The 7 Lives of Me

This blog will be a weird hybrid of rants, raves and stories.



How many of you have had brushes with death?  No?  In the next few weeks I will detail at least seven times I had a close encounter with the dead kind.   No, I cannot commune with the spirits, but I've been damn lucky or maybe even blessed.  So, lets begin. . .  Where else?  At the beginning.


Neil at four yeas of age.  1955. . .  San Antonio Texas.  The house I was born in on Thorane Ave.  It was one of those brick houses built with money from the GI Bill.  Our backyard was dried up grass.  My mother had no interest in greenery, in fact she had little interest in anything except herself.  But we will get into that later.

My bedroom was at the front of the house.  Wooden shutters over the windows and a single bed.  My little brother was still in his crib.  My mother would place my toys on top of the dresser, so I couldn't reach them.  That was just the beginning of a long torturous relationship.  I had a lamp by the bed and if you spun the shade you'd have the illusion of horses running along the top.  Ah, the magic of childhood.  

Playing in our front yard was strictly forbidden,  because our house was on a busy street, but when did that stop me from doing it.  I walked out the front door and started kicking a little ball around.  I could hear my parents and Uncle laughing in the living room.  I kicked the ball into the street and chased after it.

There was a car.  A horn.  A moment of chrome flash before my Uncle scooped me up and dashed to safety.  My mother stood on the front lawn screaming.  Apparently, if my Uncle had not decided to smoke his cigar outside I'd be dead.  It was close.  Real close.

STRIKE ONE.