In the beginning, on November 19, I was a Scorpio, a fixed water sign born on the Day of the Reformer: "filled with a revolutionary spirit" and among those who will "often take the role of crusaders and champions of causes." I was, as a fresh to the planet American citizen, "ruled by the number 1 and by the Sun ... Those ruled by the number 1 tend to dislike restraint and enjoy being first in most matters." (The Secret Language of Birthdays: Gary Goldschneider, Joost Elffers, Viking Penguin, 1994.)
This explains why I was an out-of-the-womb revolutionary, born to lead crusades, champion causes, and tan (due to my Cherokee heritage, not burn) near bodies of water. The only complication is that these were not the only roles assigned to me at birth, nor were they featured as prominently among the myriad of roles which I continued to acquire in the years that followed.
On Day One of Me, I was first a daughter, to two young parents. I was also a granddaughter, a niece and a cousin.
Later, I became a sister. Then I was a student, a writer, a lawyer, a friend, a confidante, a girlfriend, a heartbreaker, a broken-hearted, a wife. And a divorcee.
By far the most challenging and important role I have ever assumed was that of a mother, to three sons, and a putative mother to many of their friends.
Although I like to think at times I suppressed that revolutionary spirit that flowed in my veins and thickened my bone marrow, I never really did. It caused me many problems in attempting to coalesce it with the other roles I was juggling, and sometimes the balls went flying. More than a few cracked in the process, and were by necessity eliminated from the game.
I have a way with animals, wild and domestic, and especially birds, which I also attribute to my Cherokee heritage.
I can score a baseball game, referee a wrestling match, call football plays and know why a flag is down, and if the Los Angeles Lakers ever need a coach, contact me (there is a link at the top of the page). However, I have no hand-eye coordination, and my mind works so much faster than my body that when my mother used to drop me off at school, I would often open the car door and fall out -- in my head I was already halfway to the school entrance, and the mixed signals my brain was emitting caused my nerves to freeze.
I was six years old and in the first grade when my dad played for me With God on Our Side by Bob Dylan, and it changed the way I viewed the world. I no longer believed in a Christian god, although there were subsequent occasions when I tried to convince myself otherwise.
I was barely seven years old and had just started second grade when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, and was watching live television by myself when the assassination of Lee Harvey Oswald occurred two days later. I was old enough and wise enough and revolutionary enough to realize the ensuing Warren Commission report was horseshit, and have not trusted my government since. Insisting that I spend my childhood hiding under wooden desks during nuclear "bomb drills" did not improve my opinion of my government's credibility.
A scant three months later I shrieked when I watched The Beatles perform on the Ed Sullivan show, and my mother snorted: "Huh. Your kids will have never even heard of The Beatles."
In 1999, I was driving my red SUV with a carload of boys, including my sons, all of whom smelled of rubber and sweat. I smiled slightly as I listened to them harmonize from the cavernous back seats when Please, Please Me came on the radio, thereby justifying why I had not trusted my mother for 35 years. Still don’t.
I am a political and historical and constitutional junkie who is inspired by English Literature and Gonzo Journalism. Passion oozes out of my tear ducts and my pores. Everyone I know finds that wildly attractive; that they also find it intimidating on a sliding scale of 0 to 100 is the story of my life.