My Life on a Plate

Memory Lane

It seems so many bloggers are writing memoirs at the moment; some painful, some hilarious and some quite haunting. I've enjoyed reading them.

Like Tor, I don't think I could write about my most personal and hurtful memories but maybe in time they'll emerge through other writing. But I thought I'd share my earliest memory with you.

I remember the day I was born! Okay, I tell a lie, but the story of my arrival has been told so many times by my mother it's become ingrained. And to this day I feel personally responsible for everything she went through.

Let me explain. My sister was born in England, a straightforward home birth, arriving just in time for tea. As a result, we both agree without any ill feeling that she is the favoured one.

Five years later mum, dad and little Penny Sue were living in St Louis, a happy little family unit with another on the way. But alas, on August 4th 1950 mother went into excruciating labour pains. There would be no home birth; she was rushed to hospital and spent twenty-four hours pacing the floor and screaming in agony. Turned out the awkward little B in her belly had decided to turn upside down. Eventually, she was persuaded to take to her bed and after another twelve hours, I arrived into the world arse first at three minutes to midnight on August the 5th.

My mother was exhausted, in severe pain and annoyed the doctors had not allowed her to continue walking. The icing on the cake arrived in the form of my father, who walked into the ward and uttered those immortal words...

'I've brought your toothbrush.'

I have heard this story so many times since I was old enough to comprehend it. Now absent-minded and living a lot in the past, my mother only has to see a baby and out it comes...

'Did I ever tell you about when you were born?'

I've stopped saying yes, as I know she'll still continue to tell me AGAIN anyway.

They didn't even give me a name in time. My American birth certificate has the word 'unknown' in the box under Christian name. Rather appropriate I feel at times.

Needless to say, there were no more children and no one ever mentioned the word 'toothbrush' in our house for fear of instigating a war.

And just the sight of a bare bum sends ripples of guilt through my already shattered self-esteem as I remember how I am the cause of ALL my mother's problems.

God, whoever invented 'mooning' should have spared me a thought.

Sometimes you have to laugh or you'd cry wouldn't you?