Friday, November 30, 2012


“What is that bright light? Why is it so hot in here? Sheesh”, I thought. I had just entered the world. It was December 1976 and I found myself in a hospital incubator.

“Doesn’t that beat all”, I thought, “Here I am, just minutes into this new world and I’m away from that lady that drank all that Coca-Cola. And I’m hot.”

I tried to say something about how uncomfortable I was in this little oven but all that came out were annoying screaming peals. It seemed I had lost the ability to talk or at least the ability to make myself understood. Perhaps these people were stupid and my level of communication had surpassed their comprehension. Yes, that certainly had to be it. I mean, come on, I’m just trying to explain that it’s very warm in here and I’d like to see that Coca-Cola lady.

I’m not sure how I knew what the year was; I’m guessing it was based on the clothing trends of the time. That and all the brown and rust colored furniture. I couldn’t wait to upchuck on that stuff. Although, I’m not sure anyone would notice. I tried to stand up and get my bearings but it seemed my legs wouldn’t cooperate with me. I seemed to be wrapped very tightly in some blankets. I tried to kick at them but they would not loosen. I tried again to express my discomfort but my pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears. Clearly these animals were too primitive to get me.

“Not even a damn magazine to read”, I thought. I tried to scan the room around me, to see if there were any signs or indications as to where I was, or even who I was. I did find a small blue index card above my head; however it seemed I had also lost the ability to read for some reason. That was just frustrating.

I had nothing to do but look worried. I was able to get my arms up and I could see that they were quite small. This was also frustrating as I wasn’t sure how anyone could accomplish anything with such small arms and hands. I could make a fist however, so I shook it as hard as I could to try and get some attention. It was the wrong attention though because a giant monster with a camera for a face loomed over me and snapped the first picture of me. I did my best to convey a look of quiet dignity, but I fear I might have just resembled a cranky old man.

“Great, a mug shot already”, I thought. I must have committed some crime. Some heinous act to be in this swaddled position. “Curses”, I thought.

A lady in white entered the room. She lifted me from the incubator and I felt myself rising up to a great height. This was intolerable. I tried to fight her but my flailing was calmed with a soothing voice and some nice patting on the back. I was placed in a rolling jail cell complete with thick bars and I was moved through a busy and noisy hallway.  I was reminded of some southern spiritual as I rolled along, sweet chariot, and then I wasn’t quite sure how or why I was reminded of a southern spiritual song. What’s a song?
I was wheeled into a smaller room and I heard a familiar sound. It was that Coca-Cola lady’s voice. I recognized it instantly. She was very happy to see me and I must be honest, it was nice to see her too. She told me that she was my mother and that my name was Michael.

“Michael”, I thought, “I can get used to that.”

I fell asleep quite quickly and happily.