I was born in February 1963, a month premature.
My father smoked a pipe for many years, but stopped soon after I was born. I remember him putting his pipe up on a high shelf in the dining room.
I also remember looking up the birch tree in our backyard, it's green leaves fluttering in the wind against a solid blue sky. That would have been in the Spring of 1962. Years later, I found a picture of me that my mother took that day, I was just over one year old.
I have distinct memories of the day my grandfather came to live with us. He had a heart condition and had been living with my aunt and her family. I would have been two at the time.
But my clearest early memories are from the summer of 1966. I was two and a half. Our family had gone to the county park to enjoy the beach and lake. My father took my sister, who was 2-1/2 years older than me, out to the floating rope in deep part of the lake. My mother, usually an attentive person, sat and read a paperback. i wanted to be with my father and sister, so into the water I went. Before I knew it, I was underwater. I remember the sand, the aquatic plants and the sunlight streaming through the water. I didn't panic. As I lost consciousness, I had what I later read was a common "light at the end of the tunnel" near-death experience. Everything was peaceful. i had an overwhelming feeling of connection with all things. It was the most beautiful thing to ever happen to me. Food, sex and loving hugs from your mother can't compare. The next thing that I remember is throwing up all over some man's back. Someone had accidently kicked my underwater and pulled me out. A lifeguard had learned CPR somewhere, revived me, then threw me over his shoulder to empty my lungs of water. I was over 100 yards from where my mother was still reading her book.
I often revisit that spot where I died and am amazed by how far I floated and how long I was under. My memory declined sharply after that, both long and short-term. it's spotty now. I sometimes think about what I could have done with my life if I had the memory capacity that I was born with. But then I think about how successful I've been in my photography career, and wonder if that light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel near death experience didn't instill in me something that has helped me see and experience things in ways that most people don't. Either way, it is what is.
Now, where the hell are my keys?
