2007 proved to be a hell of a tough year for me. As the clock struck twelve and 2007 passed into history, I recall kissing Elysha on a dance floor and sighing, “We survived.”
Yes we did. But barely.
The highlights from 2007 include:
- The death of my mother
- The disappearance of my brother (who remains missing to this day)
- The death of one of my heroes, Kurt Vonnegut
- The worst professional crisis of my life, brought about by a vicious attack of inuendo and falsehoods by a small group of still-anonymous detractors
- The subsequent attempt to publicly destroy my reputation and career from the same anonymous detractors
- The Red Sox victory in another World Series
- The death of Phil Rizzuto, a Yankee’s legend and the television and radio voice that sparked my love for the Bronx Bombers
- The discovery that I lost the genetic coin flip and possess the muscular dystrophy gene, indicating that I will one day contract the disease that contributed to the death of my mother, grandfather and aunt
On the plus side, I finished my first novel, signed on with my literary agent and watched the Patriots march to an undefeated season.
They lost in the Super Bowl, but that happened in 2008,
Not bad, but it doesn’t exactly balance the scales.
Oh, one more good result from 2007:
When well-intended people try to tell me that I should be grateful in the face of disaster because I still have my health (and you’d be surprised how often I heard this in 2007), I can silence their meaningless assurances by explaining that while I may look healthy, my genes are conspiring against me.
A good retort makes a year of suffering almost palatable.
