My mother gave birth to 14 children. I was the ninth child and the first one born in a hospital. I was born here at Higgins Clinic, February 12, 1955, at 12:30 a.m. I weighed nine pounds, poor mom, and I was delivered by Dr. Ost. Mom had five more babies at Higgins Clinic: Johnny in 1957, Carol in 1960, Kim in 1962, Ramona in 1964, and Jeff in 1966. I don’t remember hearing stories of the girls or my birth except when Sister Carol was born. Shortly after Carol was born, Mom had to be hospitalized for ulcers, I think. Mom had breastfed all of her babies, with Mom in the hospital and Carol an infant who needed nourishment, dad bought a Jersey cow, who we named Old Bren, who had to be milked twice a day and who became a family pet. On January 15, 1966, we had a three-foot snow, and Mom went into labor with her last child. My father, or one of the older brothers, walked to Bee Log to ask Arnie Pate if he could get Mom out of the holler and up to Higgins Clinic. In a little while, here came Arnie Pate up the holler, pushing snow with his Jeep. In a little while, Dad, Mom, and Sister Patsy loaded up with Arnie, and they took off slipping and sliding to Higgins Clinic. There were eight of us left at the house: two teenage brothers, Eddie and Jack, and six of us girls: Shelby, me, Johnny, Carol, Kim, and Ramona. Late in the evening, Jack and Eddie said they were going down to the neighbors to call the clinic and check on Mom. They were gone a long time. It was really dark and still snowing and we heard noises outside. Something or someone was scratching and knocking on the house. I looked in the living room and saw snowy hands on the window. In the sensible part of my brain, I knew it was Jack and Eddie, but I was still scared. The other girls weren’t taking any chances. All five of them dived under Mom’s bed. A little while later, after they had their fun scaring us, Jack and Eddie came inside and told us we had a little brother. We were over the moon. We had a house full of girls, and now we had a little brother. The next day, here came Arnie Pate pushing snow with his jeep and bringing Sister Patsy, Dad, Mom, and our little brother. They had named him Jeffrey Allen Lewis. He immediately became Jeff to us. A few weeks later, Jeff’s birth certificate came in the mail. He was not Jeff at all. His official name was Kevin Allen Lewis. No one could get Kevin out when we referred to him. So all of his life, to us and everyone who knew him, he was Jeff, except to Arnie Pate, who called him Snowball.