My Autobiography - Installment One
A little premise before I begin. Last Sunday I went down to my Grandma's house in Nephi with my fiancee Rachel. After dinner my grandma pulled out the old photo albums and showed us some pictures of my dad when he was younger. During this presentation, my Grandma lamented that she hadn't kept better journals for her kids. On the ride home Rachel mentioned that it would be a fun idea to make a family history book of each of us that we could give to our kids-kind of like a journal, but written in a more comprehensible fashion, with more connected thoughts and experiences than a journal usually contains. I thought, "hey, that sounds like a fun idea." Thus begins installment number one.
Disclaimer: All of the events in this and future installments are based on my own memory of the experience, or my memory of my parents' accounts of the experience. Therefore, the only factual basis of these experiences may be in the fact that I am reporting them as near to the truth as I can remember them.
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I was born in the era of big hairdos, bad music, and TV shows like Saved by the Bell. That was the American era anyway. I wasn't introduced into that culture until about nine months after I was born. My dad had been in England on a number occasions doing some research work with Cambridge University. My mom was born and raised in England. It was the Church that brought them together. My dad was visiting one of the Cambridge wards on a particular Sunday and saw my mom down the hall.
"She looks pretty," he thought to himself. "I should go and talk to her."
He walked down the hall casually and edged his way into her field of vision.
"Um, excuse me. Do you know where the restroom is?"
The conversation between my mom and her friends came to a sudden halt at the appearance of an American stranger.
"Just down that hall," my mom pointed with a giggle.
"Um. Thanks," my dad said.
And that was that. "It was all uphill from there," my dad would later remark. And uphill it was. First came love. Then came marriage. Then came me, not in a baby carriage however. My dad and mom used to carry me around in one of those papoose things that you strap around your neck. But I'm sure you're wondering how I came into the picture.
Cambridge Maternity Hospital represented the finest in British medicine, if that's saying anything. Here the unscreened windows were open and the flies were free to come and go. If there was any air conditioning, it was broken or turned off. A little while after I was born the nurse came in to check on my mom.
"How's everything going?" she asked my mom.
"Just great," my dad answered.
"Ahhh, he's so cute," the nurse remarked, looking down at me as I slept on my mom's chest.
"And you can definitely tell that he's your son," she said looking over at my dad. "He looks just like you."
"I knew the nurse was sweet on me," my dad remarked later on. "She told me I was cute."
Disclaimer: All of the events in this and future installments are based on my own memory of the experience, or my memory of my parents' accounts of the experience. Therefore, the only factual basis of these experiences may be in the fact that I am reporting them as near to the truth as I can remember them.
----
I was born in the era of big hairdos, bad music, and TV shows like Saved by the Bell. That was the American era anyway. I wasn't introduced into that culture until about nine months after I was born. My dad had been in England on a number occasions doing some research work with Cambridge University. My mom was born and raised in England. It was the Church that brought them together. My dad was visiting one of the Cambridge wards on a particular Sunday and saw my mom down the hall.
"She looks pretty," he thought to himself. "I should go and talk to her."
He walked down the hall casually and edged his way into her field of vision.
"Um, excuse me. Do you know where the restroom is?"
The conversation between my mom and her friends came to a sudden halt at the appearance of an American stranger.
"Just down that hall," my mom pointed with a giggle.
"Um. Thanks," my dad said.
And that was that. "It was all uphill from there," my dad would later remark. And uphill it was. First came love. Then came marriage. Then came me, not in a baby carriage however. My dad and mom used to carry me around in one of those papoose things that you strap around your neck. But I'm sure you're wondering how I came into the picture.
Cambridge Maternity Hospital represented the finest in British medicine, if that's saying anything. Here the unscreened windows were open and the flies were free to come and go. If there was any air conditioning, it was broken or turned off. A little while after I was born the nurse came in to check on my mom.
"How's everything going?" she asked my mom.
"Just great," my dad answered.
"Ahhh, he's so cute," the nurse remarked, looking down at me as I slept on my mom's chest.
"And you can definitely tell that he's your son," she said looking over at my dad. "He looks just like you."
"I knew the nurse was sweet on me," my dad remarked later on. "She told me I was cute."
posted by Ben Smith | 9:47 PM
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