Dear Lisa,

It was April 9, 1986. Your first birthday—a beautiful spring Wednesday. We had a little party for you with a handful of guests. Your Aunt Gen and Uncle Darren were there. So was Grandpa Downey. And your daddy’s baby brother, your Uncle Smitty, had driven six hours in his decrepit 1980 Mercury Bobcat to be with us. He was just nineteen—still a kid. We also invited Bobby and Sheila from next door and their little toddler. Do you remember Josh? He was about four months older than you and had long silky blond hair and a rumbly belly laugh.

It was warm enough to play and eat cake outside. You were wearing cotton overalls with purple flowers, their knees stained with grass. You crawled everywhere on the lawn, visiting each of your guests. You were the life of the party.

As the shadows got long, and the air cooled, people started to leave. Uncle Smitty popped you onto his shoulders and danced you into the house while your dad and I cleaned up outside.

We sat in the living room to unwind before taking you off to bed. I remember feeling elated and overcome with feeling all day long. I hadn’t realized how big a deal my baby’s first birthday would be for me. I just didn’t want the day to end.

I was on the floor cross-legged with you in my lap. Smitty and your daddy were on the couch. We had been videotaping on and off during the party with one of those huge video cameras Panasonic made back then. (I bet you can’t even remember such Stone Age technology.) Smitty picked up the camera from the floor and hoisted it to his shoulder. You looked around at us with a big grin, put your plump little hand on my knee, and got to your feet. As you looked at the guys across the room, you took one step, then another, and started walking to them! We all held our breath.

When you were a few feet from your daddy, he put out his arms and you flung yourself at him. As soon as he had you, we all erupted with cheers. All of it caught on camera.

What a clever girl!