New grandson in line with family traditions

The night of March 21-22 was quite exciting around my home. Our seventh grandchild checked into the world. He is our youngest son's first child.

For those of you who would say seven is a lot of grandchildren, keep in mind that is not yet a baseball team. The catcher or pitcher is on the way, due in Walla Walla in July or August.

My wife Pat was so excited when our son called on the 21st that she arranged to have the next day off. She headed to Spokane right after work, hoping to be at Deaconess in time for the birth.

I knew she would make it. First babies in our family seem to take their time.

I called Pat around 7 p.m. She said the doctors were expecting Raymond Theodore Escobar III at about 10 p.m.

"III," you ask?

Well, our family is traditional. My grandfather's name was Raymond, and my dad's name was Theodore. I was named Raymond Theodore and called Teddy.

My son, whom we call Teddy, was named Raymond for his grandpa Ray Butler and Theodore for his grandpa Theodore Escobar. It just worked out that he is Raymond Theodore Escobar II.

RTE III will be called Ray.

That's if it sticks. In a big family like ours, nicknames do pop up.  I've had two or three for each of my sons and daughters. Already, Pat is threatening to call him T-Rex.

I suggested to Pat that baby Ray would come after midnight. Our first natural-birth child put Pat through 40 hours of labor. Our second was born at 2:26 in the morning.

I called Pat again at 10:30. Still no baby Ray. I said I would call again at 11:30 and then go to bed.

Anyway, all of this late-night excitement brought back memories of a tradition of night-time events, or occurrences, in our family.

One of those was visits by uncles and aunts during my childhood. No matter if they came from Oregon, Montana or California, they usually arrived at about 3 a.m.

We were so excited we didn't care. We'd all sit around the kitchen table. While the adults drank coffee and caught up on old times, the children sat in an outer ring and fantasized about the world the adults had experienced.

Another of our night-time traditions was going out to the fields while it was dark. We always started working as soon as we could see the ground.

In the spring we cut asparagus. We left the house at about 4:00 to be in the field at 4:30. In summer we picked potatoes. We left the house  at 3:00 to start at 3:30.

Sometimes, when out-of-state relatives showed up unannounced, they were just in time to go with us. If they wanted to visit.

We loved baseball. So we played all of the waking hours we weren't out in the fields. Sundown was no problem. We took out the Whiffle ball and played under the yard light by the garage until midnight or later.

One night, the boys in our family went completely haywire. We stayed up all night drinking coffee and eating donuts at my sister Teresa's house while waiting for our nephew Ronnie to arrive from Florida.

We were going to play golf the next morning. Because we didn't have a tee time, we decided to go to the course before anyone else. Ronnie arrived before sunup, and we headed out.

Our first group teed off before the sun was over the horizon. We saw the first few yards of our initial shots, and then they faded into the dawn.

This night-time stuff stayed with us all of our lives. My siblings and I are in our 60s and 70s now and left the fields decades ago. Still, I can call either of them at 4:00 or 5:00 in the morning and have a chat.

I called Pat again at about 11:30. Still no baby Ray. I told her I was going to sleep and that I would keep the phone at the head of the bed.

Just like my old farmworker days, I woke up at 3:00. No call. I closed my eyes and went back to sleep. At 4:00 I woke up again. Still no call.

I couldn't go back to sleep this time. Fortunately Pat called a few minutes later with the good news. Baby Ray was here.

Born at 3:55 a.m.

He's either an asparagus cutter, potato picker or insane golfer. Or he could be a reincarnated uncle.

Either way, his timing was perfect.

My own dad must be smiling in heaven. The traditions go on.