Born into Hell

Even as a strapping young buck whose body was made out of tiger semen and polyurethane I did not like the heat well and crumpled like an accordion under it's oppression. Which is odd considering I was a July baby born during a heat wave.

I was born on July 14, 1972 in Fredericksburg Virginia, a city known for two things: the cleverly-named Battle of Fredericksburg, which claimed the lives of 13,000 Union troops, and being the place where the power chord was first developed by Link Wray. So one may say that I 1) hate the troops and 2) r o c k. Not bad. I am told my birth took place during a scorching heat wave that caused a major drought throughout the summer, devastating farms throughout the surrounding counties. This would be the first of many droughts in my life, some of which even had to do with lack of rain. I was also born just after a tropical storm that became the worst ever hurricane recorded on record at that time, killing 128 people. One can see why they’d give such a destructive storm the terrifying name of “Hurricane Agnes.” Scary. Thirteen people from my home state died during the storm; I cannot help but think I was brought into this world to make up for their lost lives, cut so short. Live my own life to make up for theirs. But then I think well, maybe they were really old anyways, or just plain sucked, so that pressure’s off. I mean, who can’t get out of the way of a hurricane?

1. Go inside.
2. Stay inside.

I was born two weeks early, thus kicking off a lifetime of showing up early for no apparent reason. “I’m here!” I can picture myself sitting in a room with a well-creased newspaper and a big pack of sunflower seeds (or a chocolate cake the size of my torso) waiting to be born. As with later on throughout my life, I was of no real use to anybody, but I was on time at least.

“He’s here.”
“Great. What’s he doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Hmm.”

On a side note, the hospital I was born in burned down to the ground (as opposed to somewhere else, I guess) and is now a strip mall. The first business that went up in it’s place, being an anchor to the future businesses on the land upon which the sun first shone on me? Kentucky Fried Chicken. I was not displeased to learn of this years later when construction on the restaurant began - “Seems right,” I remember thinking. Who knows what turn my life would’ve taken if a Whole Foods had popped up there? I don’t even wanna think about it. The Colonel taking over my birth spot seems as a-propos as us taking over for the Indians, but with less griping and bitching. Sorry, I’m being told I meant to say “Native Indians.”

My college administration building also burned down after I graduated, strangely enough. So for all I know, there is no record out there that I 1) was born 2) graduated college. For all I know the car that I lost my virginity in has since been doused with gasoline, set afire and shoved off a cliff. Which it might have, for sanitary reasons (sorry baby!) I don’t know what this “burning of my past” is trying to tell me. All that’s left I guess is my childhood home and St. Timothy’s; a coupla well-placed fires and the dissolution of the Beebo’s fruit pie company and my pre-1990’s life will be completely gone. Eighteen years, erased forever. How sad…I loved those little pies...MORE HERE.