I was born a long long time ago (ok not that long) with a corroded spoon in my mouth. The healing powers of suggestion hint that it was more of a swiss army spork thing (you know those little pokey things from the knife that are half spoon half fork)?

I'm the 2nd of two. The last. Saving the best for last. Or that's what my mom always told me. My older brother got it easy man. He was born into a nice clean sterile hospital. Me, I was born on a tarmak floor in the middle of Quetico, a remote camping area you can only get to by canoe.

Why in the $&@&# would a seventh month-pregnant woman go camping out in the middle of the wilderness? There is only one reason compelling enough - to save her marriage.

My mother and my father are not like oil and water, sonny and cher, nor even like mustard and ketchup. They just don't even live in the same plane of existence. They are the proverbial ships passing in the night but the problem is in the dark they bumped into each other (was going to say rammed but that'd be crude, even for me).

My mother is quiet, quite shy, with a highly tuned sense of conviction as to who she is. My father is a thoreau wanderer, the island unto himself, the ultimate lost soul. He founds solace only in the peaceful wild, one with nature. It's where he belongs.

I don't even know how they met. They never talk about it. In fact they almost never talk at all. I've tried to pry the story from my mother but for some reason it's something she chooses to keep private. My father- ha! He would only grunt and stare at the ground.

But I do know that my mother knew there were inherent cracks in her marriage after my older brother was born - my father didn't really want anything to do with domestic life and kids and the messiness of human relationships. He would leave for a week at a time, just disappear with his tent, backpack, gun and sometimes the family dog. He'd come back dirty, but calm.

So she decided to go with him. Maybe to show him that she was up for the challenge (that and a metaphor for larger life ones), that she loved him in her own way, or maybe just to give it a last shot.

From the details I can piece together, I was obviously early. Something induced labor and she went into labor. My father didn't panic. He boiled some water and pulled out the distress moose signal for help. A couple of hours later a ranger came and quickly assessed that they weren't going to move her. So they called back and made medical arrangements to get her to the closest hospital.

She was in labor for almost 40 hours with me. I was premature, breech, and a general pain in the ass - literally of course.

I don't know what this did to or for their marriage because I was a bit out of it at that time, so all I know is what's happened since. I can't say I am particularly proud of it. But how can I say I wish it didn't happen because then I wouldn't be here?

So thanks Mom, for putting up with Dad and for pushing me out like a pilgrim trekking through the wilderness. Thanks for everything.