My second memory

    I was standing on a couch looking out a window excitedly watching a black women called Mrs. Green walked from the parking lot,up the stairs to the apartment door, watching the door open up and her walking in. She had a smiling and kind face. I knew she was taking me somewhere not knowing what it really meant.  I was joyful and too young to know what was really happening.  At some point I fell off the couch and cried it then faded. I do not  remember ever having a bond with my mother. This was probably the last time she ever saw me.

    Years later when I told my to my aunt about this memory she was surprised as to how I could possibly have known who Mrs. Green was because I was to young. She told me Mrs Green was the first social services caseworker to place me into a foster home. I was somewhere between the ages of 8 to 18 months old.

My first memory of life

It was sometime in the afternoon. I was looking up at the ceiling in a either a crib or small bed. The roll down window shades were drawn to keep out the afternoon sun light. The window must have been slightly open to let fresh air in because of the dancing shadows moving across the wall as the current gently drew the shade in and out. I could hear a dog barking. I must have been asleep and the dog’s bark awoke me. I didn’t cry but remember the sense of being overwhelmed as only a child could feel experiencing a new sensation.

My surroundings became more real to me as I became more aware. This unfamiliar world was becoming my world. I watched with wonder as the light and shadow danced back and forth on the walls. I could hear voices, outside noises, the dog barking and then quieting down. I also felt a peaceful yet powerful presence in the room. Its as though it was more real than the objects around me. I was afraid and at peace at the same time.  Even as I write this, whenever I feel a soft breeze, the memory is still fresh in my mind as though it happened yesterday.

I turned my head to the left and saw a doorway leading to a dark place. I didn’t know what was there but I could hear voices as though it was coming from another place in the house. Fear rose in at this point and I believe it was then that I began to cry for someone to come to me and help me make sense of all these shapes, sounds and smells. I saw a group of people. a man and two or three ladies. One of the women begin to pick me up and then the memory faded.

Born in the Spring

I was born in May of 1958, the younger of 4 sons my mother bore. It is said I was the only natural birth son she had. A photograph and stories is all I know about her. A couple of encounters is all I know of my dad. He was a merchant marine and traveled around the world. That is no life for a family man and thus he never became one. I don’t ever remember having an emotional bond with them. I do however remember a quiet presence that was always with me. In the shadows, in the light. always there. I think my family knew this. I know my aunt did. I was different somehow. They knew it and I would later come to realize this as well.
I was not to be part of their lives and they were not going to be part of mine. I was born for a purpose, I just didn’t know what it was.

After 47 years it’s time to tell this story though I don’t know to what end this tale will tell, what seed will it plant, what awareness will it bring.