| Biographical Non-Fiction posted January 20, 2017 | Chapters: |
Prologue 1 -2- 3... 
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Some of my earliest memories
A chapter in the book Lamentations of a Lost Laddy
Darren and the Giant Locust
by Badger_29
This chapter is dedicated to my dad
| Background The second chapter of my childhood, including some of my earliest memories. |
Born on April twentieth, nineteen sixty-three at Washoe Medical Center, in the biggest little city in the world, Reno, Nevada. I was the third boy born to my loving and attentive parents, entitling me to not only be "the baby", but to be spoiled not only by my mommy and daddy, but aunts, uncles, grandparents, etc.
I was born prematurely, as were my two older siblings. It seems that my mother had a hard time carrying to full term, and I know that I have a couple of other siblings that were born first that did not make it. I will be including their names and dates of birth in a subsequent chapter.
We moved shortly thereafter to Folsom, California, and these are some of my memories there, around the age of three to five.
I was standing in a room right next to the sliding glass door to the patio, admiring my father's oak gun cabinet. It was a little over twice my height, and I could have stacked six of me inside.
I was noticing the difference between the smooth glass of the sliding door to the patio, and the rippled look to the glass on the double locking doors of the rifle cabinet. As I looked at it's contents, the image that I perceived was slightly distorted, or rippled, kind of what it looks like when you put a stick in the water.
My daddy told me that his antique cabinet had come around Cape Horn, the tip of Chile, in South America. This was before the Panama Canal had been built. He explained that the panes were handmade, as opposed to the machine made glass that was on the patio doors. That accounted for the irregularity that I noticed.
He is a good mentor, always encouraging my curiosity by complimenting me not only on my ability to notice the difference, but also the awareness to ask why.
Standing with one hand on the smooth, cool wood, and the other clutching an Oscar Meyer hot dog.
I was born prematurely, as were my two older siblings. It seems that my mother had a hard time carrying to full term, and I know that I have a couple of other siblings that were born first that did not make it. I will be including their names and dates of birth in a subsequent chapter.
We moved shortly thereafter to Folsom, California, and these are some of my memories there, around the age of three to five.
I was standing in a room right next to the sliding glass door to the patio, admiring my father's oak gun cabinet. It was a little over twice my height, and I could have stacked six of me inside.
I was noticing the difference between the smooth glass of the sliding door to the patio, and the rippled look to the glass on the double locking doors of the rifle cabinet. As I looked at it's contents, the image that I perceived was slightly distorted, or rippled, kind of what it looks like when you put a stick in the water.
My daddy told me that his antique cabinet had come around Cape Horn, the tip of Chile, in South America. This was before the Panama Canal had been built. He explained that the panes were handmade, as opposed to the machine made glass that was on the patio doors. That accounted for the irregularity that I noticed.
He is a good mentor, always encouraging my curiosity by complimenting me not only on my ability to notice the difference, but also the awareness to ask why.
Standing with one hand on the smooth, cool wood, and the other clutching an Oscar Meyer hot dog.
( I developed an early love of processed meats.)
We lived on Avon Way, and My uncle, aunt, and cousins lived right up the hill and around the corner. Respectively, uncle Terry, Aunt Dee and her two children, Rodney and Theresa (Who we called "Cricket" at the time), and the one boy that they had together, my cousin Michael.
I was enjoying some salty sunflower seeds, emulating my dad: I would but a small hand full in my mouth, and crack them one at a time with my front teeth, spit the shell out, and eat the kernel. I guess I was learning mastication dexterity.
Walking up the hill, humming, spitting, and chewing, I stepped up onto the covered front door step and rang the bell, excited at the prospect of playing with my kin. As my finger was pushing the button, my eyes wandered to the welcome mat.
There by the wall was a huge grasshopper, looking right back at me. I was fascinated by his eyes, which seemed to be surveying me benignly.
All of the sudden he spooked and jumped what seemed to be fifty feet high. This was so unexpected that I panicked, dropped my cellophane package, and ran home crying.
That scene replayed in my dreams that night, but instead of being frightened
(my dad told me that I could control my dreams and do anything that I wanted),
I hopped on the accomodating guy's back, and he took me to meet The King and Queen of the locusts. After that, I was no longer frightened, and whenever I saw another grasshopper, I greeted them in the name of The King and Queen, and told them that if they wanted to jump, they could do so and I would no longer be afraid.
As I stood there pondering the altered images of my dad's fascinating rifles, it occurred to me that my body was self-sustaining; I was becoming aware of the mechanism of my autonomous nervous system.
I wondered how long I could stand there not consciously breathing before my body took over and induced an inhalation.
The light headedness that I was experiencing seemed to accentuate the perturbation of the image.
We lived on Avon Way, and My uncle, aunt, and cousins lived right up the hill and around the corner. Respectively, uncle Terry, Aunt Dee and her two children, Rodney and Theresa (Who we called "Cricket" at the time), and the one boy that they had together, my cousin Michael.
I was enjoying some salty sunflower seeds, emulating my dad: I would but a small hand full in my mouth, and crack them one at a time with my front teeth, spit the shell out, and eat the kernel. I guess I was learning mastication dexterity.
Walking up the hill, humming, spitting, and chewing, I stepped up onto the covered front door step and rang the bell, excited at the prospect of playing with my kin. As my finger was pushing the button, my eyes wandered to the welcome mat.
There by the wall was a huge grasshopper, looking right back at me. I was fascinated by his eyes, which seemed to be surveying me benignly.
All of the sudden he spooked and jumped what seemed to be fifty feet high. This was so unexpected that I panicked, dropped my cellophane package, and ran home crying.
That scene replayed in my dreams that night, but instead of being frightened
(my dad told me that I could control my dreams and do anything that I wanted),
I hopped on the accomodating guy's back, and he took me to meet The King and Queen of the locusts. After that, I was no longer frightened, and whenever I saw another grasshopper, I greeted them in the name of The King and Queen, and told them that if they wanted to jump, they could do so and I would no longer be afraid.
I dedicated this to my father, who suffered because of my addiction. Of course I have suffered because of other's selfishness, but I for one am ready to forgive and forget, and start with a clean slate; ever looking forward to a bright future. I most certainly have learned from the past, and therefore have not forgotten it; but I do not dwell on it, nor do I choose to beat a dead horse.
I pray that this can help, along with the money and gifts that I have offered in sincerity, to convey my sincere appreciation, although it was never asked for.
Think about it.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. I pray that this can help, along with the money and gifts that I have offered in sincerity, to convey my sincere appreciation, although it was never asked for.
Think about it.
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