First Memory

I know that it's hard to believe but this picture is of my very first memory. When I reach into the deepest recesses of my memory bank, I remember this moment. Actually, not this exact moment but maybe the one right before or after the picture. I remember sitting in that chair and looking out onto my grandparent's farm in Mexico. In the picture I'm in an obviously shaded place but outside of the shade I remember the sun being strong while a couple of tractors pulled some plows. Looking into my face, I can totally picture the moment and my brain probably trying to make sense of what I was watching.

It was probably that look of processing that caught my father's attention when he took this picture. I'm pretty sure I was oblivious to him as I tried to figure out the world in front of me while pooping my diapers. Things haven't changed much in 40 years.

Big Head

Here's the thing...I was born with a huge head. Humongous. As you can see from the picture above, I can literally barely keep it up. I realize that I 'm just a baby when this picture was taken and that my upper body muscles were still forming but from the strain on my face anyone can tell that the weight and size of my head was an issue. I can't say that this got easier and I'm afraid of what will happen when I'm older and my muscles begin to get weaker.

The size of my head made it difficult for my mother to deliver naturally so I had to be delivered via c-section or my head would have literally ripped my 4-foot 10-inch mother in half. Because I was born in a Catholic hospital, the nuns who also worked as staff and nurses had to get special permission to have a doctor from another hospital come in and perform the c-section. To further humiliate me, he accidentally cut my humongous head while doing the incision. I'm positive that even the most delicate doctor would not have been able to avoid this inevitable catastrophe.

The size of my head continued to be an issue for the rest of my life. From buying baseball caps, to ripping the neck holes on t-shirts to my short stature...that's right, I believe that I'm short because I've been weighed down by a huge head.

I realize that most of my anger is misguided and factually incorrect but I promise you that living with a head like mine year-after-year begins to wear on one and ultimately plays a role in your development and perception of the world. After a while I got used to it and it became an after-thought. The over-used Neitzchian phrase, "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger", certainly applies here. My head has not killed me...but it has made my neck and shoulder muscles stronger.

Memories

The goal of this blog is for me to capture as many memories as possible in a place that I can access easily. It is not a goal to tell a specific story but just a series of stories that happen to be in chronological order. Whatever pattern or connections that emerge beyond the narrative will be coincidental or your own creation.

The title of the blog relates to something specific that happened in my teens which I will reveal when we get there...but I think it is also appropriate because it speaks to many parts of my life; My days with divorcing parents, my love of improvisation and also, my own weaknesses as a person.

I believe that the most important things in life are memories and legacy. If you can leave this earth with positive memories and a legacy, then that will keep you living just a little bit longer than your physical self.

I don't think that my life is special. We're all special. We all live and have lived very unique lives. This is just a memoir of the path my life has taken me.