Jan 19 2008
First memories
It’s no secret that my memory for nostalgia isn’t the strongest two, in the by four, in the house. I distinctly remember toys behind one of my neighbors couches and the smell of old age. Va ugly I remember being at a families house across the way and the three girls they produced. Later those girls would become my step sisters. I enjoyed playing with them and I was more than happy to be a fashion victim for their transvestite en devours. Perhaps that’s why my father has a fear of me being gay. The lip stick was not in the right place. I was a child without even the faintest idea of sinfulness, let alone the concept of deviant behavior. Swinging from the weeping willow was just as interesting as wearing the cloths of Barbie.
I remember being in my dad’s cinder block garage and googling over his motor bike. I still have the scare on the back of my hand from touching the piping hot exhaust. I’m sure I was blamed for my crazy careless behavior. I’ve assumed responsibility beyond my years from the very beginning. When I touched the symbol of the Nation State, my patriarch took pride. But these photo enhanced memories don’t even come close to my first mental visual memory. That belongs to the craw Dad. Continue Reading »
