37 Years Ago

Thirty-seven years ago today, Adam Sandler was somewhere blowing out eight candles on a cake.  Hugh Grant was across the pond trying to get to first base at his 14th birthday party.  Lita Ford was sweet sixteen, possibly practicing a guitar jam that I would later rock out to.  And, my dad was in a hospital parking lot, finding a space for the family station wagon.

It's tradition in many households for the parents to reiterate the story of their child's birth on their special day.  Since my parents don't blog, I'll have to fill in the blanks for you. 

These days it's commonplace for the birthing room to consist of the mother, the father, the doctor, the nurses, maybe a sister or friend, usually at least one grandmother and an ill-placed video camera, of course.  Well, on September 9, 1974 I was born while my dad was parking the car.

From what I've been told, both of my sisters were the siblings that didn't seem to want to leave the womb. But, my brother and I were much too eager to enter this world. (He, so eager, he was actually born at home!  But, he'll get his story on February 9th.)

My birthday story isn't much to tell.  I'm sure my dad pulled onto the hospital grounds wondering how long he was going to have to sit there and witness the labor pains for.  It was a little after eight in the morning and you have to imagine he was pondering the long day ahead.  Whether he'd get lunch.  How long he'd have to suffer the waiting room, because fathers weren't party to the birthing room back then.  But, by the time he walked from the lot to the hallway, I had already been spanked by the doctor and was breathing life.  You're welcome Dad! Don't say I never made life any easier for ya! 

According to my baby book I loved "to be sung to. Pop goes the weasel seems to really attract her attention."  As for toys, "She loves rattles, her hammer is the favorite."  Do babies still use rattles?  I can't remember any of my nieces or nephews ever having one.  What? Do modern babies say, "Ew. A rattle? That's so seventies!"  (I know for certain that no one ever gives an infant a hammer to play with these days.)

At 1 1/2 months, I "gurgled alot", slept through Sunday School and my name was then spelled K-I-M-M-I-E.  At 2 1/2 months, I went on my first camping trip and again "slept most of the time."  At six months, I "laughed alot and seems entertained by about anything."  At eight months, I could crawl backward and sideways.  I'll spare you the rest.

Being second-born my baby book is filled out all the way through five years of age.  In the grand tradition of baby books, my younger sister's goes up to her second year. The fourth born, my little brother's book is completed through "Day of Arrival". (Things got a little busy in the family home by that point, as you can imagine.)

My first birthday gifts included blocks, a doll, a tambourine and, yes, another hammer. Birthday gifts have changed alot in the next few decades.  Today I received a little gift from The Sandman.  The gift of oversleeping, which made me almost late for work. (This working on my birthday thing is for suckers, by the way.  I won't be making that mistake again next year!)  Mother Nature brought my monthly gift, which was underwhelmingly received as you can imagine.  And, Chase brought me a Visa payment due.  But, it still beats the year everyone forgot. (Yes. VERY Sixteen Candles.)  Or two birthdays ago when my family was out of town, I contracted the flu and got sent home sick from work for barfing.  My car was also in the shop that day and I had to walk a mile with a fever to pick it up.

Nope, this year beats those, hands down.  I've got me some Happy's chicken wings, stuffed cheese bread and a date with a pile of magazines. 

Oh yeah, and the cards stuffed with money didn't hurt the day either.

P. S. Thanks for all the Facebook messages!