I was born a poor black child.
Oh wait, no. That’s Navin R. Johnson, not me.
On August 8th, in the year of Our Lord Cthulhu 1981, a child was born. Well, probably many children were born, but only one of them matters. His name is me.
In one of the few times in my life I’ve ever been early for something, rather than barely on time or late, I was 8 weeks premature and weighed in at a massive, beastly 2lbs 13ozs. How my mother gave birth to me without splitting in half I’ll never know. She’d lost four children before me, so I guess fifth time’s the charm. Well, I don’t know if it’s the charm, but they’ve stuck with me now.
Because I like to get off on the right foot, and because life likes to kick me when I’m down, immediately after birth both my lungs collapsed and I was rushed from the delivery room straight into an incubator for emergency lung-inflating surgery. Eventually, because I didn’t learn my lesson the first time, my left lung collapsed again, which required more surgery (I still have the scars to this day). Later in life I’d develop allergies to just about everything green and growing and spend a week in the hospital in fourth grade after a massive asthma attack. Obviously, breathing isn’t really my forte.
After two months or so in the hospital (at least two months, but maybe more. It must’ve been kind of traumatic, because I don’t remember it), I was sent home. I was still so small normal-sized baby clothes wouldn’t fit me, so my dad went to Zares or Service Merchandise and got doll clothes for me to wear. Both stores are now gone, but it’s not my fault. I did my part.
My improbable survival was such that I was featured on two different local news channels (and now they won’t even listen to my idea for a reality show in which girls thing I’m a millionaire, but I’m really a robot sent back in time from the future to kill John Connor!). I haven’t been on TV since, except for that time I took those hostages. Oh, and the time former WWF tag team champions The Headbangers gave me a free hot dog to celebrate their tag title win at WWF In Your House: Ground Zero (This actually happened. I was both on PPV and on Monday Night Raw the next night).
I learned to read at an incredibly young age, probably 2 or 3, and have had a library card since I was 4. While I was skinny, even underweight, until I was 5 or so, that’s no longer the case. Around that time I got fat (probably because breathing is such a pain in the ass… err, lungs), and have remain fat and bookish to this day. Also, I resemble a silverback gorilla in general body shape (short legs, long arms, barrel-chest, broad shoulders, pot belly, hurl my own waste at enemies, etc.).
It’s been all downhill from there, except for the time I qualified for Jeopardy (they never called me back, which also describes most of the dates I’ve had).
Anyway, time to wish a happy birthday to the smartest person I know: Roger Federer! Happy birthday, Roger!
Author’s Note: My name is not actually me. My name is Ron. Me is just a name I call myself sometimes when I’m singing songs from “The Sound of Music.”