Well, well, well. On the morrow I enter my 70th year of life on planet Earth. Neither I, nor anyone else expected me to survive to this point, yet here I am. I’ve had the most unusual life, a series of blessings I certainly haven’t deserved. My list of “I did this,” is absurdly long. It is only after the passing of my father that I’ve come to realize what I owe. He worked my ass off (a good thing) and wherever my interest fell, that world would come to life! Ice skating and piano playing at 3 years old, Trapping, for real, by age 10, downhill skiing (I placed in the 1st International Hot Dog Championships at Alta, 6th place, if I remember correctly), water skiing, backwoods adventure, and on and on it goes. Fabulous life, marrying into a majestic tribe, whom, over time, I’ve come to love in an almost desperate fashion, and to the most beautiful human being I ever met! fathering a child who comes much closer to filling the boots of my biggest hero, Grandpa Bill, than did I. Through it all, recognizing myself as an outlaw (not the kind who hurts people). A life of professional success, an EMT who, shortly before the wall fell down, became a paramedic!
Indeed and literally, Superman! At a point amid my fifth decade, the Gods decided it was time to deliver some lessons in humility, which I admit, I sorely lacked. And boy howdy, the Gods did deliver! A lady in an SUV going 70-some odd miles an hour hit me on my 4-wheeler, sending me flying 250 feet and landing on my head on the asphalt. They got me to the life-flight chopper alive, and the emergency doctor pronounced me dead three times during that flight. “Damn Bacon, you must have something important to do! When I pronounce people dead, they don’t come back, and you did, three times!”
I wasn’t supposed to survive. I did. I wasn’t expected to regain actual consciousness. I did. They turned me loose, leaving me in the hands of my family, including a couple of foster kids. A genuine curse on Kimmie (my wife) and an adventure for me. Whatever I lost, none of it was my drive and determination. No more backwoods adventure, skiing, mountain climbing, or even dancing, but I did go to school where I earned a B.S. in English, M.A, in humanities, and PhD in Occultism and Mythology, working on my second PhD now (Apologetics). However impressive that sounds, the fact is, I’m still not the me I used to be, nor anything close. Along with the achievements, I’ve managed to piss away almost everything I care about, including a friend I considered a brother. I live alone with my service dog, Alice, and David, my cat. Whatever my recovery has been, the brain-damage still remains. I recently did a month in jail for missing a court appointment (brain damage). I was ghost-writing, a profession AI has destroyed. I had a deadline with my last client, which fell due while I was in jail. The article was brilliant, but I couldn’t send it, and that failure cost me that livelihood. So here I am, Bacon Nivison, PhD, unemployed and fixing to go to work at the DI! Yep. I hope whatever lessons I needed have been damned well learned.
I do have a gigantic project on the horizon relative to brain-damage and recovery, i truly am an expert, so the doors are still open. And, as I always say, life is good!
~Bacon
ibaconi 