What is my sign? I don’t know why so many people are interested in the date and time of my birth. What does it have to do with anything? I celebrate my birthday in late November…so to many people I qualify as a Sagittarius. I came to light in 1969…that means that I was born in the Chinese Year of the Rooster. I don’t know what any of that means. I just think that the sign a person recognizes to define their lives should conform to the individual…not the other way around. Let me tell you about my sign.
A week and a half after her projected due date, in November of 1969, and still my mother had not seen the birth of her beloved second child. She and my older brother lived with her parents in Edgewater, Colorado. She had passed her due date by so many days that my grandfather began to think of the entire pregnancy as a bad case of gas. No amount of spicy food would extricate me from the womb: I would come when I was ready.
Early in the morning of November 25, Mom felt strong indications came that that birthing time had arrived. That is to say: water had broken and great pain ensued. Grandpa loaded Mom in the back of his new Chrysler, the first new car that he had ever owned, and raced across town to University Medical Center in Denver. I can almost hear him shouting “Not in my new car!” while tearing through the winter streets.
Mom did manage to keep Grandpa’s backseats in pristine condition, but she had to work to keep me in place for the doctor to do his job. They rushed her into the hospital, and put her in the elevator to go to Delivery. The elevator doors closed and did not open again before I came into the world with a triumphant howl.
What sign was I born under? I would have to answer: 3rd floor.
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