The Story of Me: An Autobiography

The Last Time I Talked To My Mom

I suppose my mother knew she was dying the last time we spoke on the phone. It was a call much different from calls we had had previously. Usually we talked about my boys, her only grandchildren, and about fun, fluff stuff. But, this call was much darker, very serious.

I don't remember how it started, probably something like all the others, I'm guessing. But then she began to ask what I knew about when I was born. Now, I had always been curious as to how my name was chosen, what child isn't curious about that? Sadly, every time I asked about it as a child I was given a vague answer, usually something to the tune of 'It was just a name we liked'. I never really believed that answer, but nobody would tell me anything, so I finally quit asking sometime in my early teens. All of a sudden, in my 30's she was randomly bringing the topic back up. So, I took the bait and let her tell me what I was so curious about as a child. This is one of the moments that change your life, and not in a good way.

I was born in September, to parents who were expecting a boy. For as many generations back as I have been able to trace, the first born male has ALWAYS had a boy firstborn. This boy is always named J. The middle names varied, but the first name is the same for many generations back. Here comes the problem, I am not a boy. This caused a MAJOR problem in my fathers world. What was to be done with me?!? They discussed giving me to my Grandparents, but decided that since both of them were raging alcoholics this might not be the best option. They discussed putting me up for adoption, but why should they burden someone else with the trouble and hassle of a girl, so they finally decided that their only option was to take me home and deal with me.

Now, here is where the big problem came into play. They didn't want to give me a name. Nope, no name for the girl who was supposed to be a boy. I was to remain nameless. But, the nurses, bless their kind souls, demanded that I be given a name before I was taken home. Because my parents couldn't come to a decision as to whether I deserved a name or not, the delivery nurses named me.

To this day I wish I could go and find these nurses and thank them for making sure I wasn't nameless.

Talk about a big revelation, and after my mom passed, I understood then why she had told me my story. Everyone has a story, and whether they are happy or sad, we all deserve to know them.