Sometimes I forget how fortunate I am to be alive. First, half of me fought it out in my mother’s womb with thousands of brilliantly swimming spermatozoa. That half could have easily lost the battle.
Then there was that birth thing nine months later and 909 moons ago. That’s a lot of moons.
Good thing I have no memory of that birthing, given all the trauma involved. Had my memory been functioning well at the time, I’d be dealing with PTSD in addition to my OCD.
Then there were my kindergarten and first grade teachers, who were so memorable I can’t remember their names or faces. Ah, but then along came my second grade teacher, Mrs. Spangler, my first bout with unrequited love. Many bouts were to follow but fortunately, at some point, nearly 44 years ago my wife said, “Yes.” That helps account for my stayin’ alive.