Gotta Start Somewhere...

So this blog has been sitting here for months and months, wasting space on the Internet (as if there isn't enough waste already!) and I decided it's about time I do something with it. I turned 50 this year, so perhaps a good use of this space is to share experiences from my first half-century. What better place to start than at the beginning.

Just north of Reading, Pennsylvania, there's a village called Mohrsville. If you blinked you'd miss it. I'm not even sure it's a real town, but it's on the map. It was there that I came into the world. My parents shared a farmhouse with my dad's aunt, Florence - she on one side and them on the other. In fact, Aunt Florence was a big reason why we joined the church, but that's fodder for another blog. Evidently I was in a hurry to come because they never made it out of the house! As it turned out Aunt Florence delivered me at home as my dad stood there speechless (and practically motionless!). Now, there is some controversy about who caused me to take my first breath: mom says no one would spank me, so she sat up and did it herself; however, other accounts are that Florence did it. Whatever the case, here I am and my butt is still sore. As was tradition at the time, dad took the afterbirth outside and buried it under a tree in the front yard. Odd, but I guess it provided unique small talk when guests came a-calling. We have been back to that house a few times since then. I must say it was a strange feeling being in the home where it all started for me. And yes, if you must know I did ask about the tree.