I think I’ve been afraid for a very long time to be too powerful. But I’m trying to get over that. So here’s my second attempt at beginning a new memoir. I’m also thinking of entering it in a memoir contest. I’d love you’re feedback.
After the Second World War, my father and mother lived on the GI Bill while he attended veterinary college and my mother kept house. It was July 7, 1952, 4:25 a.m., eight minutes before a precise full moon, that I was born.
The next things I’ll share I’d have cringed at in embarrassment most of my life, but something has to explain the crazy life I’ve lived: It was not only a Full Moon, but a Monday, long ago known as Moon-day, and smack-dab in the middle of Cancer, previously known as Moon Children. And the eight minutes between my birth and full moon is 2/1000th of a degree, dang close to precise.
Dwight David Eisenhower, my grandfather’s second cousin (or so claims the family), would be nominated to the Republican ticket as candidate for President of the United States later that day. Our local paper would write a smarmy short column about the coincidence.
At home on the UC Davis campus, the CIA was experimenting with mind control as they had on various campuses for the last five years. I would live on this campus for the first fourteen months of my life.
(Thank you for your comment!)