It's funny how family stories get told and retold in so many different versions that no one really remembers the truth. As daughter number 1 says, these variations may be "interpreted as you will". She should know -- she's a direct descendant of two families who are masters at "remembering" events in colorful variations. For some reason, though, she thought only the Steiner relatives did this until my four brothers came through with their own memories of August 11, 1956.

I can't speak much for the truth of any parts of this story since it so happens that was the day I was born, and I can recount only what I've been told. This I know for sure: I was born at Bluffton Hospital and because we lived down the alley from the hospital, my dad -- always one to avoid unnecessary use of a vehicle -- carried my mother to the hospital after her water broke while she was hanging clothes on the line.

Okay, that might not be true. Maybe I just think she was hanging clothes on the line because that's what moms did in those days -- pregnant or not.

I'm going to blame a recent revival of this story on my brother, John, the historian. He came across some records about our paternal grandmother, which led him to remember Aunt Dora and Uncle Dave, who lived next door on Kibler St. Somehow that reminded him of August 11, 1956 -- more likely because it was the day before his eighth birthday, as opposed to the day of his baby sister's birth.

Anyway, this perpetuated a series of e-mails between my brothers, my daughter, and me, followed by a brief comment from our mother. This is kind of how this went:

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