The odds of anyone being born are one
in four hundred trillion
For me it was a long shot, maybe even
more than that
The child of “older” parents with two
half grown children
Just when things were going OK…
That uncertain conversation over dinner
Wait…Honey…you’re…what…?
I was born in a ’57 Chevy Ambulance
Smack dab in the middle of the day
From the school playground a block away
my sisters heard the siren coming closer,
and watched the single rotating red light
come to a stop at our house
Uh-oh
I arrived two months early
Weighing in at a little less than four pounds
In 1959 the odds were against “premie” babies.
Even more so in out-of-the-way small towns
with less than visionary care.
Mom was a nurse, and the doctor was her colleague
Together, they knew my odds better than anyone
After he examined me, he said “don’t even bother
naming him Helen, he won’t live the night…”
He was a cruel motherfucker
If I could remember his name I would visit his grave,
do a dance, then relieve myself of this lifelong grudge
on his head stone
Maybe that’s the best revenge, that I don’t even
remember his stupid fucking name
In spite of him, live through the night I did
And against the odds, I grew
Seven weeks in an incubator, the warmth and
oxygen acting as a sterile substitute for the womb
The photos look like I was being kept in a microwave
Or a fish tank
Or a terrarium
It was very effective for saving my life, but except
for feeding times, nobody could hold me
Or sing me a song, or pat my skinny butt and whisper
“It’s gonna be OK kid” in my ear
It provided the necessary time for my lungs to grow
enough to function on their own
To nourish my heart and feed my muscles and
get all my vital signs in the zone so I could finally
go home
Where I would stand…
Alone
My father was afraid to hold me
So, I thought distance was “normal”
Alone has always felt like home
I recently found out that some called me
“The Accident” behind their hands
I was the “surprise guest” that they had
to “make room” for
The kid that nobody knew what to do with
That’s tough soil for a boy to grow in
That’s tough soil to live your life in
Until today when I realized just how wrong
my view of all this has been
I’m not less than
I’m greater than
I was created to be a warrior
One who arrived early and survived against
some pretty long odds
Who found ways to thrive and become strong
Ways to prosper and to help others do the same
It’s time that I acknowledge, no matter how
uncomfortable it makes me
That I'm worthy of being loved
By me
