Who's Buying?

November 10, 1969--9:31am--Dunmore, Pennsylvania

My mother passed out within seconds after pain medication made her "feel funny". The woman has never had tolerance for drugs - would've made an awful hippie. Doctors used forceps to yank me out of there. Mom blames my stubborn streak and big head. I probably just wanted to avoid the Nixon administration.




Everyone did their “oohs” and “ahhs” even though, let's face it, I was a funny lookin' kid. Nana and Aunt Mimi, both nurses, were available to beam. Bio Dad was off in Germany getting drunk.

Within twenty-four hours, hospital administration was all up in mom’s business. Nurses arrived in her room carrying me and all the necessary equipment a newborn needed back in the Dark Ages. They must have looked ridiculous.

“Noreen, we have a problem,” they said like something out of Rosemary’s Baby. “Catherine is disturbing other infants in the nursery. While I realize you need peace and quiet…umm…so does everyone else and frankly, we’re sick of the complaints. Catherine is going to sleep in here from now on and we use that term loosely. Good luck - she's all yours."




Don't let that cherubic face fool you.

Although once in my mother's arms, I stopped fussing immediately - content with constant attention. This theme would repeat itself in various ways for the rest of my life.

So here's to thirty-six years of keepin' it real. I'm getting old. Oh, well. It's better than the alternative.