The Guys

Dylan Bolin

My name is Dylan. I suppose, in situations like this, it’s customary to tell you all a little bit about myself. The year was 1969, February specifically. Richard Nixon had just been sworn into office, NASA’s Apollo missions were in full swing and the Beatles had just given their final public performance on the roof of Apple Records which was unceremoniously broken up by the Police. It was during this time that two young people, John 20 and Patricia 18, set into motion a miracle. Like most miracles of the day, it was the result of one part boredom, one part lust and six parts Pabst Blue Ribbon. You see, John and Patricia were my parents and the miracle was me. I don’t say “miracle” because I think I’m particularly special; far from it. I say “miracle” because the process is nothing short of miraculous. 23 chromosomes from him and 23 chromosomes from her carried instructions to begin building this little “thing.” The materials were elements and energies that had been breaking down, swapping places and changing form since the beginning of time. The sun and, 94.5 million miles away, the Earth had an agreement to make things. The sun would provide the energy and the earth would provide the stuff: Light, Soil and Water. Plants and animals eating and living, pooping and dying; all borrowing energy and giving it back when they were done. Some of that energy and a few microscopic bits of stuff clung to my mother’s womb. Over time, that stuff collected into quite an impressive heap and was powered by a tiny furnace burning borrowed fuel from millions of miles away. From the vastness of an infinite universe and plucked from limitless potential, as the result of this miraculous celestial and terrestrial pas de deux I say: “Hello, folks. It’s good to see you.”

You’d think, after all that, I could have thought of something more profound to say. But you all know what I’m talking about; at least I hope you do because the exact same miracle resulted in you, albeit in a different time and place.

For me, this all happened in a small Indiana town called LaGrange, the county seat of LaGrange county, and in a hospital named appropriately the LaGrange County Hospital. By the time I was ready to be born in December, I was 10 pounds, 11 ounces. My mother was 110 pounds, including yours truly, the blind, chunky parasite that was rearranging her organs, so maybe “born” isn’t the correct term. As I crowned, the doctor attached a suction cup to my semi-formed head, anchored it to the wall and he and several nurses pulled my mother from around me. She collapsed on the table like an empty wetsuit, and I drew my first breath. To honor this event, I decided to do comedy.<