Today is my conception day.
That is the day I was conceived – or the day spermatozoa met ovum and mixed genetically to create the blueprint for your’s truly. And nine months later (plus a couple of weeks for good measure) your humble blogger was born. And you know what they say: you can’t make an homelette without breaking an egg (that’s a bad French pun).
Is it peculiar for one to know their conception day?
The year was 1967 and the world was about to embark on the “Summer of Love”. Scott McKenzie was telling people to head to San Francisco with flowers in their hair. But back in my industrial hometown (called ‘Steeltown’ by the locals) I don’t think many folks were wearing flowers.
April 15, 1967 was, of course, a Saturday night and although it would have been exciting to have been conceived in the back of a ’59 Chevy or under a blanket at a Jefferson Airplane concert (my father actually saw Jefferson Airplane once), I was – simply – conceived in my parents marital bed. And when I say ‘marital’ I mean in the apartment they were shacked up in at the time.
My parents were not married until 1972 when I was four. That would make your humble blogger a…
I never really minded being called a ‘bastard’.
This seems like a good spot to quote Edmund’s bastard soliloquy from William Shakespeare’s King Lear:
…Why brand they us
With base with baseness? bastardy? base base
Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take
More composition and fierce quality
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops,
Got ‘tween asleep and wake? Well, then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:
Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund
As to the legitimate: fine word,–legitimate!
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper:
Now, gods, stand up for bastards! (Act I, Scene II)
But what does my legitimacy/illegitimacy matter now? After all, my parents are still together after almost 40 years of legal marriage. And The Gay Groom can’t get too self-righteous since I lived in sin with the Husband for nine years before we got around to getting married. But then again, marriage between the Husband and I didn’t become legal until a number of years into our relationship.
But I digress.
I wonder if a blog can get anymore self absorbed than to discuss one’s own day of conception? After all, I wasn’t really there. And since I am a staunchly pro-choice, I don’t view a fertilized egg as anything other than a fertilized egg. So why bring it up?
Ironically, in addition to being the fateful day that sperm crashed into egg, it is also the fateful day that the Titanic crashed into the iceberg (April 15, 1912).
That’s right, 102 years ago today the the RMS Titanic sank in the North Atlantic at 2:20 a.m., two and a half hours after hitting the iceberg.
1,517 people were killed.
By the way, how many of you knew that your humble blogger once had a affair with someone who was in the film Titanic. That’s actually a true story.
But only a bastard would kiss and tell.
Jeffrey, The Gay Groom