Jesus Christ, Pecos Bill, Frankenstein’s monster—everyone has a birth story. Some are sealed in myth and legend, others recorded on blogs and personal web pages, but they’re all important. They tell us from where we come, and in many cases foreshadow the rest of our lives. My mother tells mine thus: 60 hours of labor, with the doctor urging her the whole time to give me up for adoption, that she was ruining her life. Wayne Martin being led in shackles to see me, and looking happy to see her for the first time since she got pregnant, then leaving for the last time back to prison. Handing me over to my grandmother, not knowing if she would give me to another family, and sobbing. Getting back to 80 pounds by the time I was a month old.
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