On the week ending July 23rd, 1977, "Looks Like We Made It" by Barry Manilow was #3 on the American Pop Charts. Two days later, I climbed out of an incision in my mother's womb. My parents thought I was crying, but by God, I was singing that song.
Within a decade I was speaking fluent English and no longer crapping my pants. I continued to sing as well, but due to an unfortunate accident involving my head and the kitchen floor, my brain's song lobe was permanently deformed. (This might also explain why I'll occasionally hear an Ashlee Simpson song and think, "Wow, cool!")
It took another decade to realize that life was more than waiting for Christ to appear in a cloud of glory. At that point I began watching college football games on Saturday afternoons and reading books by Robert Heinlen. If that man had formed a church, I might have joined. But he must have known something L. Ron Hubbard didn't and his immortal soul is likely better for it.
And now after three decades, things have come full circle as I now have a daughter of my own. She was born at 1:20 AM on October 4, 2007. I remember squeezing my wife's hand when that lusty cry rang out. I wasn't thinking about it at the time, but the anesthesiologist standing over us looked at me with wide eyes and asked "Was that Barry Manilow?"
