Story of My Birth

Well, since the whole birthday thing is out now, I suppose I can tell what I was told happened when I was born. (Mom, feel free to jump in and correct me if I am wrong on anything or if you wish to add something).

I was born at home - very unusual for the time, and delivered by my father - extremely unusual for the time. This was a time when husbands were not typically even in the delivery room, and it's not that my father was a doctor. He was an artist. I suppose he might have been tempted to sketch the event, but that is another story.

It was near the due date and the labor pains came suddenly and violently. My mom couldn't even move. Fortunately my mother was standing near the bed, so my dad was able to lower her to the bed. [He once said he "pushed her," but I was never quite sure when my dad was joking. (Sorry to be somewhat indiscreet, but) he also used to say that when my mom was pregnant with me, he used to tap rhythms on her stomach and that I would tap them back in utero. He always said this with a perfectly straight face, but it can't be true . . .) Anyway, my grandmother (my mom's mom) was already in the house for some reason. I believe she called the ambulance, but this woman - who had had five children of her own - would not go into the bedroom to be with her daughter. She nervously paced outside in the hallway, leaving the job totally to her son-in-law - who had had no experience, first-hand (obviously) or second-hand, with childbirth.

I guess I was born very quickly because it was before the ambulance came. This is one of the reasons I was called "Kurt" (from "currere," to flow, i.e. quick). Apparently my left shoulder was out of its socket, so my dad just popped it back into place. (That was so typical of my dad. I am sure he even found it mildly amusing.) When the ambulance arrived he had to follow behind in the car. He said that it was only then, when he put his left hand on the steering wheel, that he realized it was asleep. There was no feeling from having supported my mom's lower back during the whole procedure. (Of course the feeling did come back to his hand eventually.)

Apparently the custom then was to keep the mother and child in the hospital for three days. Well, what to do with my older brother Karl who was 1 1/2 at that time? Since there really was no such thing as "paternity leave," and my dad had to get back to work, Karl was left with one of my mom's girlfriends - a married lady with several children of her own. Of course, even with a father's constant presence, a 1 1/2 year old is going to miss his mother.

After I was brought back home with my mother, Karl didn't yet know of my existence. When he came home he gave my mother the cold shoulder for having "deserted him." Apparently he sat on his rocking horse rocking away, ignoring her when she talked to him (I think also ignoring a proferred sucker). Suddenly he heard me cry out from the other room. Jumping off of his rocking horse to investigate this strange sound, he discovered his younger brother with whom he was completely fascinated. All was forgotten and forgiven.

Although apparently the gentle fraternal feelings wore off. From what I remember, for the next ten years - boys being boys - he would wrestle me to the ground 2-3 times a week after dinner and sit on my face. But that, truly, is another story . . .