We were sitting around the dinner table a few nights ago talking about family history with my dad, who is visiting. As I wrote a few days ago, my dad shared that I was a fertilized egg in White Plains, NY; that the place of my conception was on a road named Freedom in the White Plains area.
Today is the last full day of my dad’s trip East. We thought it made great sense to take a road trip to White Plains to see if we could locate the house where I spent the first few months of my life.
So off we went, my dad and I, and thanks to the wonderful world of GPS, we were able to wind our way up some hills to find the home of my beginning. My parents lived in the downstairs apartment; the door I was carried through when I came home from the hospital is that door right there. Up the steps, and into the door went I.
A few months later, we moved into a bigger home. My dad was funny today, asking me if I remembered the house (um, no).
A few days ago when my dad told me where my life started, we were also talking about how a person who had been born on a specific street had been named after that street. So I could have been named Freedom. While in some ways, that might have been really unique and fun, I’m glad I wasn’t. It would be hard to make the House Kat work if my name was Freedom.