But I Don't Feel This Old

The fantastic thing about being old is that my mind doesn't recognize it. I look in the mirror, wondering who in the hell this old person is looking back at me. I hear a song, and I am transported immediately to a place and time forty years ago. Then I stand up too quickly and every nerve in my body protests. Oh, yeah, that's right. I am old.

Excerpt:

During Mom’s labor, I encountered my second piece of bad karma, the first being that little spat with Dr. Warner. At that time, there were two types of people in Mom’s world, Lutherans and Catholics, and both looked at the other with derision. Unfortunately, the nearest hospital in Perham was staffed with Catholic Nuns.

My mother held a grudge against Catholics, or “catlicks,” as she called them. As she labored to bring me into the world, the two nuns at her bedside discussed whether she would be done in time for Saturday Night Vigil.

According to my mother, “I sat up in bed and told both of them nuns exactly what they could do with their fucking Vigils, masses, priests, and popes.”

Then, she repeated her statements to the nuns on rosary beads and idol worship. She also claimed that she implicated priests in the corruption of altar boys long before that scandal emerged.

I like to think the nuns, having worked in labor and delivery, understood that it was the frantic outburst of a woman in pain and fear. Otherwise, I am likely cursed in the eyes of the Catholic church.