Ryan was born with a bang - quite literally. He was born a couple of weeks after Mount Saint Helens erupted in 1980. I have always pictured this scrapbook page that my grandmother had made in his baby book that consisted of my brother's infant body rising out of the explosion of the Mount Saint Helens eruption. How awesome is that?! The world was so excited for the arrival of my brother that even the volcanoes couldn't contain themselves any longer. My mother has always associated that geological event with the birth of my brother. They drove home from the hospital through a city and along streets that were blanketed in a thick layer of ash. There are pictures from our house in Portland that show piles of ash swept up along the curbs as one might sweep up the fallen leaves of autumn. The whole city was in a state of disbelief and everything seemed to stand still for a few moments as the minds of everyone tried to wrap themselves around this phenomenon. THAT was my brother's entrance - a massive bang! followed by a period of silence and reflection; a world that stood still for a few extra moments.
All I can say is that I tried. I tried to make a better entrance. I tried to show the world that I was a force to be reckoned with and that I, too, could change the world. Unfortunately, Mount Saint Helens wasn't returning my calls; apparently she wasn't interested in another explosion. If Orwell had been right, maybe 1984 wouldn't have been a bad year to make my move, but he was horribly wrong and I hadn't gotten the message. It looked as though the world wasn't going to be working with me, so I decided to take my destiny into my own hands. I came up with the leap year! OK, so I realize it's no volcanic eruption, but it's all I had (I mean, come on I was only a fetus). So, I was going to be a leap day baby! All I had to do was get my timing right and I would be born on February 29, 1984. Even the doctors agreed with my plan (probably out of pity) and my due date was set.
My time came around and I fought my way into this world in a hurry. My mother was in labor for less than 5 hours and has always marveled at how anxious I seemed to be to make my way into this world. Clearly, she didn't know who she was working with. Unfortunately, February 29, 1984 had already come and gone precisely nine hours before my birth. It was only after that Leap Day had completed and the mystery and individuality had passed that I decided to make my move - en retard. I was born in Portland, Oregon on the morning of March 1, 1984 - as close to exceptional as possible, without actually achieving anything of the sort.
I was one day late. I had simply misread the calendar hanging on the walls of my mother's womb. There is nothing exceptional about the first of March. I tried, during my younger years, to convince myself otherwise. It had helped that I shared a birthday with the hunk of all 80's hunks - Mark-Paul Gosselaar (otherwise known as Zack Morris on Saved by the Bell). But, even that would eventually be trumped by the most unfortunate of all unfortunate circumstances. When my birthday came around and my mom got ready to bring cupcakes to the classroom, I would learn that I shared my birthday with the Smelly Fat Kid. Yes, that's right, I shared my birthday with the child whose butt crack showed when we gathered on the carpet in from of Mrs. Betch (our first grade teacher); the same kid who would later develop an appropriate obsession with Star Wars and a severe case of dandruff. The one kid in elementary school who nobody wanted to be friends with, would be sharing MY special day with me for 6 years. Of course nobody had a February 29th birthday, but the Smelly Fat Kid and I were condemned to share the glory of the first of March until my 12th birthday.
Ryan was nearly 4 years old the day I was born and he was already over the excitement of my arrival. He already knew that it didn't matter what day I was born or how graciously I arrived. Even at the age of 4 he seemed to have already figured it all out. There have been a few instances throughout my life where I have wanted to despise his apparent perfection, but I have learned that it is due to his character that I was given the opportunity to live my life. Because, quite honestly, if my brother had been a little more like me in the first 4 years of his life, it is quite possible that my parents may have decided not to have a second child. This is not to suggest that my parents don't love me, because how could you not? It is simply that I was such a colorful and exuberant young child that keeping up with me was a full time job. You could say I was born with personality.
(Excerpt from my autobiography, assigned for my Senior Seminar - Dec. 2006)
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