Don't yawn at Jon

Who is this mythical creation? This *yawn* what did you say his name was?

It's Jon, not 'yawn'... they just sound the same.

I am told that as my father raced to the hospital that the January mist kept the windscreen from ever being quite translucent.. but hearing my mothers desperate screams from the back seat kept him from taking note. By His grace alone, they arrived at the hospital unscathed.. immediately my mother was adjourned to the birthing unit where I was to be extracted.

My skin was a pale white, my tiny fingers icy cold... 32.7 C is far too low for an infant. My mother insisted that the warmth of her love could bring color back to my flesh, but the doctor did not agree with her romantic notion.. instead placing me in intensive care.

Like a baby in an oven is how my mother described it, the transparent box I lived in for hours as my body was heated.. even still, my skin is cool to the touch, never fully reaching what would be considered normal. They named me Jon, after my grandfather; regardless of what the American school kids might say.

... to be continued