My mother says...

My mother says that when I was born I did not come out kicking and screaming like most newborns. Instead, once I got out of the womb, the doctor sat me up; I opened my crusty blue eyes and just looked around, contemplating and examining. The doctor was momentarily confused with my benevolent entry into this world. Why wasn’t I crying? Extending his hand apathetically, he wondered if he should slap my bottom to induce some temper-tantrum blood curdling shrieks. Exhausted from pushing, my mom intervened, demanding to hold me. She held me tightly ogling the thick jet black hair atop my big head.

“Tim, I tell you, you were just thinking and thinking. From the moment you popped out of me, I knew you were a true Wallingford thinker.” She said.

“Mom! STOP IT!” I would squeal as she recites stories from my infancy to family and friends.

I get so outwardly embarrassed when she starts in on childhood tales. Of course despite my humiliation mom continues, unabashed. Her mouth blazing with words, who knows what awkward account she’ll disclose next. She could talk forever. Mother's sole purpose is to shock and awe; absorb the audience, all at my expense. The Nerve! She probably knows that deep down I narcissistically enjoy these tales about life before my memory kicked in. Maybe it’s my narcissism that keeps me awake into the night thinking and rehashing all of life’s trite and infinite perspectives on what makes me, me.