An early life marred by tardiness began with my delivery, in which I greatly inconvenienced my mother not only by being overdue, but by churlishly turning around at the last minute and presenting as a breech birth. Talk about rude and inconsiderate!
I have an artificial part of my body — a marvel of engineering, science, and medicine that allows me to function almost as though the accident that pulverized my elbow had never happened.
I was just starting one of my first real jobs. I interviewed well, I was highly qualified, albeit lacking experience, and I had high hopes that I would be the one selected to fill the position. And I was.
Ah, it's an autumn Sunday in New England. And because it's a Sunday in autumn in New England, my mind turns to recollect how many of my Sundays here in the past were spent having dinner with my mother and father in-law, Marie and Ed.
I should start off by saying that I am phenomenally uncoordinated.
At the age of five, I was drummed out of my ballet/tap class by the stern but kind teacher who said, “I’m afraid there’s not much we can do with her,” to my mother right in front of me as she refunded the not unsizable tuition.
We went to the annual volunteer fire department fundraiser as we always do, and as we always do, we bought twenty dollars worth of $1.00 raffle tickets. The ticket collection boxes for the various prizes were laid out along a long table, and as was the case in previous years, we had no desire to win any of the items on display.