A Swimming Time

I forgot to say it, but I was born in, of all places, South Carolina. My Army Father was stationed there at the time. Within about two weeks he was transfered to the D.C. area and for the next thirty or so years I didn't come any closer to the Deep South than the northernmost edge of Arkansas. Think of the burden that's been on me. "Where were you born, Man?" "South Carolina." "Oh. So you're Southern." "No, I'm not." "No? How could you be born there and not be from there, Dude?" "I don't know, maybe I'm a fucking walking contradiction of logic and a violation of the fucking space-time continuum. I'm not Southern. How can you be so stupid and still utter English words, walk around, and breathe?" Etc.

Once we were in Washington D.C., my parents hooked up with some old friends who became my Godparents. Here's my Godfather on our right talking with my parents while my Mother holds me. Check out the Encyclopaedia Britannica in the background. I grew up with those. I was still writing "humour" until my forties.


The tension in my Mother's face was not unusual. Here's another creepy shot of my Mother holding me.



We were in D.C. a few months before going to Hawaii. I only have one memory now that I'm sure belongs to that time. My Mother and I are in a shallow wading pool. I'm put in the pool somehow, and she calls me to her. I remember dog-paddling to her. This is significant, because she told me years later that the only time she ever saw me swimming was before we went to Hawaii, before I was 6 months old. After that I became terrified of the water (we'll see why later.)