Studies in the History of My Birth

Since Old Ken started this blog, he has gotten quite a few questions. "Is all of this true?" "Was it unpleasant conducting experiments on the fruit of the sea?" And so on. However, the question I have heard most frequently is this: how were you born? In fact, there have been so many requests for this information that I feel I would be doing an injustice were I not to take the time to share my story.

As many of you know, I was born on a boat. Well, this is not entirely accurate. Technically, I was born beside a boat; in the water, that is. For, I was a water birth. My parents, like many who began having children in the 1890s, had done some research into what were then considered alternative birthing options. Through their reading, they learned that, evolved from water mammals (the dolphin, narwhal and majestic manatee particularly) as we humans are, aquatic parturition was probably the most natural option. Because they were living on a boat at the time, my father (who happens to be quite handy in that way) constructed a kind of harness apparatus along side of their vessel (HMS Red Ship of Spain), complete with a ladder, that my mother could descend as her contractions began.

I should say here that the drawing you see above is my own personal rendering of the way I visualize the scene of my birth might have been. Now, before any confusion arises, let me clarify the parameters and truth claims of this drawing. I have no proof that on or even near the time of my birth the moon was (say) full. Nor am I able to provide any kind of forensic documentation verifying that near the time of my birth my father (lithe and nimble swimmer though I have depicted him as having been) actually had no face. That is, I would like for you to think of this drawing as a possible suggestion of the circumstances under which a young Digby (Ken, that is) emerged forth from the briny depths and into this place we call the world.

Now, I recognize that you connoisseurs of my life will immediately object that this is an over-simplified account. Point taken, friend. In my defense, I'll say this. Unlike my artistic idol Sheridan Bucket, I am not that handy with a horse-hair brush. Lacking in confidence in my ability to render my finned friends, I have omitted from the drawing the pod of interested porpoises that immediately swam by as I was born, calling out with the irrepressible joy of their characteristic song. A notable omission for, later in life, I have often thought back to this primordial call—allowing its still-reverberating tones to play across my heart strings, and thereby to connect me with my own, true inner porpoise.

In fact, as my passport photo (below) suggests, I think this song has helped me to become The Man from A Place you know today.