IT"S MY PARTY

It was a warm September Saturday back in 1952 a time when the weekly trip to town was a social event. The gents would gather at the local feed store, filling station or barber shop to cut the fat as the women sold the weeks production of eggs to purchase staples for the home. The egg sales would cover groceries, cleaning supplies and leave enough moola to indulge ones-self in material for a new ensemble and craved treat. A treat such a pound of hot roasted peanuts sending out their enticing aroma from the local Ben Franklin Store. Oh, those goober peas were calling Mama that day so she left the store nine months pregnant with a pound of peanuts in hand.

Daddy had some business to take care of on the way back to the farm which left Mama in the car with a intoxicating bag of peanuts. As ya'll know men can actually out chat women any day of the week taking longer than football minutes. Mama enjoyed her pound of peanuts and a good read in the local paper as she waited for Daddy to finish his business. Soon after arriving home the tummy cramps and hiccups began and progressively got worse. "Oh, if I could only go the the bathroom."she uttered over and over again. "Eating all those peanuts constipated me and I'll be fine as soon as I go to the bathroom," she called from the outhouse. Out of sheer panic and desperation Daddy fetched Granny from a nearby farm. It didn't take long for Granny to recognize that Mama was in the full throttles labor and ordered them to the nearest hospital 'cause Mamas hiccups and 'cramps' weren't getting any better.

Fourteen hours of labor and hiccups at 6:00 am a 6lb.2oz, 22 inch long baby girl with the lungs of an opera singer was born. The nurses kicked me out of the nursery strait to my mothers arms because I was disturbing not only the other babes but the hospital staff. The labor Mama has forgiven me for but she will never, never let me live down the fourteen hours of hiccups she endured during the process. The first words Daddy spoke as he looked at his perfectly sweet precious baby daughter was "well, would ya lookey there she's a real farmer....she's already milkin' and spreadin' manure!" For many years Daddy called me his "Little Peanut" in honor of the peanutty snack and the hiccups. Born a farm chick this day fifty-seven years ago I could choose to cry if I wanted to but I choose to be happy and dance the dance of joy because.... "It's My Party!!!"