Welcome to a series of stories that basically make up my autobiography. It’s not entirely thorough, but I’ll do the best I can with the memories locked away inside my head. Could be therapeutic for me. Could be humorous for you. Either way, enjoy…

Before I was born, life was dull and boring. The world was black and white, kind of the way Kansas was in The Wizard of Oz. Okay, it wasn’t really black and white. Technicolor had been introduced to the global scene. Those who could afford the colorization technology were able to see blue skies and green grass.

I obviously don’t have a personal memory of this story, but it’s been recounted to me by my mother a number of times.

While I was in the womb, my mother had a dream. It was a dream that frightened her to her very core. With only a few weeks left in her pregnancy, she became terrified of the thing she was going to give birth to. See, back in the day, Dad had a head full of hair. And it was a head full of hair with a reddish twinge. Also, you should know that Dad was a hairy man. Eventually, what was on top of his head would diminish a bit, but what remained everywhere else was more powerful than ever.

Back to the dream: Mom dreamed that she had gone into labor. She pushed and pushed and out I came. A tiny, infant orangutan. I guess she thought that since her husband was covered in hair, her baby would be, too.

In reality, it took years for that hair to appear. I was an adorable little ape. Probably not on that first day, though. I have yet to see a newborn that I think is absolutely beautiful. Newborns are not pretty. They’re wrinkly and red and screaming. But I’m not judging them. They’ve just been through a very traumatic ordeal. But if I can find some, I’ll post some pictures of my infancy in the next chapter.