Hi. My name is Bolt. I mean Bolt Owen. Gramps says we should be precise. But you can call me Bolt.

That crazy author of the book—I think the title is “The Hemlock Aperture”—said I should introduce myself. It seems to me that he should do the introductions since he wrote the book. Anyway, I ‘ll tell you a little about myself. If the author wants more than that, he can tell you himself.

So, I suppose I should start at the beginning with my name, Bolt, and how I got my name. We’ll start with that.

It was a dark stormy night. Yeah, really. It was raining cats and dogs. Lightning was flashing across the black cloudy sky like a jagged spear. Now I wasn’t born yet to see this, but my mom tells me this is what happened, and I believe her. See, she was in labor and about to deliver me. I guess with intense situations like that, people remember a lot of things.

Anyway, she had made it to the hospital in time. My dad drove. She was in the back seat screaming, “Hurry up. I’m about to have this baby.” The nurses took us (Mom and Dad, and me inside Mom’s belly) to the delivery room. One of the nurses was a red-headed Irish nurse, and that made Mom comfortable, because Mom’s ancestors were from Ireland.

The nurses got everything ready and called the doctor. Mom had settled down by now. Dad was standing beside her helping her with her puffing and blowing. She reached the point where they let her push within half an hour of being admitted. Mom always said that I was in a hurry, even before I was born.

Anyway, Mom started pushing with her contractions while she squeezed my poor dad’s hands and arms. That’s when the lights started flickering, going on and off. We could hear the thunder rumbling outside, getting louder and louder. I mean my parents and the nurses could hear the thunder. The nurses got out the flashlights.

The nurses could see my head when my mom pushed. The Irish nurse was sitting down in the doctor’s stool, down-below. She said, “He’s a ruddy one, he is.”

At that moment, a huge clap of thunder shook the delivery room at the same time the lights surged with what looked like a bolt of lightning flashing through the room. The lights went out for a second, then came back on.

And when the lights came back on, there I was, in the nurses hands, crying like a baby. I say it was a lucky catch.

The nurse looked up at my mom with wide eyes of surprise. “Good push. Here’s your boy.” She held me up in my naked splendor for the whole room to see. You’d think there could be a little more respect for a new citizen.

My mom, reportedly looked to be in disbelief that I was out already.

The Irish nurse rubbed my head. “Yes he’s a ruddy one. I think you should call him Ruddy.”

“Let me hold him,” my mom said. “I want a closer look.”

The nurse clamped and cut the cord, then dried me off. After wrapping me in a blanket she handed me to my mom.

My mom rubbed my head with the blanket to make sure all the blood was wiped off. “Yes, his hair is really red, but look at this bolt of white that won’t lie down. I think that lightning zapped him. We’ll call him ‘Bolt’, for bolt of lightning. He was an active one before he was born. I bet he’ll continue to be busy.”

So that’s how I got my name. And my mom always introduces me as her red-headed daredevil on crutches.

Oh, yeah, now for these crutches. I got these crutches because I have Becker’s Muscular Dystrophy. It is a form of muscular dystrophy that is later in onset than Duchenne’s Muscular Dystrophy, It can progress more slowly, and the upper body is affected last. Anyway, when my legs started getting weak, my mom took me to the hospital. They gave me crutches, and I started racing the doctors down the halls. They told me I was “stick-hopping.”

I said, “No, this is stick-sprinting.”

When I kept returning to the clinic for crutches, after I had broken my wooden ones, the docs finally gave me aluminum crutches. “They bend, but they won’t break,” they told me. And they were right. I’ve mangled a few pairs, but never broken any of them.

My mom says that she’s never seen anyone try as many things on crutches as I have. It doesn’t always work, but I have to try. No challenge should be left untested. Life would be boring without new challenges.

Probably my favorite stunt on crutches is vaulting over Mr. Finkelstein’s fence. He hates it, but he finally gave up on stopping me. He decided to get a guard dog instead. That’s made the challenge even greater. When I get over the fence on my side of the yard, I have about five seconds to sprint across the yard and get over the fence on the other side before Dobey—that’s Mr. Finkelstein’s doberman—catches me. I love it.

And finally, my most favorite thing to do is flying the magic barrel carts. Gramps and Scout and I built them. Scout and I put the turbo-levitators in them that make them fly. And wow! To have been slowed down by crutches, then to be set free into flight, like a bird, with the magic barrel carts, man, that’s just too awesome to describe.

Okay, that should be enough. If that lazy author wants more, he can write it himself. I’m off to look for another adventure in my flying cart. I hear that in the next book the gang and I get to explore a world a mile high in the sky. That sounds dangerous…and right up my alley.