a wet diaper—she had never thought she would be so fast and skilled at changing a baby's diaper. Picking him up, he cuddled into her arms as she retraced her steps through the kitchen and to the living room. With the bottle in hand, she settled into the rocking chair and watched as her son latched to the bottle's nipple, making a sigh as he gulped the formula.

His eyelids fluttered as if he were dropping back to sleep but she knew this was a false sleep. He was sucking contently, relaxed as the chair rocked slowly. She could watch him for hours, asleep or awake; it was sometimes difficult to believe she—and her husband—had created this perfect little boy. Even strangers on the street commented on him, how quick he was to smile, how curious he was at such a young age.

For most of the afternoon, Betty was busy as any young mother, making preparations for dinner, hand washing a few items, folding laundry, checking on her baby. She placed her infant son on a bright quilt on the floor, added several soft toys, and let him move around as much as a four month old could. He held objects in his hand, rolled from his belly to his back and babbled until he rolled to his back. Overall, he was a contented baby, happy as he followed his mother's form as she walked around him. He was showing interest in his surroundings, the movement of curtains, the sunlight and shadows moving across the floor; he made the noises of an alert baby, testing out his own sounds.

Later, when she pulled the baby stroller out of the closet and unfolded it, Betty laughed as baby Gilbert squealed, pumping his legs and waving his arms as if he knew they were going for a walk. Maybe he did know about walks and the sun and sky; she wasn't sure when that kind of development occurred. She loved walking with her son and now that he had good control of his head, he seemed to enjoy the stroller as much as she did.

She padded the stroller to add stability and set the back of the seat so he could lie back if he got sleepy, then they set off, passing around the cluster of apartment buildings, home to many young couples who worked in the area. Between the buildings, she saw waving laundry, whites hanging together blowing like sails in the wind; again, she was thankful for the diaper service they used. It was not cheap but her in-laws were providing the service, delighted to have a grandchild at last.

It was a beautiful day of cloudless sky and a gentle breeze so she headed toward the campus of the college where sidewalks were wide and students were friendly to a young mother and baby. And she might meet some of her former art students who enjoyed painting or drawing in the bright sunlight. For several years, she'd been an assistant in the art department, part secretary, part scheduler, part counselor—the person who knew who, what, where, and why—and knew all the faculty and most of the students.

Their stroll was only a few blocks before she reached a bench tucked among a low hedge and blooming flowers. She checked on her baby to see how he was faring; his blue eyes were wide as he appeared to taking in waving flowers. He babbled and smiled when she lifted him out of the stroller to sit on her lap, her cheek against his curly head, inhaling his sweet smell. My baby, she thought, my Gilbert.

Her wish to see someone she knew was rewarded when three students came into view; all three were carrying canvases and boxes of paint. One of the girls gave an excited shriek when she recognized Betty and the baby.

"Oh! Mrs. Grissom, we miss you every day!" She ran to the stroller, leaning her canvas on the bench to get close to the baby so she could tickle his chin. "Look at how he's growing!"

The second girl scooted close and asked, "Could I hold him? Do you think he'd be okay?" Her paint box and canvas joined the other one next to the bench; her arms waved in an excited upward motion.

Smiling, Betty handed little Gilbert to the outstretched arms, saying, "He's no light weight."

As the girl took the baby, Betty noticed the ease she handled him, the gentle tone of her voice and the response of the baby. She said, "One day, I'm going to need a good babysitter—if either of you would be interested?"

Both girls flashed bright eyes, nodding eagerly. The first girl, called Debbie, immediately said, "We both babysit and would love to help with this handsome guy!"

"He's going to be the apple of every eye!" said the second girl who was Lillie or Linda; Betty hoped one of the students would say her name.

As the two girls laughed and made baby noises to the delight of Gilbert, the boy had stood several feet away from them. Betty looked at him, asking, "How are you, Robert? Still thinking about continuing your studies at the University? The graphic arts program is taking off with the new foundation."

The young man stammered a few syllables as he nodded. "I—I hope to transfer this fall."

She reached out and touched his arm, saying, "You will be successful whatever you decide to do—and if I can—I'll be happy to help with your portfolio."

Robert, a shy young man, mumbled his thanks just as the girls turned toward him, one saying, "Look at Mrs. Grissom's baby! He's so cute—and one day, I hope to have four or five who are as cute as he is!"

The students talked about their current classes—Lillie's name was mentioned twice, what they hoped to accomplish during the semester; the girls passed the baby back and forth until he grew tired and restless.

"It's almost time for a nap," Betty explained as she took her son into her arms, soothed him for a few minutes before snuggling him back in the stroller.

The students and Betty talked for a bit longer before the students moved on to a favorite spot for painting and Betty pushed the stroller toward home; the baby's head bobbling as his eyes closed and opened several times before his late afternoon nap settled in a few minutes before they arrived. At least they lived on the first floor, Betty thought. She maneuvered the stroller up two steps and inside the apartment without disturbing his sleep.

Leaving the baby sleeping in the stroller, she pushed it to the kitchen so she could keep an eye on her son as she finished preparations for dinner. She enjoyed listening to the radio as she worked, turned it on and, as she heard one of the popular songs of the year, decided she liked this new singer. While he wasn't Frank Sinatra, his voice was pleasant to hear as he sang a love song. She knew he was popular with the students and had heard them talking about going to Hollywood hoping to catch a glimpse of the young man when he filmed his first movie.

By the time the potatoes were ready for the oven, baby Gilbert was stirring awake; she had the water warm and ready to mix his formula. And after feeding him, she changed his clothes from the romper he'd worn all day to a fresh shirt and short pants, combed his unruly hair, and placed him in the baby swing before putting away the stroller.

Minutes later, her husband walked in the door—she smiled as she realized how much her son resembled his father from disheveled hair to rumpled pants. Thirty two years between father and son; she could not contain her laughter as her husband dropped his book bag and arms flew upward with excitement.

His first words were, "We got the house—the loan is approved!" He entered the kitchen, grabbed her around the waist and they danced around the table as he continued. "We have a home! We should be moving in a month—little Gilbert will have his own room. You will have a sunroom—and—and closets!"

"Oh! Tony! We got the approval—the loan!" Betty hugged him as a rock and roll song played on the radio. They were not dancing as much as they were jumping up and down with excitement and a moment passed before they realized their son was making happy squeals with them, pumping his legs and waving his arms.

Her husband released her and turned his attention to their son. There was something appealing, so comforting to see a man engaged in being a father. Gently, he lifted his son from the swing, his face broke into a look of tenderness, then a smile.

Betty wished she was a better painter—to be able to capture this male gentleness with a brush and paints. She returned to preparations for dinner, leaving father and son to play with one another. Her husband's voice lifted in son; he loved to sing to his son, everything from lullabies to rock songs to made up rhymes about trees and flowers. And little Gilbert seemed to like it, watching with wide-eyes, relaxing in his father's arms.

As she stood at the counter putting a salad together, she thought about how happy she was—happier than she could ever remember—and she'd had a happy childhood, very little unhappiness in her life, and thought of herself as a happy person. But since the arrival of her son, her happiness had heightened to one of blessed in a good world. Her heart seemed to fill as she turned to place the salad bowls on their small table.

Her husband was settling their baby back into the Swingomatic, giving the crank several turns so it would swing while they ate.

He said, "When we move, I think the sun porch will be a great place for you to paint—and there is space at one end for a play area."

Smiling, Betty replied, "I think so—and maybe—maybe—we'll have another little one in a year or so."

One eyebrow lifted above her husband's blue eyes as a smile spread across his face.

Quickly, she said, "Not yet—not until he's six months old—but I'm hopefully that we did this once, we can do it again."

Laughing, he joined her at the table, took her hand, and kissed it before they bowed their heads in a quick evening prayer.

A/N: Decided it was time to write about Grissom's life! Enjoy- we love to hear from readers!