In Honor of my youngest brother

This is the story of how my brother became known as "Fingers Guggenheim". It was Christmas season 1962 and Jonathan was just over a year old. We were living in Middletown, Rhode Island as Daddy was stationed at Newport.


For many years my aunt in New Orleans would send the family a big box of "turtles", chocolates with caramel that were absolutely divine! Mother would dole them out sparingly as a special treat to the household and making sure that no one wiped chocolate on their shirt, pants, or the rug (as if! I would lick the excess off of my finger tips and revel in the taste.).

The living room was decorated for Christmas with the tree, trimmings, the bookcase with the faux fireplace paper, the presents and the box of turtles under the tree. Lord help the person who even dared to look at the box of chocolates without Mothers' permission!

One early evening as we were eating dinner Mother asked the question of the day, "Where's the baby?" Slowly we all, Daddy, Mama, Michael, Mario and Julian, looked at each other and mentally counted the bodies. One, two, three, four, five and, and and?
 
Michael stood up and looked over the planter that separated the dining room from the living room. He started to laugh and point. All of us stood up, although the planter was almost too high for Julian and me to peer over so we looked around the corner, and there was a sight!

There sat Jonathan in front of the tree lit in all of its glory, with the top of the box pulled off, bouncing up and down on his diaper, chubby little hands raised in the "Praise the Lord!" style with his little fingers clenching and clutching the air. He was making wonderful sounds and his facial expression was worth a million dollars because he knew, "Mine! It's all mine! Chocolate! And it's all mine!"

Before he could execute the snatch and grab of the decade, Mama raced around the dining table, skirted past two of her sons and edged around the planter and grabbed the "baby"! "Come here Fingers Guggenheim!" she said as she pulled him off of the floor while Daddy put the lid back on the chocolates. With a look on his face that said it all, Jonathan knew he had missed the opportunity of a life time.

And that is how his nickname became "Fingers Guggenheim" or just "Finn" to the family that misses him so much now.

The moral of the story? Treasure those moments that define family as there will come a time when not everyone is there any more.