It was late-1984, mid-October to be exact, and my conception was imminent, as were two other kids’ during the next split second.  There I was—without form, without shape, without an ethnicity, but knowing that my number was about to be called.  During the prior second, four kids had been conceived—three by women in Asia, and the fourth by a South American.  Two of these women were unmarried.  Three lived in slums.  The wealthiest had a family that was earning $1,600 per year, which was good for about the fifty-fourth percentile worldwide.  Poor by American and European standards, but not the world’s.  If he wasn’t aborted or miscarried, the kid would have a chance at a nice life, but not a good one. 

I was now second in line, my anxiety level climbing, knowing that the quality of my life hung in the balance.  It had been six whole seconds since an American or European had been conceived.  Nine seconds since anyone had cracked the wealthiest ten percent.  And so I thought my odds may be better than most.  Still, my hope was no more than faint. 

The kid in front of me was escorted up to the counter of life and given a ticket.  A girl.  Geneva, Switzerland.  Father the Editor in Chief of the city’s main newspaper, the Tribune de Geneve.  Mother an eleventh grade English teacher.  The family among the wealthiest one percent in the world.  My spirits dropped.  The kid had just struck gold, and, in the process, had basically eliminated my chances of doing so, or so I thought.  But there was little time for contemplation, as I was now being brought to the counter of life myself, half-expecting to draw some poverty-stricken village in the Congo, or an orphanage in Haiti.  Out of the blue, a fleeting prayer came to mind: “God, if you’ll just give me a good, somewhat wealthy family, I promise I’ll give to the poor.  I could probably even be convinced to adopt an orphan or two or something.”

With that, I was given my ticket, and I looked down to read it.  The moment of truth was here.  A boy.  Paterson, New Jersey—the U.S.A., son!  Father a well-educated, but struggling actor.  Mother a waitress and U.S. Air Force veteran.  A lower-middle class family in the echelons of America, but among the wealthiest three percent in the world!  I had made it.  The world was mine!