Second Effort

In a few short hours I will enter the final year of my 20’s. Sept. 18. My Birthday. Twenty-fucking-nine. I know, in the long run that’s not really old. But at the very least I have passed the halfway point to my first heart attack. My grandfather had his first heart attack at 28. My dad had me at 28. While we could debate the similarities of those two happenings in Nowski lore, I choose to overlook that coincidence and focus on the fact that I haven’t accomplished either to this point.

Speaking of Dad, there’s a story from my actual birth day that warrants publication. There are plenty of little, lets call them quirks or nuances, to my dad’s personality. But I think this one is evidence of just how witty and cool the old man can be.

Mom cranked me out at a hospital in Oelwein, IA that was in some way afilliated with the Catholic church. Because I can get longwinded sometimes and chase away readers, I’ll give you the short background that mom was raised in the Episcopal church and Dad spent some time bouncing around Catholic schools while trying to avoid flunking or being killed in inner city Chicago. Neither had practiced any religion since getting married. I came along to spoil the fun about eight years later.

So as they are filling out the birth certificate (APB3 4 LIFE), the nuns that keep shit kosher (yeah, I know) at the hospital first have a brief argument with Dad about the official time. It was 2:58 or 2:59 in the p.m. and Dad lobbied for 3 straight up, just for simplicity’s sake, I think. They insisted it be to the minute.

Then comes the biggie. “What religion is he?” the nuns ask, batting their sexy eyelashes. Or so I imagine they did. I mean, nuns in Oelwein probably don’t look like Julie Andrews, but they’ve still got that dirty thing going on and use it to the fullest extent of the law. Skanky wenches that they are.

You’re thinking that I built this up too much for the one liner that it is. And maybe you’re right. But it says a lot about the open mind my dad is CAPABLE of having when he isn’t just out to pick a fight with me or my mom. It says a lot about how my parents raised me; why I turned out so cynical. And why I’m so glad I am theirs.

He replied, “I don’t know, he hasn’t told me yet.”

The nuns, they were not pleased.