March 10

Today's date in history:

Yours truly was born prematurely at Oakwood Hospital in Dearborn, MI. I weighed in at 3 lbs, 6 oz. Doctors told my father that my mother could not handle another pregnancy, and that it would be fortunate if either mom or I survived. Expecting both of us to survive was considered unrealistic.

Mom and I were separated because she had a fever; they put me in an incubator. No one was allowed to hold me except for hospital staff. Only two visitors at a time were allowed to come and look into the nursery unit through the glass window. My older sibs didn't want to wait, so they would sneak up the back way. By taking the steps up to the seventh floor, they could avoid walking past the nurses' station where visitors were supposed to sign in. Once they got to the nursery, and looked through the glass, I was easy to spot. I was the only black baby in there.

A trailblazer from day one. Not really, but you know ... it's fun to spin it that way.

Mom survived, and obviously, so did I. Mom was released from the hospital first; I followed some weeks later. My grandma had come up from Chattanooga to help out, so that made things easier for my family.

I get such a kick out of looking at the pictures from that time. Everybody looked so young, with afros, and sideburns, and shirts with big collars. And oh yes, pants with funky plaid patterns and bell bottoms. I was just a tiny, tiny person, wrapped in blankets.

Everything and everyone has changed so much in the past thirty years. I wonder what things will be like thirty years from now.