So, this story will probably explain a lot about me to those that know me personally. It probably has everything to do with my off the charts A.D.D., my inability to do math, or process travel directions. While we’re at it, maybe I’ll charge my propensity for alcohol and that damn tweed to it as well. I’ll be the first to say that it’s probably why I’m amazing in bed (ladies, take note here). I consider myself to be a pretty smart guy, though I certainly never showed it in school. I’m like Rain Man for random information, and I still remember my best friend from 4th grade’s phone number. Numbers and random facts; A generally useless trait, unless I can somehow get onto High School Jeopardy. Anyway, enough about how awesome I am. I just wanted you to pity or lust after me (or both, I’m not above pitylust), before I make every bit of your human instinct want to murder me.

Because…. technically…..    I’m a zombie.

I’m hoping that most of you are either drunk or high enough that you forgot when I gave that part away in the title.  It wasn’t the only time that I’ve cheated death, but it was probably the closest I’ve ever been to losing the coin toss. Honestly, it’s like Final Destination up in this bitch. Death has come after me many times, and I was probably inviting him in for most of them. I’m sure that some of those stories will show up here in time.

This is a weird story to tell, because it has only been relayed to me by my brothers. I was both too young, and too dead to be taking good notes. Anyway, here’s what went down.

4th of July, 1981: Atlanta, GA.  Capital City Club.

This was the heart of decadence. In the very early 80’s, Atlanta was exploding with industry and the 80’s party lifestyle was just warming up. The Capital City Club was top shelf, and the white collar place to be seen. It was mid afternoon, and the club’s fireworks show wouldn’t start for a few hours. The place was packed. My dad had brought my brothers to hang out in the pool all day, while he kept an eye on me. I was just one year old, and fat like a marshmallow. So, hanging out poolside, my dad was like a one man sales show. He could charm his way into any deal; and for a while growing up, he did. Of course, when talking shop at the club, you had to knock back scotches with the good old boys, lest you be an outcast. No, no. I’m joking. The man loves the sauce. He was probably buying rounds. I wasn’t really interested in his business dealings, nor was he likely interested in my diapers and jibberish dealings. I guess I wandered off.

*scream from the crowd* THERE’S A BABY IN THE POOL!

And so there was.  I was face down in the shallow end. Not moving. Some kid dove in to save me. I was already blue by the time they laid me on the concrete. The lifeguards ran to offer aid, and delivered whatever the contemporary excuse for CPR was. It wasn’t helping. After a couple of minutes, a doctor had rushed to the scene and had taken over. A couple of minutes longer, and he delivered some heartbreaking news to my father. I was officially pronounced dead. No breathing. No pulse.

This is the part that really gets to me every time I think about this story. When my brother tells it to me, I can tell that it’s something that has stuck with him for life. I can hear it in his voice. We joke about it now, but I can’t imagine the trauma that must’ve been inflicted on him at that exact moment. He says… all that you could hear was my father screaming. Wailing. The shell of a man.

I really pressed for specific times at dinner tonight, but my brother just can’t say when exactly the EMT’s showed up. When my father started screaming, someone rushed my brothers away, far from the scene. Still, even hidden away in a building, nothing could drown out that wail of agony.  By his best guess, the EMT’s could not have been on-site for at least 5 minutes. There’s no telling how long I was face down in the water, so I’ll never really know the times. What he does know is that once at the scene, the EMT’s pumped my stomach and I puked all of that water right back out. My lungs refilled with air.

At one year old, I challenged death, and I won. Because, fuck that guy.

I don’t know all of your fancy scientific facts and whatnot, but ‘people’ tell me that the brain damage begins very soon after oxygen deprivation. My good friend, Dr. W. I. Kipedia, just said something about brain death occurring at around 6 minutes the other day. I really don’t know if the drowning resulted in brain damage or not. My friends would all probably agree that it did, but I refute to them that they can’t prove which brain injury is responsible for ‘all of that’. I do know that I’m pretty lucky to have lived through it. I doubt I’ll ever know who that kid was that pulled me out of there (Thanks kid!).

I do know that, strangely, the first time I heard that story was one of my favorite conversations that I’ve ever had with my brother…. as we drank by the country club pool, watching his daughters play in the water.