A Fighting Chance
Description
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Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Chapter one. You can't have this baby November 30, 1969. I'm about to be born Since obviously I have no memory of this event and my mom has passed. This won't be easy to explain. But this is what I do know or at least what I remember my mom telling me when she was still alive in my family. I was the third child of seven. We were all born one after another after another irish twins. In some cases where some of my siblings were only 10 months apart, my mom had very tough pregnancies with each one of us. She was constantly on bed rest. Sometimes she was so sick, she would go blind during one of her pregnancies. My father was having a bad dream when she tried to wake him, he threw her across the room where she landed upside down in the corner, breaking her jaw. Her jaw was wired shut for the remainder of that pregnancy and she was able to survive on liquids consumed through a straw. We always wondered what really happened. I remember my mom saying my father wanted a big family. I'm not sure what my mom wanted. However, my sister Teresa told me mom wanted a big family too. But I often wondered if that were really true and if so, why her first pregnancy with my older brother Chris was terrible. He was breech and when he finally did arrive in this world, she witnessed her husband abused their baby boy. I often wonder how a mother could want more Children. After seeing her husband's beatings of the first regardless Six more of us kids arrived, one after another. We all eventually learned. It didn't matter what my mom wanted in our home, only what my father wanted mattered with an iron fist. He made sure none of us ever forgot that fact. Teresa was the second born child. Once again, my mom had a rough pregnancy. One would think after that second one, she would surmise. Those terrible pregnancies were probably going to be the rule, not the exception. My father wanted more kids. So I was the next baby to arrive. I was born November 30, 1969. I gave my mom a lot of problems. The doctors told her she needed to abort me. If she wanted to live, she wouldn't do it. She was brought up as a roman catholic and she wasn't going to kill her unborn child. After all, mothers tend to love their babies even before they're born. And I'm pretty sure my kicking from the inside let her know that I was there. Whenever my mom shared this story with me, I always felt loved. My mom loved me so much. She would have me no matter the costs. She was a saint and I truly believed she was a saint, I would repeat this to my friends into adulthood. I thought one couldn't find a better mom. The former flying trapeze performer. An army captain Medic turned mom was the bravest and most unselfish mother of them all and she was mine. She loved me enough to have me, regardless of the consequences. Well, the doctors were right and wrong. My mom had another horrible pregnancy, just like chris I was breech. I came out Fannie first, thankfully, my mom lived to talk about my Fannie first entrance at family dinners for years to come. My childhood nickname was Danny Fanny. Neighborhood kids called me this nickname for about a decade. I chased anyone who called me it. I didn't like being called a Fannie in the end, picking my life over what could have been her own. My mom gave me a fighting chance. So I guess being called Danny Fannie for a few years was a small price to pay for my life.