I’m Anne Gatschet.
Kansas City, Missouri, one in the morning, December 31st, 1965, minutes after Mom arrived at Saint Mary’s hospital with her feet out the passenger window of a white Ford pickup, I came into the world. Dad had just crossed the Missouri River at an outrageous speed and sailed through Downtown past cops too wise to interfere. He was filling out hospital paperwork when I was, as they say, delivered. Four hours later he was at work, piloting a helicopter for the city. Mom saw the World War I memorial from the room where she and I spent our first morning apart together. She watched while the helicopter danced around the tower, making joy of the city’s most stolid reminder. Most of my time since has gone to studying love, languages, literature, and the arts.