For the longest time, I have wanted to write my life story for my children, grand children and so on.
But I always get sidetracked.
Well, I am slowly trying to start compiling my thoughts and memories and getting it on paper. So here goes. I present to you, the first page of my book. I hope you enjoy. Please leave me feedback, i want to know how you like my writing style and if it sort of sounds like me:
It all comes down to this. It was the deer’s fault.
Excuse me? Oh, your still confused? Well, I guess that really doesn’t tell you much does it? I suppose it is like telling the punch line, but leaving out the joke. Well, here you go then, plain and simple: My parents had sex.
What’s that? You don’t understand? Well, that is your own fault. I tried to tell you the short verion of the story, but I guess I am going to have to tell the long version. I hope you have some time on your hands.
So I suppose I should get started….
I was born on August 27, 1978 at _____ a.m. I can’t tell you what the weather was like, I was to young to remember. Besides, the ordeal of being born is something that my mind has blocked, and I don’t remember anything of that year, let alone that day.
I do know that I was born a boy, 8 pounds‑8 ounces. Born to the parents of Loucinda Ruth Jones (formerly DeWitt) and Donald Rodney Jones. I had a sister named Charmin Christine Jones and they decided (or should I say, my father decided) to bestow the name of Bertie Allen Jones to me.
Let’s think about that for a minute. Bertie Allen Jones. Who in their right mind decided the name Bertie for this little bundle of joy (well, not joy, we’ll get to that later) Hmm?
To keep this short, I’ll explain my father’s life in another chapter, but suffice it to say, I was named after his childhood neighbor, Bertie C. Pease. He was like a father to my dad. So in honor of him, I was named. As for the Allen, that I received from my dad’s only sibling, his brother David Allen Jones. Let’s not go there.
At least not right now.
Where was I? Oh yes, being born. I don’t remember much. So let’s move on.
Okay, okay. I suppose, I could ask my parents, my sister and my family for more information. But sometimes, that leads into more embarrassing stories. So you can see that I don’t always want to go there.
To be continued…