70th Birthday

Sixty nine years ago, I was three weeks away from being born. My mother was on bed rest waiting for the end of this miserable pregnancy. There had been a lot of problems and many times the doctors told her that she might lose the baby. My grandmother would tell me about how amazing it was that I ever made it, “The doctors said it was like a miracle that you kept hanging on, but I told them that my grandchild was going to be strong and fierce and someone who would take on the world.” My mother would tell me somewhat wryly: “I knew you were stubborn from before you were born. You refused to give up and then you refused to be born a minute before your appointed time. And when you were born you were smiling.. Other babies cry right at first but you pursed up your little face into a smile before gasping for air. Everyone was so surprised.“ And then she sighed and said—not always as a compliment: “You’ve always been so…so yourself.” So here I am, today, playing tennis with my buddies, a month before my 70th birthday, still trying to take on the world—sore knees, damaged wrist, various internal ailments—still stubborn as hell, still smiling, and still, hmmm…well, let’s call it “unique”.