Monday, June 25, 2012
My birth certificate says Norfolk General Hospital but that ain't it, not in the sense of where my story begins.
I was born in a dank den, sitting at a stained writing desk, a pipe tobacco in the left drawer, red shag carpet underfoot. It was 1978 and I was alone. My parents were at work and my older sister had made friends. I was born buck-toothed and fat with frizzy hair, wearing a T-Shirt that said "Bug Off." Of course, there was a lady bug on the shirt.
I was born writing, imagining, rhyming, making up friends and other worlds to inhabit. I was born without parental supervision. Everybody had to work. I was born baking brownies, measuring sugar, cracking eggs. I didn't know anybody. There was a willow tree in the front yard where I liked to hide and make up adventures. There was a steep hill where I tended to fall down.
I didn't like being alone.
...to be continued