My Birthday

Today is my birthday. It isn't the one that is on my driver's license. It isn't the one that my Mother had me at 7am. But, it is just as important to me, if not more. Let me give you a little background first. It was 1969. The year of the astronauts first landing on the moon. The year of Woodstock. The first year of the Nixon adminstration. The year when I discovered the anti-war movement. And, the year that I wanted to die. I had no real friends. I got beat up all the time in school. My grades were suffering. My parents sent me to a psychiatrist, as I had a severe inferiority complex. After nine months of group therapy, I was pulled out, because it wasn't working. I was also involved in some illegal stuff, which I am not going to write about. But, my record collection was mostly free. The poetry that I was writing was very dark. We were members of First Baptist Church, and the guys there were doing illegal stuff with me. I just wanted to belong to something. And, I wasn't a nice person. At Christmas, my parents told me that we were moving our church membership to Kilbourne Park Baptist. It was closer to where we lived. My father knew the pastor really well. And, they thought a change would do me good. I didn't want to move. After all, my gang was at First Baptist. After much discussion, my parents made me a deal. They said that if I didn't like the new church after three months, I could go back to First Baptist. I reluctantly took the deal. On Sunday January 4th 1970, my parents and I joined Kilbourne Park Baptist Church. The only person of my age that I knew was Vonda Snipes. Her father worked with my father. I had known that family pretty much my entire life. Even in New Orleans. So, Vonda invited me to come to the Youth Choir rehearsal that afternoon. I had been in the Youth Choir at FBC, so I said okay. That afternoon at 4:30, I showed up for the choir, not knowing anyone but Vonda. Most of the kids went to different high schools than mine. But, they were nice. They were tight. They didn't judge me. They saw I could sing. They told me I was good. No one my age had ever said that to me before. They were happy people. I didn't know what being happy around people my age was like. My life changed that day. I no longer wanted to die. I no longer wanted to do things illegal. I saw what life should really be like. It took a couple of months to really get into that group. When I was gone from choir for a couple of weeks, one of the group asked me why I hadn't been there, and I made the excuse that I had been sick. I really hadn't. I just had trouble trusting people. They told me that they were sorry. No one had said that to me before. No one had cared about me before. They took me into their group. To say I was born again on January 4th can be misinterpreted. I wasn't born again in the religious sense, as much as I was born again in life. Everything before that date in my life is pretty much a blur. Everything after that date is my new life. If I had not gone to that church on that date, I really believe that I would not be here today. So, today is the day that I celebrate as my birthday. I don't get any presents on this day, but I got the greatest gift I could get, and that was a life. There are some lessons to be learned from this experience. Never take anyone for granted. Smile. Compliment. Tell someone you care. I can't say that I have stopped being self-destructive. I have slipped back a few times, but I keep going back to the hope that the kids gave me on that day 39 years ago. I keep up with a few of those kids to this day. Many of them I have lost track of. But they will always mean the world to me. So, thanks to Vonda, Pam, Gail, Sonny, Lawson, Rhett, Tommy, James, Karen, Ellen, Lelia, Buddy, David, Rodney, Craig, and all the others who gave me a life. Happy Birthday to Me.