I’ve never written a “real” autobiography.  I’ve written a lot of crappy, double-spaced accounts of events that occurred in my life, but never an autobiography.  I’d like to say this is something different, but seeing as I am inexperienced in such writings, I’ll begin in the fashion of my previous assignments—not double-spaced, not on wide-ruled lined paper, but chronologically.I was born at Oconomowoc Memorial Hospital in pleasant Oconomowoc, Wisconsin on the 11th of October in the year 1986.  I was about six weeks premature, but weighed in at a relatively hefty 6 pounds, 9 ounces.  What I think is most important about my momentous birth, however, is not that I was so large for a premie, but that—in utero—I was primed to enter the world in the same way as both of my parents: backward.  I don’t mean facing the spinal cord backward, I mean I was physically positioned upside-down in the womb, feet facing the only natural exit.  Experts call this “breech,” but “breech” doesn’t explain the impact this seemingly random orientation has had on my life.  Because the honest truth is that I’ve always felt a little backwards.Here’s a fun example of my awkward, backwards nature: when I was born, I didn’t know how to suck.  Possibly the simplest, most innate seeming mechanism in early human nature, and I was utterly lost.  So for a short while I subsisted on whatever junk the hospital staff could fit through a thin gavage tube into my stomach.  Eventually I figured out the sucking thing, but not before giving the doctors and my family a good scare.