Ain't No Place to Start Like the Beginnin' - Part 1

You know, you'd think a feller would remember one of the most important days of his life but I don't recall a lick of it. So everything I am about to tell you comes to me second-handed.

Try as I might, I just don't remember bein' born. I reckon that's all well and good, too, 'cause I'm sure I would've seen things that no man needs or wants to see. After all, your Momma is in a real compromise right about then and the mere image of that in my mind causes me to shudder a bit. No, seein' that could mar a man for life.

I was born into this world on October 1st, Nineteen Hundred and Fifty in the little ol' shack of a house you see in the picture up there in the corner. It has since fallen down. I don't really know how in the world it was still standing then, but it was. We have replaced it with a big fine four-room shack where we reside in comfort today. Or at least what passes for comfort to us.

I always thought our mottif was what would be considered "Early American" since we lived about like the pioneers did. Then some government people from town came by one day and I heard them tell Momma that our lifestyle was what was considered "Abject Poverty" by most people in the know. I didn't know what that meant but I liked the sound of it. Sort of had a ring to it, you know. Even as a youngun' I made myself a promise, with a certian pride, that I'd do everything in my power not to let our quality of life slip down none. So far we've remained lucky and not even had a good threat of a downward slide. But I'm gettin' ahead of myself here. Let's back 'er up a bit.

Me bein' borned was a total surprise to everybody, includin' Momma. She was a great ol' big woman so her bein' in "that way," went entirely unnoticed. Especially with her bein' unmarried and all, the thought about it just never came up. Nobody would've ever figgered it out if it hadn't of been for me comin' along. I reckon I kinda spilled the gravy that mornin'! The way I heard it went something like this:

Momma was standing at the counter doing some dishes from breakfast when her belly went to crampin'. She just thought she needed to make a run to the outhouse and hurried up with the dishes a little. Next thing she knew, there was a sharp pain, a thump on the floor between her feet and some squalin'. First thing she thought when she looked down was that she had stepped on one the cats and mashed it bloody. Only it weren't a cat, it was me, layin' there squalin' that way.

Just before she brought her foot down to stomp my head and put me out of my misery, she saw what I was and stopped. I reckon I was about the last thing she expected to see when she got up that mornin'! I'm pretty sure the whole thing was as much of a surprise to me, too. I guess I was just lucky I hit the floor head first and didn't damage any vital organs. Luck has just seemed to follow me my whole life that way, only it ain't always been the good kind.

Well, she got me up and cleaned me off a little, I reckon, and somehow or another, I've managed to hang on ever since. It's a wonder though, with everything I've been through, that I've pulled that off. Not being killed by now sure wasn't from lack of tryin', but we'll get to that in due time.

Uncle Cooter