There is a popular children's book out called "On the Day You Were Born."  The version of this story concerning me is told quite often by my godparents and all the other players involved.  It goes a little something like this:

My mom woke up very early on Wednesday, March 26...somewhere around 4 am.  Her water broke and she knew it was time to go, so she woke my dad.  I was about four weeks early, so mom did not have a bag prepared.  She told my dad to call the doctor while she threw a bag together really quickly.  My dad called several people; none of them were the doctor.  So my mom told dad to go two doors down to my godmother's (Patsy) home so SHE could call the doctor.  Patsy did so, and then came over to accompany my parents to the hospital.  Mom and Patsy were ready to go, but my Dad was concerned about brushing his teeth.  Finally, it's time to go.  Dad tried to get everyone into a 1970 GTO, until my mom started yelling "Are you CRAZY?"  So he had to pull the GTO out in order to get the Lincoln Continental out.  Ok, now it's really time to go.  Patsy says she turned all kinds of sffhades of green because my Dad drove 90 mph to the hospital (which probably would've been more fun in the GTO).  Dad drops Mom and Patsy off at the emergency room entrance and went off to park the car.  I was born just a few minutes later (yes, in the emergency room)...at about 6:15 a.m.  I was already in the world when my father came in from the parking garage.  His first words:  "That is NOT my baby."  He absolutely did not believe that I could come into the world that quickly. 

I've heard it said that the manner of a person's birth is a metaphor for how they will live the rest of their life.  I can see the truth of that in myself...But whatever the case, you now have the story of how I got here.