Three people die, a Doctor a school teacher and the head of a large HMO, when met at the pearly gates by St. Peter he asks the Doctor ‘what did you do on Earth?’
The Dotor replied, I healed the sick and if they could not pay I would do it for free. St. Peter told the Doctor, ‘you may go in.’
St. Peter then asked the teacher what she did, she replied, I taught educationally challenged children. St. Peter then told her ‘you may go in.’
St. Peter asked the third man, ‘what did you do?’ The man hung his head and replied, ‘I ran a large HMO.’ To which St. Peter replied, ‘you may go in, but you can only stay 3 days.’
I have two younger sisters born seventeen months apart. I was about eight when Connie came along. Mother had told us she was expecting, but since I wasn’t interested in babies, I quickly put it out of my mind, not think thinking much more about it. I even socked one of my cousins for saying my mother was pregnant. I thought it was an insult like “trashy” or “low class.” I was shamed to no end when my aunt confirmed that my mother was indeed “pregnant” and the word meant “expecting.” Not only was Mother “pregnant!” She’d put me in a position to humiliate myself.
I found Connie very cute and entertaining once she got old enough to play. Always happy to play with her, I’d forsake her as soon as she cried or needed a diaper. Phyllis was a “little mother” and could care for Connie as well as Mother. When Connie was a year old, Mother and Daddy announced a second baby was en route. By now, I’d picked up a little misinformation and knew baby production involved the two of them. They’d “done it” though what “it” involved was very foggy. They’d alway said if I had any questions, come to them, so one day when Mother had her friends over for coffee, I asked if they’d had to do “it” more than five times to get five children. This clearly wasn’t the type question she meant. I guess questions about Sunday School were more to her taste. She invited me to mind my own business and not ask any more questions.