I was the eldest of five children. Unfortunately, I was also the only one to survive the trauma of birth. My unknown brothers and sisters died while still in our mother’s womb. I have often wondered, why me? Why did I survive while four, who may have made a significant contribution to the world, never breathed at all?
Mother had been in labor over twenty-four hours. Complications set in. Between pain and fear, she had reached the point of exhaustion. I finally struggled and pushed myself into this world at six o’clock the morning of May 22, 1928.
While holding me, the nurse asked, “Well, Mrs. Kaas, what do you want?”
“A glass of water, please.” Later Mother laughed about her answer. “The nurse had meant did I want a boy or a girl. At that point I didn’t care. It was finally over and I was so thirsty.”
My father was ecstatic.
“Helen, did you see her? She’s beautiful, with thick black hair and laughing blue eyes.”
Mother looked at him as though he was demented. “Bill, don’t be foolish,” she insisted. “All babies are born bald.”
Bill grinned. “Not our daughter. She has real black hair. C’mon, I’ll show you.”
He helped Helen walk slowly to the hospital nursery. For the first time she really looked at me. I did have a head full of black hair. She took Bill’s hand and he held her close, his lips brushing her moist forehead.
“We created her, Helen. Isn’t she a wonder?”
I don’t know how much of a wonder I was, but born under the sign of Gemini, I think I’ve had a split personality all my life. Gemini is the sign of twins. I have always felt there were two sides to me, the obedient don’t-make-waves self, and the devil-may-care adventurous, restless me.
When I was four years old, one of mother’s friends asked me, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“A man,” I promptly answered.
Everyone laughed. “How cute.”
I think even at that early age, I sensed it was a man’s world, and I longed to be a part of it.
Instead I opted for motherhood and have never regretted that decision.
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