This is the first in a series of posts entitled Autobiography of a Little Boy. Here, I give you a glimpse into my pursuit to become the truest and best version of who I am. Each installment features a guest author who writes his story in crayon, with my left hand1. He’s my inner child. I refer to him as Tommy. The body of each post in this series is written by Tommy (using my left hand, engaging the right side of my brain, writing in the voice of my inner child). He also created the artwork. All footnotes, etc. are written by me, the grown-up, Tom Gentry.
April 22, 2025
Sometimes I do this if I really need to cry. It always works2.
When I was a baby, I was really little.3 My mom told me if she held my head in her palm, my feet only reached her elbow.4 I was an incubator baby. That’s because I got here way too early. Back then, when a baby was born as early as I was, they could die. But the doctor told my mom he wasn’t afraid I would die because I was a fighter.
I still had to live in an incubator for at least two weeks.5 My mom went home without me.6 She came to visit me in the hospital every day, but she couldn’t touch me. She could only look at me through the glass.
April 23, 2025
I can’t remember what it was like when I got home. But my mom said everyone couldn’t wait for me to get home.
By the way, I forgot to tell you my name is Tom. Sometimes they call me Tommy. But that only sounds right when some people say it. My nickname is Turkey7. My dad calls me that sometimes. My sister told me it’s because a boy turkey isn’t called a boy, it’s called a tom. So, I guess when a dad has a little boy named Tom, he calls him Turkey.
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