"Mom ran over the dog" ...

So when I was born, dad was working for a company named Keane, Inc. – a consulting firm (then) based in Boston. On news of my birth and the complications, Keane Corporate told the branch to keep dad “on the bench” (unassigned) until I came home from NBSCU (Newborn Special Care Unit). Dad was only required to physically report into the office every day and then he could leave so he would be (and always was) available if I needed him. After I came home from NBSCU, dad went back to work on an assignment at a large insurance company in Bloomfield that shall remain nameless (CIGNA). I was still in danger of any one of a number of critical issues developing so dad naturally told both Keane and CIGNA that he may have to leave for the day at anytime and with little, if any, notice. A few weeks after dad had settled in at the assignment, he was in a meeting with several higher-ups from both the client and Keane when his cube-mate came (literally) running into the meeting in a panic and told him “your wife is on the phone and almost hysterical. I couldn’t understand anything she said except ‘Andrew’”. Dad immediately left the meeting and ran up the escalator to his desk where everyone was staring at him (Apparently his cube-mate just stood up and yelled “has anyone seen Brian” so everyone within ear-shot the floor was watching to see what was going on).

Dad picked up the phone, expecting the worse.

Mom explained thru tears that she had run over the dog !

SHE HAD RUN OVER THE DOG !

Now dad is standing at his desk, all eyes on him with expectations that he will announce that I have a medical emergency and instead he has to explain that mom ran over the dog!

He asked exactly happened asked dad, trying to look like someone dealing with a medical emergency should look and mom explained through sobs of relief that she had somehow backed over the dog and Ruffles (the dog’s name and no, dad had nothing to do with it !) had become trapped under the car on the grass strip in the center of the driveway. She said the dog seemed to be ok, just trapped, but she couldn’t move the car and she had called the police. Dad struggled to find a way out of the “all eyes on him” scenario. Finally, he said loudly into the phone “Oh God, I’ll be home as soon as I can get there”, hung up, told anyone listening “all I can understand is she can’t move the car and she called the police !” and left.

Everyone of course assumed that I had an emergency and dad managed to get out of a potentially embarrassing situation without lying or having to explain leaving the meeting with the higher-ups over a dog.

The dog was ok and ran around as if nothing had happened as soon as the poice jacked up the car and she got free of the oil pan pinning her to the grass.

There is more to this though. The dog actually did sustain one injury, a tooth somehow became loose. When dad got home, Mom (feeling badly for what had happened) cooked a nice piece of meat for the dog, cut it and fed it to her. At thaqt point, he tooth came out, the dog swallowed it and began to choke so the day ended with dad chasing the dog around the yard and performing he Heimlich on her.

Dad continued to work at that client on and off for the next 18 years but he never told anyone what had really happened that day until just this past spring.

As they say in that commercial, "Ah, the memories".

It took me a long time to even sit up but once I did, I realized that I could “scoot” so rather than even try to stand or walk, I just sat with one leg folded and pulled myself along the floor with my other foot. You could be sitting at the table and you would detect movement in your peripheral vision. That would be me, scooting at top speed (which was remarkably fast) to something that had caught my attention BUT only if the surface was right and I don’t mean slippery or something that might aid or prohibit my sliding, I mean a surface that I liked. I was texture sensitive, not only orally (eaten foods) but touch also, for example, I would burst into tears if I was set down on Grass !.

I also learned to climb and took fondly to “Table spinning”. Any elevated surface would do. I would just climb up there, cross one leg and spin myself silly with the other leg. Nothing stopped me – if there was a lamp on the table of choice, I would just push it off onto he floor. This got so bad that mom put away anything that was not absolutely necessary and dad actually bolted down the lamps !

And I also came with some "strange" benefits …

Dad learned early on that if he needed to throw out a “possibly questionable” item, all he had to do was surround it in the trash can with my diapers! It would be taken, no questions asked !