Bio of Boo

I was born on a dark, stormy September night in a manger surrounded by dairy cows in central Wisconsin to a virgin mother. Okay, I lied. Except for the virgin mother part. No, really. Let me tell the story.

I actually was born in central Wisconsin, though not in the manger, but rather a town called Marshfield. Marshfield has little to offer its inhabitants. Just a prestigious hospital that fills half the city and enough bars to outnumber the doctors two to one.

My mother gave birth to me eleven days after her own eighteenth birthday. Until she married the man I call dad when I was four years old, I had no father. I never found it strange that all my baby pictures are with my mom, my grandmother, and my aunt and uncles, but never a dad. The earliest picture I have with a dad is when I was three and a half years old. My mom, me, and soon-to-be-dad in front of my soon-to-be-dad's Oldsmobile. I don't know what year the car was, but it had a pretty metallic blue finish that sparkled in sunlight and white, leather interior. And when I was five years old, I used to climb in and out of the car like The Dukes of Hazzard when my dad wasn't looking.

There's advantages and disadvantages to having young parents. Advantages include the fact that my parents were always fashion and music relevant. I grew up to the likes of The Cars, Rush, and The Police. Good music that has never left my musical repertoire. When I was ten years old, my mom took me to a New Kids on the Block concert and, as a promise to me to look "cool" she let pick her outfit and do her hair. I chose an oversized button down shirt, leggings, and a side pony-tail. Bless her, she wore it proudly.

But there are disadvantages. Young parents sometimes forget their children are sensitive to outside stimuli. My mom said when I was three years old, I used to watch Days of Our Lives with her every afternoon. Apparently there was some element of the plot that involved somebody being kidnapped and tortured. My mom said I started crying and having nightmares, effectively ending our Days afternoons. And when I was five, my mom and dad rented a movie for the family to watch. "It's a scary movie," she said with a smile. I like scary. I mean I loved the skeleton dance cartoon they played on Disney every Halloween. "It's about aliens!" she added.

It wasn't just about aliens. It was THE movie about aliens. The single most terrifying movie ever made about aliens. And it was called ALIEN. Suffice it to say, when the baby alien burst from the guy's chest at the dinner table, I ran screaming from the room. I didn't acquire the courage to watch that movie until my husband convinced me to watch it with him while we were dating...twenty years later.

But I digress. We were talking about virgin mothers.

When I was eleven years old, in the fifth grade, we went through sex education. I learned all sorts of interesting things. And thanks to one of my classmates that was bold enough to ask the question (after several tries, I might add), knew exactly where the penis went into the vagina. I was afraid. 

I learned all about the miracle of life. How a baby is conceived, requiring a sperm and an egg, how it grows in the uterus, and instead of coming out of the butt, comes out of said vagina that penis enters. I was now terrified.

Through these new lessons, though, I failed to make an important connection. The man I called dad didn't arrive until I was three years old. There has never been any other "dad" around. But yet my mother gave birth...

I have the mother that has never been afraid to talk about sex. So, during my sex ed classes, my mom would ask me what I was learning and what I thought about the things I was learning. Horribly embarrassed, I rarely answered her with anything more than a "yes," "no," or "weird." I think it was one of these conversations, had over a game of Scrabble, when my mom asked, "Do you know how you were born?"

"You got pregnant and I was born." I didn't add the "Duh!" I was thinking.

"Yes, but do you know how I got pregnant?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. It just happened."

How my mother did not bust a gut laughing, I will never know. Me, a bright child whose first word was elephant, who entered the advanced speed reading class in fourth grade, and just learned that a woman's egg and a man's sperm must be present to produce a baby, actually thought she was the product of an immaculate conception.

It's at this point I should add my parents were part of a fundamentalist Christian church, so I was well aware of the story of the Virgin Mary and the miracle of becoming pregnant without a husband.

Yeah, I know. Sometimes I'm a little slow.

"Actually, I had to be with a man to have a baby." Mom says.

My little light bulb flickered.

"Your dad is not your biological father." She finished.

"Really?" I asked and stared at the Scrabble board. "Weird."

Okay, I wasn't exactly born of a virgin mother, but for all intents and purposes, I say I was an immaculate conception.  So, when does everybody start throwing rose petals at my feet and giving me money? Hold the crucifixion, though. That's not really necessary.