My life has been an interesting one from the moment I entered this world on January 19th, 1967, Doctor's Hospital, Modesto California.  From my first lusty cry my world has been rife drama, adventure, suspense, terror, tragedy and just downlight hilarity.  I came out butt first for crying out loud.  The first thing that doctor and nurse saw was my behind, and I have been trying to get the focus off of that thing ever since.  Yes, I emerged bootie first with my feet hovering around my mouth, and well, that explains a whole lot in my opinion.  My mother has proudly told and retold the tale of how she was in so much pain that she broke every molar in her mouth due to her gritting from the agony.  I find that rather interesting as she has gritted her remaining teeth at me on numerous occasions for much lesser offenses.

I was ugly, I could bring a grown man to his knees due to my ugliness.  A head slicker than snot, huge eyes loomed from a little face, a dinky little mouth rested atop a pointy chin.  And pale?  I practically glowed in the dark with the blue of my veins glowing as light thru parchment.  I looked like a little bird and was promptly nicknamed Tweety.

Now, this was "back in the day" when fathers were not allowed in the birthing rooms and the babies were whisked off almost immediately to the nursery.  There, they were cared for and taken to their mother's for only short periods of time for feedings, bonding and diaper changing training, (cloth, I might add).  So, one day shortly after my birth, the nurses presented me to my mother.  As she gazed into my eyes something did not seem quite right.  I was larger than she had remembered, and I had hair!  When had I grown hair.  I felt different in her arms too, something was just, well, off.  She brushed the feeling aside and continued to feed me from the bottle.  Once I had finished, my mother decided it was time for a diaper change. As she unpinned the diaper her unease increased, and you can imagine her shock as she discovered that I was not, well, you know, a girl?  But rather a boy!!  Frantic she buzzed for one of the nurses.  "This isn't my baby" she cried as she handed the little boy to the nurse.  "Where's my baby, Shawnacee"??  As you can imagine there was high drama at Doctor's Hospital as the staff scurried to find the little bird. 

Oh they found me all right, happily suckling at another woman's breast................

Upon my arrival home from the hospital my mother and grandmother noticed something strange.  There seemed to be a lump on the right side of my neck that continued to grow with each passing day.  Now, these were the days when you just didn't rush your child to the doctor for every little sniffle, scraped knee or cough, it just wasn't feasible.  So, we did it the good 'ol fashioned Pentecostal way.  My mom and grandma had a handkerchief anointed with oil and prayed over by the Pastor.  They then took that thing home and tied it around my neck and within just a few days, that lump was completely gone!!

Yes sir, I was fourth generation Pentecostal!  One God, Apostolic tongue talking shonda ma honda all the way!  That is until I turned approximately two years old and took to dancing on tables.....................