How 'bout some history?

I have written and written and written about my current status, my post diagnosis past, my thoughts, my fears, my expectations (few well defined), my self prognosis, my yada yada..................................... Only once, a while ago, did I divulge some self history, namely my several conks on the head. I begin to realize that those who know me only know one of my past lives. I apparently have many. Until recently, through my connection with friends, I considered my life as one entity, divided into sub entities and experiences. From my perspective, this concept holds true, but through the eyes of friends and family, perspectives identify individual versions of me (ha ha, more than one of me, you poor souls). My family, outside of immediate, have no connection to my taekwondo life and friends, as they also have no connection to my involvement with the blues society, with my six years as a grade school basketball coach, with my playing history and coaching history in the Junior Football League, my history as a builder in Peoria for 26 years, or with my escapades as a maniac. Likewise, the friends who have connected with me in these endeavours know little of each other. I think it's high time I give a little outline of my life. You can determine if any of this history supports the nonsense that ALS is my penance for such a life. I will try to stay chronological, no guarantees.

Warning: This may get long winded, as is my verbal affliction.

Born January 30, 1958- Woodstock, Illinois- 7lbs. 11 ounces, 21 inches long, big feet, lumpy head.  

From my birth until I was two, I can't remember much more than hunger, a wet butt and hunger. My first memory of any distinction had to put me at around two and a half. My sister is almost exactly two years younger than me, and she had to be three to six months old when I recall I was in our family car, some Chevy or Plymouth (don't expect me to have known the model of car we owned in 1960), standing on the hump in the back seat, leaning on the front; we are driving along, my dad at the wheel, my mom seated in front with my little sister on her lap. Try to put yourself into this picture- I'm sure the lap belts are all stuffed within the cracks of the seats, never seen, never acknowledged. Well, as I said, we are driving along, not likely on our way to church, when, for reasons unknown, my dad stomped on the brakes and we all lunged forward. I was blocked by the bench seat in front of me, my big , lumpy head and my skinny neck whipping fore and aft like a ball on a string. Mom wasn't ready for the abrupt action and bopped forward, I might guess bouncing her head on the metal (in those days) dash, launching my bundled sister to the floor. I remember thinking this was fun until my mom cried out and my sister began to wail. I don't remember crying, but I probably followed up at my sister's cue. After that all I can recall is that my dad took stock and determined nobody was really hurt and continued on. Here I must insert a similar story that occurred in 1979 involving me, Amy and Sarah (all of whom survived). In 1979, My work vehicle was a 1973 Ford window van that produced no heat and was generally a piece of junk; its only convenience was that it held my tools inside, out of the elements. It had a couple of bucket seats in front and a bench directly behind. At the time, our only other car was a first generation RX-7 with no back seat. In 1979, there were few child seat regulations and no seat belt laws. When we drove the RX-7, we wedged Sara's little, now entirely illegal car seat between our front buckets, behind the console. No tie downs, no straps, just old fashioned friction. In the van, we had seat belts all around. On the herewith described day, I set Sarah's front facing (nobody had yet invented a rear facing unit) carrier on the passenger side, behind Amy. We must have been in a hurry because I failed to run the seat belt through the holes in the car seat. Either Amy or I plopped Sarah into her seat, strapped her to it (no 3 point  harness in those days), got into the van unaware Sarah was nestled into a free flying ejector seat, and took off on down the road, heading into Peoria from Bartonville. The trip was eventless right up to the event, occurring as I neared the intersection where you could turn north toward the airport or continue straight into town. As I approached the light, it turned from green to yellow to orange to red, and after an instant of indecision, I slammed on the brakes just like my dad had 19 years earlier. I braced for the stop, as did Amy, ever aware, neither of us giving a thought for Sarah's safety, as she was strapped in and bolted down. NOT! As we deduced later, her seat flipped forward, driving her little, soft (not so soft) head, face down, into the back of Amy's seat. She instantly began to scream. I was torn as to what to do- keep my foot down and risk crushing Sarah's  head or letting up and coasting into a collision. I chanced the latter and rolled through the red light, through a deserted intersection and off the road. I jumped out and spun around the van to meet Amy as she uprighted the seat and checked Sarah for any bulged disks or flaccidity. I could be imagining this, but though she wasn't injured, the look on her face was a classic we would come to recognize and fear- she was pissed! I'm sure we eventually went on our way, but I couldn't ignore the proof that history repeats itself, at least in this case...........................

To be continued, intersected from time to time with relevant information on my present condition.