“Barrington had only two thoughts that long, cold night. First he thought, ‘It's good to be a bunny. Bunnies are very furry and warm.’ And then, when he felt the heart of the tiny mouse beating regularly, he thought, ‘All the animals in the forest are my family.’”
-- “Barrington Bunny,” The Way of the Wolf by Martin Bell, 1970.
 

I was crammed into a minivan with six other people, all of us born in November.  “What’s the deal with November?” I asked.  In my head I started counting back the nine months we had spent in the womb.
Sometimes, I am a little slow. . .
“Valentine’s Day!” I blurted out.  I think I was conceived on Valentine’s Day.

I died when I was five years old.
My spirit was violently ripped away from me by my mother’s boyfriend, who raped, molested, and physically abused me.  He left me to wander on the earth a soulless zombie in the masses of the living dead.  I hated him and I hated myself.

My sister was always jealous.
My birthday is the day before hers, and she will never forget the year that her mother was at the hospital giving birth to me, instead of being at her birthday party.  I think she finally forgave me.

Tragedy turned me into a writer
Because of my love for this woman, I learned that sex was about my heart and not my testosterone.  It was real and exciting.  I reached a new plateau in my humanity.  She was afraid.
With nowhere to go, late at night, unable to reach the land of dreams, I went back to Narnia: Aslan, Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy.  I did not want it to end, and began to write the next book in the series.

One day, I just picked up and went to Germany.
I had always wanted to go, but never had the guts to leave.  Then one day, I just decided to leave.  I quit my job, packed up my apartment, and got on the plane.  It was the smartest thing I have ever done.

My dad got a ticket because of me.
At the time he worked nearly thirty miles from home.  When he got the call that I was no longer content in my mother’s womb, he sped out of the parking lot, forgetting to stop at the exit.  The judge dismissed the ticket

In Cologne, walking down a dimly lit street, I saw my mother only ten years younger.  When I looked over my shoulder to get a second look, I saw that she had stopped in her tracks, turned all the way around, staring at me.  It was late.  I was tired.  I kept going.  I think I lost a piece of me that day.
It was the stupidest thing I had ever done.

Groundhog Day: I got my first kiss on Groundhog Day.

My dad rescued me from Misery.
My grandmother tells me it is a beautiful state.  Missouri was her home and she had fond memories.  For me it was a prison, a place where innocence was crushed and cynicism was born.  I remember the day my teacher said, “I heard your dad is coming to get you today?”  I had no idea what she was talking about.  A couple of hours later I was in his arms, holding on, never wanting to let go.

One of my best friends was having marital problems.  It was New Year’s Eve, her husband was out of state, and we were alone together.  She wanted to end her marriage by starting a relationship with me.  As we sat on my couch, holding each other, I wanted to be with her more than anything.  But she was married.  I picked her up, carried her to my room tucked her into my bed, and went back to sleep on the couch.
I became a man that day.

I realized that adults were not better than children.
My family went on a picnic.  After we were done eating we had some cheese puffs left.  I asked my aunt what I should do with them.  She told me to throw them on the ground for the animals.  My uncle yelled at me for doing so.  When I told him that my aunt had told me to do it, she lied and said, “No, I told you to throw them away.”

My older brother always picked on me.
One day, I said to myself, ‘Enough is enough.’  He had backed me into a corner, ready to beat the snot out of me.  I channeled all my anger into one swift, hard kick to the shin.  He fell to the floor crying.  I got a spanking.

I decided to live again.
I never knew I had the power within me to be happy, light-hearted, or just to enjoy life, but it was there all along.  I said to myself, ‘I am good.  I am worthwhile, no matter what anyone else thinks.’  That was the first domino in a chain that knocked over the walls of self-hatred I had built up.  I started to love myself: every part of me, and I began to live again.
 

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