I was born in a Volkswagen bus – anyone who knows me, knows this explains a great deal. Love, peace, and harmony with a touch of impatience and the need to just keep moving.
Now that you know the ending, let’s start at the beginning.
My mom was a free-spirit and had always wanted to have a child at home. Without cluing my father in on her plan, she decided that I would be the one.
She bought a bottle of Boone’s Farm wine – yup, can’t make this stuff up. She is a very tiny person who drinks very tiny amounts of alcohol - if she drinks at all. Getting a picture?
Somewhere, well into the labor – she thought to herself – maybe this wasn’t the best idea.
She wakes my dad who flies into a panic – quite possibly an angry panic - as the nearest hospital was a good ways away – and it was winter – in northern New England.
Somewhere along the way, I decided it was time to arrive. This is where my parent’s accounts of the story differ. My mom claims she caught me but thought my head fell off. My dad claims I was dropped on my head and onto a cold, dirty floor mat.
They wrapped me in the only thing they had in the bus – an old wool army blanket.
So just to recap... My birth story involves me being born into an unheated vehicle, in winter – in northern New England.
I was dropped on my head – I accept my dad’s account of that as it just feels right. I was rolled in dirt wrapped in a brillo pad and most likely - I was hungover.
Now that you know - are you the least bit curious as to how I turned out?