Pearl Harbor Baby

7 Dec

Happy birthday to meeeee!  Today, December 7th, I celebrate 23 years of crazy, beautiful life.

A date when I’ll pop champagne, eat cake and have the whole world  at my feet.

Ok, so, realistically, most of today will be spent working with clients who could care less.

But let me have my moment of fantasy.  And after work, a night of fun awaits.  And by fun, I mean, a viewing of the much praised Black Swan with a good friend.

For fun, I decided to look into the stars, to see what astrology had to say about this day of merriment.

Apparently, I’m supposed to be wise and knowledge (check), work in the arts (check), and have a somewhat sticky financial situation (darnit–check).  All this was gleaned from my arbitrary release from my mother’s womb.

Scintillating.  And scary.

The date also has a much darker side.  For my birthday, 46 years prior, 2300 Americans were killed in the largest attack on American soil in history at that time, an attack that seconds only September 11th.

I first learned of this link while in elementary school, when a teacher who shared the date was dubbed “Pearl Harbor” by her colleagues.  “You’re a Pearl Harbor baby, too?” they inquired, not revealing the significance of the date.

“Yes” I offered, happy to share my date of arrival with an important event in history.  I mean, the name itself didn’t sound ominous.  Pearls are pretty, I thought in perfect 10-year-old reasoning.

It wasn’t until years later that I learned of its true significance.  That the attack was what caused the U.S. to officially enter World War II.  That the date was declared a “date of infamy” by Franklin D. Roosevelt.

Talk about reining on my parade.

So, on a day that supposed to be all about me, on a date of celebration, partying and thanks, I’ll take a moment to honor the memory of  those killed on this day 69 years ago.

Until next time.


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