He Marches To A Different Drummer:

I was sitting at my wife’s doctor office I was waiting for her and letting my mind roam and my pen move across he journal I had with me, I ended up starting an autobiography. So, I am going to post a very rough draft here for you to have first peek at and give me your opinion.

****  He Walks To A Different Drummer *****

From time I was ike looking through a cloudy dream born to the time I was about six my memories are like looking through a cloudy dream state. I only get glimpses here and there, but most of what I know of my younger years is due to having two very good story tellers for parents for parents.

My mother; Marjorie Louise, a published writer and my father; Leslie Charlies (Levi), an oral story teller of the old style.  My mother worked for newspapers, and had stories published in magazines an anthologies. My father was one who could talk for hours and tell you a story several different ways.

The first few chapters will be a mixture between those cloudy memories and the stories I grew up hearing my parents tell.  How I was unafraid of anything, and I was curious about everything, which mixed together to make for a very good but challenging life from birth to 6 years.

I was the youngest of 5 children – 2 older sisters, one being 9 years older then I was and the other my Irish twin only being 13 months older, and 2 older brothers one being 8 and the other being 7 years older then I.  So, when mother went into labor with me, my father was told that he was going to have to choose, my mother or the baby (me).  The doctors did not think they were going to be able to save both of us.  My father of course choose my mother, after all they had 4 other children at home!

However, this was the first of a very long road for my guardian angel, and s/he was watching over me that day, June 20, 1967.  My mother and I both came out of the labor room ALIVE!  I had to be rushed to an “Oven” and be given oxygen ad I was literally a blue baby, but I was alive!  The bumpy, challenging life didn’t end here, this was only the beginning, and the next bump in this journey wasn’t as far away as my mother and father would hope for unfortunately.

Again my guardian angel had to be very close and watching like a hawk.  Because, I was born with various “strawberry birthmarks” on my head and forehead.  My mother some how knew that two of those marks were NOT birthmarks that they were something much more dangerous.  My mom finally convinced the doctors to have a look at these flat reddish marks on my head.  It turned out the red marks on my head was indeed not birthmarks but blood tumors that was growing inward and feeding off the main artery in my brain.  They agreed the best treatment would be to surgery remove the tumors. So at six weeks old I went under the knife and my Guardian Angel once again watched over me.

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