Everyone has those milestone memories. You know the ones: "I remember watching the moon landing in my parents' living room..." or "I'll never ever forget the day when I first heard JFK shot John Lennon...” Blah blah blah, you get the idea. Well, for me, February 19 2010 will always be the day I learned that I was "this close" to being born and raised in Canada.
The year was 1976. Two years earlier, for some ungodly reason, my parents had decided to move to the ball-chafing tundra of Edmonton, Alberta. As fate would have it...it was here, in this frigid fur-trapping outpost leftover from the earliest days of our Pleistocene Ice Age, that my folks said to themselves "Hey, you know who would get a kick out of this? A newborn infant."
Lucky for me, my parents turned out to only be armchair sadists. Maybe it was the buzz from the Molson finally wearing off or simply the fear that their offspring might one day develop a passion for figure skating...either way the units decided it was time to pack it up and move back to Dixie.
Flash-forward to an Arkansas hospital on that June day in 1977. It was then and there my mother graciously brought me into this world... and my first words just happened to be "Holy sh*t what's up with this humidity??"
-Jonesy
