I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU, but I didn’t plan my conception. I didn’t choose my parents. I didn’t even ask to be born. But I’m very glad I was – ‘cause you have to be born to be glad, eh!
I didn’t choose to be a baby-boomer baby. I didn’t put a ring around my era and say, “Keep that for me, please!” I might have been a Gen X, Y, or Z – or some other letter of the alphabet. But I wasn’t. And that’s fine, I think.
I didn’t choose to grow up in a world with EVs, smartwatches, space-stations, and AI. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. But I might have been a wild-eyed Viking, a medieval monk, a knight in shining armour, or a Neanderthal Man. And I guess I wouldn’t have known any different. But I’m glad things worked out – ’cause I’m used to it now.
I didn’t choose my ancestors. Those immigrants weren’t thinking of ME when they saved up their pennies, hitched up their skirts, climbed onto leaky boats, and sailed the Pacific. They didn’t ask me if I wanted to be their great-great-grandson. But I am – and, as far as I’m concerned, that’s okay!
I didn’t choose my family. No one asked me if I’d prefer a sheep-farmer or an accountant for a dad … a fashion-model or a shoe-shop-lady for a mum … four siblings instead of 40. And I didn’t choose my own surname. I could’ve easily been a Higginbotham or a Snauzengrubel.
I didn’t choose to be ‘he’ instead of ‘she’ … pink instead of brown … hairy-legged-and-short instead of tall-dark-and-ugly. But it is what it is – and I’ve grown rather fond of things.
I didn’t choose to be ME. It’s not my fault. I mean, I could have been YOU, or the bloke next door, or a zillion other people. But I’m not – and I’m not complaining.
You see, ME is who I is, and ME is who I’ll always be.
So there!
JOHN WEIGHED 6lb 8oz AT BIRTH AND SPENT SIX HOURS ENTERING THIS WORLD. HE NOW WEIGHS A LOT MORE, AND HAS SPENT 45 YEARS PUBLISHING GRAPEVINE.
