The day of my birth was quite a commotion. Mom told me how they couldn’t make it to the hospital, so I imagine they had just dealt with an oven fire or something when the couple trying to get divorced who lived across the street came over, yelling about a bear they saw in the backyard. It must have been a bear, because I don’t know what else would get my dad in such a state.

“Dammit, Maria, what do you want from me?” My dad loved how “Dammit, Maria” sounded, so he says it a lot.

I know women make lots of noise when having a baby, at least on TV they do. So she probably would have just yelled a bunch instead of answering his “Dammit, Maria” question.

It was around 4am when I arrived. The orange couch in the living room was never quite the same, because it didn’t show up in family photos after I was born. I’m not sure exactly what that meant, so I’m assuming the bear was somehow involved.

Anyway, the day I was born was a big deal.


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