Afterbirth

When I was a kid, we moved a lot. My dad worked for IBM and we definitely lived the I Been Moved life.

The second-to-last place we moved while I was still at home, was a small town called Westport, Connecticut. Today, Westport is one of the wealthiest communities in the country. In 1978, it was still a place where a middle-class American IBM family could live and prosper. Sure there were the occasional Paul Newman sightings -- but he was just out grocery shopping at Hay Day or grabbing a beer at Ship's.

Moving to Westport was a tough transition from sunny Southern California. We didn't have the right clothes. We didn't talk the same way. It was fricking freezing during the famed Blizzard of '78. It's a long story that I tell in detail in my blog Middle School Blues.

My first day of school I was sitting in the office and a boy walked by and winked at me. I thought to myself, "I am not in Kansas anymore." Or Cali. These kids were going to be tough. And they were tough.

There was a kid on the bus named Jeb. He was older and popular and cool. And I was none of those things. Jeb started calling me "afterbirth". To this day I don't know why. Worse, I didn't know what it meant. And we didn't have the Google back in those days so I just sat there wondering. Now I know what it means. I have firsthand knowledge since becoming a parent.

Yesterday I was on Facebook where my now Facebook friend Jeb posted the sweetest picture of himself comforting his son who had a rough at-bat in a baseball game. I couldn't stop thinking about that picture and how much we've all changed as a result of growing up, getting married, having kids, getting divorced, losing a parent, losing a friend.

Good for you Jeb. Way to grow up and become a good man.