My parents were married on March 3, 1951 at the Desert Inn — which was then a motel, not a hotel — in Las Vegas. We have no idea precisely when I was conceived but at some point during her pregnancy with me, my mother was told that I would be born on February 29, 1952…a Leap Year Day like today. If I had been, today would be my eighteen birthday…sort of.
But I wasn't born on 2/29/52 when her body told her it was time and she reported to the hospital. I wasn't born 3/1/52 either. My mother, who was as nice as any woman you ever met, was kind enough to only rarely tell me about the pain and agony she went through trying to get me to make my debut. Finally, the afternoon of 3/2/52, they went in and got me. My father was told, "Congratulations, Mr. Evanier. Your wife just gave birth to a seven-pound, six-ounce comic book writer." Or at least he was told something like that. The weight is exact though I have managed to pack on a few pounds since then.
The doctor who delivered me was Dr. Mietus. If you don't like me, complain to him…and I say that knowing darn well he's almost certainly deceased by now. I suppose you could also complain to the Pet Milk company which from the above evidence seems to have in some way sponsored my birth. They're still around.
Dr. Mietus not only brought me into this world, he advised my parents not to try again. My mother's insides, he said, were not properly configured for unobstructed childbirth. It was a miracle that she was able to have me and that experience had left so much scar tissue and other damage that she should try to never/ever get pregnant again. Mother and baby would never make it.
I did not hear this conversation or if I did, I don't recall it…and I have a good excuse, having been about thirty minutes old at the time. But my parents took it to heart and abandoned any fantasies about having a large family. It's why I was an Only Child and I have to admit, having seen so many of my friends fighting non-stop with siblings, I've always been pretty happy not to have had any.
The warning given my parents has led to a number of interesting discussions relating to the abortion issue. I have met so-called "Pro-Life" people and so-called "Pro-Choice" people and a key difference has been that some of the former claim to think all life is sacred but when my parents' situation was explained to them, felt that my mother should have risked her life to maybe bring more children into the world. I will leave this discussion at that for now.
Anyway, today is not my birthday but it was supposed to be. Being born two days later gave me (a) an annual, reliable birthday and (b) a good joke. As a kid, when people asked me when my birthday was, I could say, "I was born on March second and my parents were married on March third." It always got a laugh and even though I didn't understand why, a laugh is a laugh. I just kept on giving that answer despite my parents suggesting other, non-funny ways to respond.