This is Brett at one year of age: my third grandchild, and my daughter's firstborn. Even at birth, you could see his resemblence to his daddy, Jerry. He was his other grandma's first grandbaby, and she doted on him.
Sadly, I never got to bond with Brett as much as I did the previous two. He was very young when Rachel and Jerry moved to Branson for a few months. Later on, after they divorced, Rachel moved to Carthage, some three and a half hours away.
I do have some very unique memories of Brett, however: I recall putting him in the little red wagon we had bought for Arick... walking to town, pulling him behind me. There was still a grocery store in my small town of 780 people, at the time; and I'd buy him some grapes, or a box drink, which he'd somberly consume on the way home.
Brett never got excited about much. Toss him in the air or tickle him as much as you liked, he remained, for the most part, unsmiling and sober. However, he could do a great job of pouting, by the age of six months.
He hated mashed potatoes. I didn't believe it when Rachel told me, and tried to sneak a bite or two into his mouth. He gagged. To this day, he hates mashed potatoes.
I was the first one to teach him to stand up and pee (while he was still wearing diapers). I was so proud, and I pulled him to town in the wagon, right to his other grandma's house, wanting to show off his new skill. She was not impressed. In fact, she seemed to think I was some sort of pervert, teaching her grandson to pee in the yard like that.
Bless her heart, Bonnie has been dead for a couple of years. Nobody was ever prouder of a child than she was of Brett. My daughter and I laughed at the way she always worried about "his little...." whatever. If it appeared he might fall and bump his nose,she worried about "his little" nose. If he stubbed his toe, she kissed "his little" toe. You get the picture.
Brett is constantly in trouble these days. Why? Because he's sixteen!
I love you Brett. I'm so glad each of my grandchildren is unique!