Saturday, September 27, 2008
Something miraculous happened on this day in 1972. My Mother lost somewhere between 6 and 8 pounds in 24 hours. Never to be repeated again. That’s because she gave birth to what I like to call perfection…me. As she tells the story, she only gained 15 pounds with my brother. 35 with me. Once again, doomed at birth. There was a miscarriage in between my brother and I. While sad, it was God’s way of saying, “In exchange for your loss, I give you perfection.” Am I conceded? Hardly. Just a realist. As a birthday ritual, I call the woman who gave me life and ask her what time I was born. Every year the answer varies slightly. This year, a straight up confession. She never wrote it down! Let’s recap. First she bangs the milk man to bear the only redhead in the family and then ridden with guilt she forgets to write down the hour that she bore her only daughter! Mother of the Year…I think not!
Mother says I was a “hard headed” child. Never did anything I didn’t want to do. Perhaps a trait of the milk man? Can’t be sure. Since we do not acknowledge his existence, answers are in short supply. There are only a few things we know for sure: I was born today (at some point), my hair turned red at 6 months and Gerald was listed as the Father. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine. My worst fear? I become a famous writer and some old ass redheaded man hunts me down for my fortune and claims to be Daddy. There’s hope. Gerald is in killer shape. He can still kick the milk mans ass. That’s my Dad! Being a Dad is more than a seed. Being a Mom is more than donating eggs to the milk man. I have great parents. I left home 16 years ago. I think their worst fear was that I would return. I have yet to do so. I come for visits but the days of free labor are ova! Now when I go back to the home of my youth I am exceptionally lazy. Making up for lost time I suppose.
I like to torture my parents by telling them things I did as a youth that they were blissfully unaware of. Like how they think there’s still Vodka in the Vodka bottle. Ha Ha! That’s been water for…well a long time! They never disappoint me with the shock factor. I left home 16 years ago after tricking my mother into signing my early release from jail (high school). At what point was swapping water for Vodka a stretch?! I am the master! My Mother is still in denial. She likes to think she played no role in that scandal. Much like the Milk Man…there’s no denying it. So as I celebrate my birth 16 years later, I realized that I should be thanking my Mother for three things in particular: Milk, Vodka and Parole. It may not be lunch meat and apple pie but it’s my life! Does it really matter that I am overweight with suspicious roots and red hair? Nope. But if my husband doesn’t produce a cake…he going down! It’s the little things.
“Feliz Cupleanos a mi, Feliz Cupleanos a mi, Feliz Cupleanos a mi…that’s three years of random jailhouse Spanish. See Mrs. Whatever Your Name was…Rosita Moreno is 36 and still going strong! Besa me nalges! (spellig errors I’m sure)