Tag: love

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The candle in the wind

The one person that comes to my mind when writing this is my grandmother. Her name was Joan. When trying to recall my first memory of meeting her, I can’t think of what that might have looked like. All I know is; in that moment we were friends. I can’t think of a time when I went without my grandmother; well, that was until her passing. While writing this, I’m thinking about how she was as a person; strong, courageous, untouched, such an amazing woman. One time she wrote me a letter on the back of her pictures when she was younger. She wrote about how she was so proud of me and how she loved me so much. I can’t remember word for word, but due to a roof leak at my parents’ house, the picture was destroyed. Before she passed, I asked her to write me another letter… I never got it.

In my early 20s, I remember living with my grandmother. I lived in a house directly across from where I grew up, on the water. I loved living at my grandmother’s despite all the negative feedback from my brothers and cousins saying I needed to move out of my grandmother’s house and get my own place. The thing was; I didn’t want to, and she didn’t want to. We were known to each other as “The Golden Girls.” On a day-to-day basis, we would hang out, shop, and talk about men. It was a really special relationship. This could have been my friend for a lifetime, and for a moment she was. My grandmother told me that she would trust me with all medical decisions at one point.

I felt that I was at risk of getting too close. I knew that I was growing older and, well, she was as well. I remember that I would work many hours, and she would tell me constantly, “You’re burning the candle at both ends.” And when I think of this saying today, that was our friendship. One side was burning more quickly than the other. I was in a race against time. Time, as we know it, is never on your side. So naturally, I thought it was best to separate myself; and I did. I took the advice of my family and went on to get my own place. I remember the first day I moved out; you wrote me this:

”To my “Golden Girl”. I love you and will miss you. I hope everything goes good for you because, you deserve it. Just be safe and don’t take any wooden nickels, always watch your back and remember we are always here for you. I wont be home tomorrow so take care and god speed”

Days before she died, I was sitting next to her watching the “Golden Girls” on the sofa. She asked me, “What are you going to do without me?” and in reply, I simply said… miss you every day. She passed away five days later. And I miss her every day.

I am getting married in two weeks, and it’s going to be a moment I am sure I will think of my grandmother. I am going to remember everything she taught me and live my life through her values. That’s the best that I can do: to not let her down and not accept any wooden nickels.

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The Tower upright

In a tarot card reading, cards are used to predict the future. They are shuffled in a way and placed in a random fashion where only randomness predicts the future. Each card drawn represents different aspects of life, allowing for deep insights into personal circumstances, relationships, and potential outcomes that may not be immediately visible. The intuitive interpretation of these cards guides the reader, revealing connections between the past, present, and future while helping the querent reflect on their life’s journey and the choices before them. This ancient practice is steeped in symbolism and meanings that resonate with universal truths, offering clarity and guidance that can illuminate the path ahead. The tower upright is the card of sudden and unexpected change and a new beginning, embodying the potential for transformation and growth. In my life, I would learn that events would unfold that even “Ms. Cleo” would have not seen, as the twists and turns of fate often bring surprises that challenge our understanding and push us toward new horizons. Recognizing these shifts allows us to embrace the unpredictability of life, focusing on resilience and adaptability as we navigate through the complexities of existence.

The house that we lived in was a starting point of an exciting but yet downward spiral, a labyrinth of emotions and unspoken words. As an adult, my family enlightened me about the world around me as a young child, sharing stories that were both enlightening and troubling, revealing the hidden layers of life that I was blissfully unaware of. When I was young, I didn’t see the chaos around me because I was in my small world, a cocoon of innocence filled with laughter and play. Meanwhile, living in my small world, the grownups had their own story to tell, laden with secrets and struggles that often went unnoticed by children. From the cops knocking on the door looking for a certain someone to the infidelity that would shake the foundation of family, life unfolded in ways that were both curious and unsettling. I even remember late visits as I slept in the hallway, being touched, not knowing what was happening—only my body’s response to wetting the bed and me telling myself boys will be boys, inner narratives that were formed to ease the discomfort of confusion and fear. As an adult, it makes all sense to me why I was responding the way I was, piecing together the fragments of memories that were once blurred and complicated. Even some of these events as a child still haunt me today, resurfacing in quiet moments when I least expect them. Infidelity is the utmost betrayal, and I have seen it destroy families, including my own, leaving scars that time may heal, but never truly erase. It serves as a haunting reminder of the complexities of relationships and the fragility of trust, forever altering our perceptions of love and stability.

I was young and I was a mama’s boy, and I am still to this day. I love my mother very much, and I think a mix between the two of them—my mother and my grandmother—shaped who I am today. Their nurturing spirits instilled in me values of kindness, resilience, and the importance of family bonds. Combined with wisdom and life’s harsh lessons, wake-up calls, and close moments where life could tragically change, I grew tough skin over the years, learning to embrace challenges as opportunities for growth. Even so, no matter how tough you can be, even the past can bring you down on the sunniest days, reminding me that vulnerability is a part of the human experience and that it’s okay to feel deeply, even amidst strength.

Thinking back on those events in the townhome, I only remember certain pieces as this part of my life was supercharged, fast-forward, and short. I remember having company over to my house, strangers who came and went, bringing with them an air of uncertainty and excitement, like a whirlwind of unfamiliar faces and laughter that echoed through the halls. There was this one guy whose name I didn’t know; however, he always enjoyed tucking me into bed, rubbing his hands along my side in a way that was both comforting and unsettling. As I lay there, his presence stirred a mix of emotions within me. My own mother never tucked me into bed in such a way; I couldn’t help but wonder why this felt so different. The boundaries of innocence seemed crossed and blurred during those chaotic nights, and as I drifted off to sleep, the fear seemed to slip away as my eyes closed. Now I begin to think what he may have done while I was asleep.

I remember one time the police knocked on the door looking for my uncle, only for my brothers, who were teenagers at the time, to boldly question the police on the validity of the information and if they had a warrant to search our residence. The house became unhinged, filled with noise and chaos, and we were a bunch of kids running amok, taking advantage of the confusion and energy in the air. I even remember one Christmas being canceled because one of my brothers and his friend decided to break into someone’s home and take their Christmas gifts, opening them in the woods behind our house, where the trees stood tall and silent, witnesses to their foolish adventure. Later, the police knocked on the door explaining to my parents that they needed to pay for the stuff that was damaged, a heavy reality that settled over the house like a dark cloud. Christmas was canceled, and our stuff was returned to pay for their items, leaving us feeling the weight of disappointment and the loss of holiday cheer. I remember one night when one of my parents had a friend over, and stuff happened; well, the other parent in the house found out, and it inadvertently started the tipping point of divorce. It was the tower upright in that moment, a jarring revelation that would forever change the dynamics of our family. It was a dramatic needed change, a moment where chaos and despair set the stage for something bigger, as the foundations of our lives shifted, prompting growth and new directions amid the turmoil.

In this moment of life; there were some really crazy moments that shook the foundation of family in many ways. The purpose of this writing is to work through traumas and share my story. It’s not to cast a reflection on those involved in a negative way; however, to reflect on their stories as well and say that everything that has happened is not as crystal clear as it may seem. Still struggling with the answers in my head; I can’t hold anyone accountable here. However, I can talk about it because it’s my story and in the same respect theirs, as I don’t know what was happening in their mind. Each family member had their own challenges, emotions, and struggles that I can only imagine. In the end; my family was torn apart by actions that may never be explained and would never be forced to explain due to the utmost respect I have for my parents.

I remember the heavy silence that filled our home, a stark contrast to the laughter that once echoed within its walls. So please forgive me if I am beating around the bush in this writing piece; however, it’s only to protect my family. At this moment, my mother and father were getting a divorce, and us kids were left in my father’s care; a complete challenge for any single father with four boys. The endless bickering and the palpable tension made it difficult to find a moment of peace. The battle between mother and father started. Lowball name-calling to skipping weeks of visitation; the family was, in short, a complete mess. I often found myself caught in the middle, trying to navigate this turbulent sea of adult emotions, longing for a return to simpler times when everything felt safe and secure.

One day, while my father was working, he had an accident during routine maintenance on heavy machinery. He often worked close to deep manholes, which were a significant risk. On that day, a wrong move caused him to fall into a manhole, where he desperately grabbed the ladder to save himself.

My father sustained severe injuries from a fall and required emergency medical intervention to stabilize his condition. I remember I went over to my grandmother’s house where she was praying for my father as we sat on the floor in her living room, tears running down her face as she pled for God to have mercy on him and bring him back to health. We didn’t know what was going on in the moment; however, hours later we found my father was expected to survive, which brought us a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos. My father had a long recovery process ahead; however, this also caused a financial burden that loomed over our family like a dark cloud. My father, being a single dad with four boys, had already faced numerous challenges, and now, with a newly purchased home that went through a divorce, his struggles were compounded. In the end, the house was foreclosed, and we were forced to move, leading to a new chapter in my life, one filled with uncertainty but also with the possibility of resilience and strength as we adapted to our new circumstances.

The Tower tarot card symbolizes sudden change and new beginnings, reflecting the potential for transformation and growth.

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That Brick in the Wall

When I start to think of this segment of my life, the one thing that comes to mind is “Another Brick in the Wall Pt. 2” by Pink Floyd and the new school that I would attend: Chase Elementary. I didn’t understand why I had to switch schools, and it came down to zones that mapped where each child belonged. This made the transition confusing and daunting for me. I remember Trevon was in my class, which made the first day not as stressful, as I felt a sense of familiarity in the midst of change. Also, my brother Kennith attended the same school, just in a different grade, which provided an extra layer of comfort since I knew I’d have someone to lean on if I felt overwhelmed. Chase would become my school from this point on, shaping my early experiences and friendships. As any kid, I made my way through grade school, and I was a big fan of the rectangle pizza served in the cafeteria, a highlight that I always looked forward to during lunch hour. There was this school janitor named Mr. Fred, who had white hair and a kind smile, and he would often greet us with a joke or a compliment. He would also tell me I looked like Alfalfa from the movie “Little Rascals,” which made me laugh despite my initial embarrassment. I remember at one point I had a pimple on my nose, and kids would call me Red Nose, but those small moments of teasing barely bothered me, as I was surrounded by friends who encouraged me to embrace my quirks. Ultimately, those experiences at Chase Elementary laid the foundation for cherished memories that would last a lifetime.

I remember one day at school we had a fire drill. I thought it was exciting to see the fire doors close on their own, and as a unit, we all gathered outside and faced the building from a safe distance, chatting anxiously about what we would do if it were a real fire. I thought this was interesting because I guess if there was a fire, they would have us all watch the place burn, witnessing the memories of our childhood turn to ashes. I didn’t understand the reasoning behind this self-inflicted trauma, but can you imagine? Watching your school burn as the memories fade away in smoke and flames, the laughter of friends mingling with the crackling of fire, a surreal and heart-wrenching scene. I am sure there would be some kids happy, perhaps viewing it as something great; however, some would be traumatized, I’m sure, left with haunting visions of lost classrooms and childhood. Anyway, this particular day there was no fire, just a drill, thankfully. We returned back to our classrooms and finished out the day, discussing among ourselves what we would have done if it had been real. The school bell would ring, and we all headed to our school buses, relieved that everything had gone smoothly. Finally, the day was over and the school bus had finally made it to my stop. I noticed something different; Kennith was not on the bus, which struck me as odd. I ran inside to alert my family of Kennith being missing, only to find them in the house and my dad yelling at him, a puzzling scene that made me wonder just what had happened.

I remember learning that the fire drill that day wasn’t a drill at all but a different kind of emergency. The school was evacuated because of my brother, who had found himself in a precarious situation that no one, least of all my parents, had anticipated. This was the argument that my parents were having with my brother in the middle of it, voices raised in a mix of concern and frustration as they tried to understand his decisions. I didn’t understand the situation because I was young, my mind filled with confusion as I watched the adults around me react with urgency. However, my brother was no longer a classmate at my school, having moved on to a different chapter in his life, but the memories of that chaotic day still lingered in my mind.

The next day, things seemed normal and my days would continue as if they were part of a well-rehearsed play. Lost in the life of childhood, time was nonexistent, a mere illusion we danced with day after day. The days seemed short, and the years seemed shorter, as if the universe conspired to make them fly by in a whirlwind of laughter and joy. Being thirty-six, writing this now, it almost seems like it was yesterday when I think on this memory; the vivid colors of that time are etched in my mind like a beautiful painting. During the May Day parade, I was a skipper, someone who would skip around the pole, bedazzling those who watched with my carefree spirit and unbridled enthusiasm. I had classmates as friends, companions in exploration, and each day we waved goodbye as we would go home on our buses, eagerly sharing stories and secrets of our adventures with one another. And each day we would repeat the process as if we had all the time in the world, blissfully unaware of how quickly each moment was passing. The only thing that could help us remember that we were growing was the classes that we would progress to, each new grade a gentle reminder that childhood would eventually fade into adulthood. Birthdays didn’t matter because it was the same every year; they passed like gentle waves lapping at the shore of our lives. It wasn’t about the gifts and the cake and the experience; it was about going to the next day for that great adventure, where each sunrise held the promise of new memories waiting to be made and cherished.

Finally, I felt like a kid, and well, I had friends who truly understood me. I was learning from everyone around me, absorbing their kindness and laughter, and everyone seemed okay with me as a person; I don’t remember any complaints to taint those joyful memories. I only remember compliments about how nice I was and how cute I was as a kid, which filled me with a sense of belonging and happiness. As I progressed in grade school, I remember the 5th grade and the uncertainty of middle school looming ahead, a time that felt both exciting and daunting. Each year, I felt the sadness overcome me as I said goodbye to my friends, who had been such a significant part of my childhood since before I felt so lonely only connecting with nature. We can only hope to see each other next year, clinging to the dreams of reunions, and we even knew as kids that it’s not always the case, but there was a comforting relief in the bonds we had formed that would forever be a part of us, no matter where life took us.

Another school year is over and summer vacation has started. We wave goodbye to our friends, some crying, me being one of them; we looked forward to our future of classes together, reminiscing about the countless memories we created throughout the year. We shared a positive outlook and asked what schools we would attend next year, eagerly discussing the new adventures that awaited us. We would exchange phone numbers and write notes to each other, promising to stay connected despite the changes looming ahead.

We were so innocent then, unknowing of what lay ahead, blissfully unaware of the challenges and responsibilities that came with growing up. For now, it was summer vacation and it was time for unlimited playdates filled with laughter, ice cream, and carefree days spent under the sun. We didn’t know what the future held, but as kids, it didn’t really matter; our biggest worry was which park to visit first. We were safe and we had each other, forging bonds that felt unbreakable in that fleeting moment of childhood freedom, where every day felt like a new adventure waiting to unfold.

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New Beginnings

During my life, I found myself moving around a lot, experiencing the thrill and uncertainty that came with each new location. Often, I compared my life to that of a gypsy; always ready to move and packing light, I embraced a lifestyle that made transitions easier. The world was my playground, and each new place brought its own set of adventures and challenges. At some point, while living on the water, my parents informed the family that we were going to be moving into a three-floor townhome not far from our current home. This change excited me, as I envisioned the new friendships I might forge and the adventures that awaited us in our new neighborhood. The prospect of exploring a different environment ignited my curiosity, and I couldn’t wait to discover the hidden gems that would soon become a part of my everyday life.

The townhome that we were moving into had a full basement with three bedrooms, providing us ample space for both sleeping and playing. I remember the vibrant red carpet in the living room, which added a cozy warmth to the atmosphere, and even the red carpet leading upstairs, making it feel like we were stepping into a special place. My parents naturally took the master bedroom, which boasted a lovely view of the trees outback. My brothers and I were divided between the other two rooms; Ronny and Bobby were in one room while Kennith and I were in the other room. This was a really exciting moment for us because we moved into a bigger house that had many upgrades, allowing us to enjoy modern amenities that we had only dreamed of before. We had a beautiful fireplace in the living room, perfect for chilly evenings when we would gather as a family, and the overall space was much bigger than what we had before, making it easy for us to play games and spend time together without feeling cramped.

The neighborhood had many children of all ages and origins. I felt like our neighborhood was one of those that had a diverse group of kids. During this time, I made friends with several people in my community. I remember having multiple friends during this time and experiences that I would remember for a lifetime. This was also the time I tried seaweed crisps from my Korean friend who lived down the street. It seemed that this new place was full of excitement and new adventures. There was even a large empty reservoir that we kids would sled down in the winter months. We were an active neighborhood, and it was something that I had never experienced in my life.

Making friends was always hard, so I would find myself asking children, “Would you be my friend?” Having that social anxiety at a young age can be really hard, and walking into a new neighborhood trying to make friends is even harder, especially when everything feels so foreign and intimidating. A couple of houses down from where we lived, I made friends with three people, each bringing their own unique energy to our group. I remember this Korean girl that I was friends with; however, I can’t remember her name. We would share stories and laughter while trying new foods together, like those intriguing seaweed crisps that I initially found peculiar but grew to love, and those brown noodles that possessed a flavor I can never replicate as an adult, no matter how hard I try. My friend lived at the end of the block in the last house. Her mother and her daughter were extra special to me, inviting me in and providing friendship and motherly love that felt comforting amidst my uncertainties. We would bake cookies and play board games for hours, creating a safe haven filled with joy and laughter. Our friendship would fall short; her father passed away, and with that, she moved, leaving a void of friendship that lingered in my heart. I never saw her again, and the memories of those carefree days became bittersweet reminders of youth and innocence lost.

I made other friends in the neighborhood. I made friends with Luis and Rebecca, who lived two doors down, and Trevon, who lived around the corner in the back of the neighborhood. We often spent our afternoons exploring the various nooks and crannies of our neighborhood, discovering hidden treasures. I would often find myself enjoying tea parties on the green box with my friend Rebecca. We would just relax in the sun and play with our toys, ignoring everything around us as we created elaborate stories about the imaginary worlds we were in. I remember one time I was in their living room, and I put my legs behind my head as Rebecca pushed me, rolling me around on the floor joyfully, our laughter echoing off the walls. We even had campfires where we would roast marshmallows and tell campfire stories, trying to scare each other with tales of ghosts and mysteries that surrounded our neighborhood.

Whenever one friend wasn’t home, I would go to another friend’s house, always finding someone to share an adventure with. Trevon and I would hang out sometimes and play video games late into the night, our competitive spirits shining through as we battled on different worlds. He introduced me to a game called “Lemmings,” a strategy game where you have to guide these green-haired creatures to safety. A childhood video game that still exists today and remains a fun memory. I remember my friends and I would often leave pennies or quarters on the train tracks behind our house for the trains to run over. The anticipation of collecting them the next day was always fun because the coins would be flat and unrecognizable, transformed into something uniquely ours. Looking back, those moments filled with carefree laughter and imagination hold a special place in my heart, reminding me of a time when everything felt magical and limitless.

During this time in my life, I remember this new adventure that seemed really remarkable. It was a place where we could foster friendships and still be a family, surrounded by neighbors. We were in a new place that was bigger than our last, offering us the space to spread out and explore, both inside our home and in the vast backyard that invited laughter and play. A place that we called ours because the last place was a rental, and finally being able to call something our own filled us with pride and excitement.

Owning a home and having a nuclear family is the American Dream, and finally, we had it, feeling a sense of belonging that was both comforting and exhilarating. It seemed in this moment as a kid I was normal, living the life I had always envisioned. I had that normal life with friends who came over to play, sharing experiences and creating memories, along with life lessons from the environment around me that shaped who I would become. Each day was filled with adventures, discovering what it meant to be part of a community and cherishing the simple joys of childhood that would stay with me forever.

Powell, A. (2024, February 10). Lemmings (video game). Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lemmings_(video_game) 

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The Tree of Life

I wanted to take a moment for reflection. As I write, I am unpacking the very moments of my life that were tucked away, hidden in the corners of my memory, waiting for the right time to be explored. These types of traumas take time for reflection and also a moment of healing, like the delicate process of a flower slowly unfurling its petals. When I write this, what comes to mind is the tree of life, a powerful symbol of growth, resilience, and the continuous cycle of existence. And as I write this, just outside my window is a tree, and in my heart and mind, it represents the tree of life.

I watch the cycles of this tree from winter to spring, observing its transformation with a sense of wonder and appreciation. Looking bare and cold, almost dead-like in the winter, it stands as a reminder of the harshness of life. While the spring shows the opposite of things; the tree budding and life is taking place, bursting forth with vibrant greens and blossoms that signal renewal and hope. Oftentimes, reflecting, my grandma’s voice enters my heart and says, “look at God’s wonder,” a phrase that resonates deeply within me, urging me to find beauty even in the darkest times. I am not all that religious; however, I know what life and death truly are, the intricate dance we all partake in. Sometimes I feel my best friend is death; not because I want to or need to experience it, but because it has been a companion in my journey. It’s just the odds lead me to it, and I witnessed it at a very young age, shaping my understanding of existence in profound ways. Can you imagine? I escaped death twice; looking like this tree, I too was bare, stripped of the vibrancy and life force that once defined me. And as I write, I too begin to bud, and life takes shape, embracing the healing journey ahead. It’s healing; it’s the power of shaping who you are to be, allowing the experiences of the past to inform a brighter, more resilient future.

I often think that people in general have gifts. As I write this today, I want to open the door to anyone who is reading this, and I apologize if I might sound odd. Do you feel connected in the great circle of life? Let me explain and try to break this down the best that I can. I am sure I am not the only human on this earth who has trauma. However, for those like me, how you deal with those traumas makes you different. So, for example, take myself. I was alone for most of my life. I had that nuclear family, and I went to public school, so opportunity was there. It was just that I couldn’t connect, and because of that, I was alone. It was not anything anyone did at that time; it was just me and my own self. Because of this, I often found myself engaging in things that normal people wouldn’t engage in. And for me, it was nature. I carefully studied everything I could, from the mole holes in the ground to the butterflies that flew around mom’s garden. I had the world to explore, while the typical kids like my brothers would just ride their bikes and do what kids do. Me, however, I found peace in the world around me. Mother Nature became my friend, and the bees and the sunflowers were my sisters and my brothers. If I interacted with them, I felt they would interact with me, and often, with bees, even they can sting when they are mad; just like humans. During those solitary moments, I would sit for hours in the lush grass, watching the clouds drift by, lost in thoughts that seemed to echo in the gentle breeze. I became a silent observer of life, soaking in the intricate dances of insects and the rustle of leaves, learning lessons not from books or classrooms, but from the very rhythm of the earth. It was a profound realization that each creature, no matter how small, held its own unique significance within the tapestry of existence. This connection to nature shaped my understanding of belonging and resilience, teaching me that even in solitude, one can find companionship in the simplest of things—the rustle of the grass, the warmth of the sun, and the delicate flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

I remember when I lived in this apartment as an adult with my now fiancé. Before my grandmother passed away, she came over to check out my new apartment, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and love. For some reason, looking back on it now, it seems this was her mission, a final opportunity to impart her wisdom. She climbed the steps that, in her mind, were seemingly impossible to conquer, each step representing her determination. When she finally reached the top and looked around, the joy on her face was palpable. She took in our one-bedroom apartment, her gaze sweeping across the space, eventually landing on the breathtaking overview of the water, which cast its reflection of the sky above in a shimmering dance.

My grandmother looked around and said, “this will do,” her voice laced with a sense of approval and contentment. Not knowing what she meant then, I understand now the weight of her words; I needed that connection to what lay ahead in my life. Careless of the warnings that echoed in my mind, I was simply enchanted by my grandmother’s company and the stories she shared so effortlessly. I remember her looking out the windows, her finger pointing excitedly at a duck paddling gracefully as it swam in the cold waters below. She said, “You see that, Patrick?” I replied with a smile, “Yes, I do.” Grandma then added, “That’s God’s wonder right there.” Her words struck a chord within me, and I felt a warmth spread through my heart. I nodded and replied, “Well, of course it is.” It was impossible to disagree because she was undeniably right. That duck was doing things that us humans could not do—effortlessly gliding through the water, completely devoid of concern or care in the world. The message resonated deeply; this duck possessed a kind of freedom and power that seemed to transcend my human experience. Yes, I may have free thought and the capacity for reflection, but it became evident that this simple creature had an edge over me.

In just a matter of seconds, my grandmother had taught me a great life lesson, one that would linger in my mind long after her departure. And in that moment, I learned what my gift was, the ability to appreciate the simple wonders of life, and to carry forward the lessons imparted by those we love.

A majestic tree adorned in vibrant autumn colors, symbolizing growth and the beauty of life’s cycles.

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June 14th 1988 04:07

June 14th 1988 was a special day for me. This will be the day that I came into this earth in my mother’s loving arms, surrounded by the gentle whispers of hope and dreams for the future. Born a Gemini; I knew I was different before I could even mentally register I was different, feeling the duality within me even as a newborn.

My mother and my father weren’t really planning for another child nine months ago; however, here I am, a true testament to the beautiful surprises life can bring. I know my mom loves me to the core, and she cared so deeply for me, nurturing me with her kindness and affection. Maybe if I can dig into the hidden parts of my memory, I can still feel the warmth and protection of my mother’s belly, where I was cradled in a world of love and safety. You know that warm feeling when you snuggle up against something where it’s so warm and comforting, you know you’re safe? That’s the feeling… the world could crash around you, and you wouldn’t even notice, wrapped in the cocoon of maternal love, where all your worries are far away, and you feel an enduring sense of belonging that shapes who you are as you begin this journey of life.

I was told stories of my birth, and it doesn’t sound as charming as anyone I compared it to. My father was in the navy at the time and was stationed in Charleston, South Carolina, a bustling port town full of history and a vibrant community. I can’t recall the name of the base at the time of this writing or the events leading up to the birth, but I often find myself imagining the world they inhabited, rich with the sounds of seagulls and the distant calls of sailors. I know I asked my mother a million times what it might have been like, yearning to piece together the fragments of my origin. From my memory, I can recall her telling me she remembers looking at the moon, its silvery glow casting light over the landscape, illuminating the hopes and dreams of a new family. The moon sounds enchanting, and that warm, cool morning showed no mercy to the challenges of life; instead, it offered a gentle promise of new beginnings, where love and perseverance intertwined, setting the stage for the journey that lay ahead.

The doctor informs my mother at some point that her baby had a critical emergency and that her baby was at risk. My mother, aware of her own strength and resilience, took a deep breath and focused on the power of her belief in herself and her child. She was determined that her baby was going to make it against all odds. Angry and feeling an overwhelming sense of protectiveness, my mother firmly told the doctor to leave; she refused to let external fears dictate the course of her labor. Instead, she continued to embrace the painful yet beautiful process of bringing me into the world, ignoring the true dangers that may have lurked ahead. The nurse, sensing my mother’s unwavering spirit and fierce determination, was the only medical professional authorized by my mother to continue the labor process, offering support and encouragement without imposing any limitations. And then it happened; I came into the world, a symbol of my mother’s bravery and an embodiment of hope amidst turmoil.

Thinking on this story, I can only think of my mother’s trauma and the profound impact it had on her life. I can’t imagine any mother being told she may lose her child, a fear that must shake the very foundation of her being. Writing this today, I see the beauty in women and the incredible ability to create life. This journey of bringing a new life into the world is filled with immense emotional challenges and profound joys. The project of creating life and being responsible for that life to grow for nine months is a true endeavor, one that demands strength, love, and resilience. Even after the project continues, as mothers navigate the complexities of raising their children, they’re constantly evolving alongside them, forging bonds that are both beautiful and challenging, filled with hopes, dreams, and aspirations for the future. This sacred role of motherhood is a testament to the depth of a woman’s capacity to nurture and sacrifice.

I was born into a loving family of five, where laughter and warmth filled every corner of our home. My father and mother were always present, creating a strong foundation for us, and my siblings—Ronny, Bobby, and Kennith. A family picture was taken where all my brothers proudly held me, a tiny marvel nestled in their arms. Looking back on those cherished moments, I can only imagine how happy and secure I was as an infant, surrounded by so much love and support. The world was a vast and exciting place, full of wonders just waiting to be explored, and I am sure there were times when I approached it with a sense of caution. Even so, there were moments of surprise that made me cry, whether it was the laughter of a sibling that startled me or the sight of a new toy that I had never seen before. Each emotion was a part of the beautiful tapestry of my early years, filled with the innocence of youth and the unwavering love of my family.

As an infant, I can only go on pictures and, of course, the memories of others. My perspective at that time is shaped by the limited experiences I could comprehend; my memory is extremely limited. As I grew, the world around me changed dramatically, filled with new sounds, faces, and sensations that influenced my early understanding of life. My father was discharged from the military, which marked a significant transition for our family; my mother, a steadfast military wife, had to adapt to this new reality, balancing the remnants of military discipline with the unpredictability of civilian life. I often hear that being part of a military family or having parents entrenched in military life can be inherently challenging, filled with frequent relocations, emotional farewells, and the constant worry for loved ones deployed. When I sit here and think about it, I can only imagine the complexity and emotional weight of those experiences—an intricately woven tapestry of pride, anxiety, and resilience. Regardless, during this fragile time of my life as an infant, I was spared those weighty memories and concerns. As my memory fast-forwards through time, it leads me to a vivid place in Baltimore, MD, where I can almost feel the vibrant life around me, sensing the heartbeat of the city and the warmth of family connections that would shape my childhood.

Living down by the water off the Chesapeake Bay, I would love the beautiful morning sunrises that painted the skies in shades of orange and pink. The warmth of the sun as it struck my face every morning was a gentle reminder of the new day ahead, making me feel alive as I glared out my bedroom window toward the horizon. The water was calm every morning, as if it was a mirror that reflected the sky’s vibrant colors, creating a serene and peaceful atmosphere. I would often hear the distant sounds of the morning fishermen, their boats gently bobbing as they prepared to start their day. I distinctly remember watching the boats’ bows split the stillness of the water, producing a tranquil rhythm accompanied by the clam noise of water splashing against the hulls. Spring and fall mornings were my favorite, the coolness of the air bringing a refreshing energy that invigorated my spirit. The sweet smell of grass filled the atmosphere, mingling with Mother Nature’s aromatic bouquet, a blend of rich earthiness and floral hints that delighted my senses. My favorite scent is the unmistakable smell of a fall or spring mornings, a captivating experience that evokes memories of cozy sweaters, crisp leaves underfoot, and the beauty of nature awakening all around me.

The stage was set, and I felt like the luckiest kid ever because even as a child I knew what beautiful was. And to top everything off, my best friend lived down the street; my grandma. I remember so many times my mother would look for me, wondering where I was, and all she had to do was call her mom and ask if I was there. And of course, to no surprise, I was. Sometimes my mother didn’t even need to call because my grandma would start making her famous spaghetti, and you already know I was there. The aroma wafting through the air was irresistible, a delightful blend of herbs and simmering sauce that made my mouth water in anticipation. I knew it was spaghettini night, a cherished occasion that meant laughter, stories, and warmth around the kitchen table. That was just one of the many meals I would fall in love with, each bite wrapped in memories of joy, love, and the simple happiness of being surrounded by family.

I started elementary school and I distantly remember riding the bus to school, a yellow beacon that marked the beginning of my daily adventures. I remember who my bus driver was now. She was this sweet lady whose warmth and kindness made the bus feel like a safe haven. Later, I would find out she owned a crabbing business, a detail that added a layer of intrigue to her character. My first bus driver was extra special to me because I felt she knew I was a special kid, someone who perhaps needed a little extra attention. I would either sit right behind her or in the seat directly across from that one, where I could catch glimpses of her reassuring smile in the rearview mirror. I was always in her sight as I could feel the comforting motherly protection that whispered to me that nothing would happen to me on those rides. She would play pop music on the radio, filling the air with a sense of joy, and at the time, Ace of Base was playing “The Sign,” a song that would become forever etched in my memory. I remember the bus going over the bumps on the road as the song played, the rhythmic thumping matching the excitement fluttering in my chest as we made our way to school. In my mind, the world around me, viewed through the lens of my young eyes, felt narrow, confined, and yet filled with endless possibilities, like the blank pages of a book yet to be written. My journey was just beginning, not knowing what lay ahead—the friendships to be formed, the lessons to be learned, or the hidden dangers of leaving home that would come to shape my understanding of the world outside my small bubble.

I climb aboard and sit in the seat that is comforting to me, feeling the familiar embrace of the soft leather fabric surround me. The music plays, weaving through the air like a gentle breeze, and my journey begins. As the rhythmic melodies envelop my senses, I close my eyes for a moment, letting the soothing sounds transport me to distant places where adventure awaits. The vibrations of the engine hum beneath me, adding a pulse to the peaceful atmosphere, and I can’t help but smile at the anticipation of the experiences that lie ahead. With each note that dances through my ears, the world outside fades away, replaced by dreams of discovery and the thrill of exploration.

My journey begins…

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Hey Y’all

“Hey Y’all” was a saying that is said often when you enter a filled room of people, instantly breaking down barriers and creating a sense of community among attendees. A southern term of warm welcoming to whoever may be there, it encapsulates the essence of southern hospitality, inviting everyone to feel at home regardless of their background. This simple phrase carries with it a warmth that can be felt in gatherings, casual barbecues, festive celebrations, or formal events. It was a kind gesture and depending on who is there, this gesture will also make you classy, reflecting a sincere appreciation of others’ presence and fostering connections that can last beyond the moment.

My grandma taught me many things, and her lessons continue to resonate deeply within me. I was a grandma’s boy till the day she left this beautiful earth of ours, and the bond we shared was something extraordinarily special. She taught me that in life, it’s primarily about the simple things that often go unnoticed. Each day we are bestowed with miracles that are simply given for free, just for the privilege of being here. It’s like the golden ticket, you know? To have life in general is so precious and rare that each of us has won a prized bull in this cosmic lottery. The air you breathe, the food that you eat, the laughter shared with loved ones—everything in life has a perfect balance, and it is this balance that makes each of us unique and remarkable.

I would like to think my grandma was the glue that held our family together. She was the heartbeat of our household, always radiating warmth and love. My grandma was the one who brought everyone together during major holidays, her cheerful presence a constant reminder of the joy of family. She would wear her best dress or a holiday-themed sweater, which only added to the festive atmosphere. What I remember most vividly is the aura of love she carried with her; the warmth she brought into any room or situation could brighten the darkest days.

In times of difficulty, when there was family tension or issues that needed addressing, I just knew she was the one who would settle the drama. Her unique ability to navigate through conflicts with grace was nothing short of enchanting; she could snap anyone into place who needed a gentle nudge back to reality. Her wisdom and compassionate nature inspired respect and affection from everyone around her. She was the person I aspired to be—someone who could bring light into the lives of others, showing them the beauty of kindness, patience, and love. My grandma’s legacy lives on in each cherished memory and the values she instilled in me.

Our family is far from perfect. Like any family, we have our sad stories, major losses, moments of tragedy, and hardship that we have had to face together. In my family, it may seem that we are the most dysfunctional family ever; however, the reality is that when it’s time to come together or when it’s time for the family to show up for one another, we do it. We rise to the occasion and we do it well. Despite our differences, quirks, and occasional squabbles, we understand the importance of unity in difficult times. We put all of our differences aside for a moment and tackle whatever challenges we may need to address as a unit, drawing strength from the bonds we share. It’s in these moments of collective effort that we realize the depth of our love and support for one another, proving that family, despite its imperfections, is incredibly resilient.

But just like every family, there are stories. Stories that are locked away, buried deep within the crevices of memory. Stories that, for me, represent trauma—some noticeable while others fade into the background. The life I experienced was nothing short of complicated; it was not marked by a lack of care or love from my parents. Rather, it was the atmosphere surrounding me and the unspoken tensions that lingered within that atmosphere that shaped my reality. The best way I can explain it is through a metaphor: imagine yourself on a path leading into the woods. You know the path well because you have traveled it many times before, yet you are acutely aware that the darkness of the woods harbors hidden dangers, both seen and unseen. That was my life. The family being the path, familiar and seemingly safe, while the woods represented the uncertainty and fears that lay beyond the comfort of the known. I learned at an early age that even if you are part of a family that cares for and loves you deeply, it does not shield you from the complexities and harsh realities of the outside world. My voice, at that time, was small, often unrecognized, and I struggled with not knowing what was wrong or right amidst the confusion. This internal battle was compounded by an overwhelming sense of isolation, as I grappled with the weight of emotions that seemed too heavy for my young shoulders to bear.

Looking back at my life for the longest time and as far back as I can remember, I kind of figured things out by myself, navigating the complexities of childhood without much guidance. Yes, I had brothers; however, they were older brothers, and I was the youngest, which often left me feeling isolated. So by default, oftentimes my brothers would go off and play, riding their bikes, and during those moments, I often found myself by myself, watching them from a distance, longing to join but unsure how to bridge that gap. I didn’t know how to make friends at a young age. I was shy and stuck to myself, often preferring the comfort of solitude over the anxiety of social interactions. Whenever I was in school, for some reason, I found myself still by myself, getting picked last for every group class activity, which only deepened my feelings. Am I that bad? Do I smell? Taking things personally at a young age or learning what personal means is hard, and I internalized those doubts, letting them spiral into a narrative that questioned my worth. Being socially accepted and trying to fit in is difficult, like trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces. I didn’t know how to socially connect, so I just kind of faked it till I made it, masking my insecurities with a smile. Yes, I played basketball, yes, I played football… just some things I would say to fellow classmates just to fit in, suggesting I was like them, but the truth was far from that. The reality is I didn’t do any of these things, and when it was time to show, I would flop and flop again, stumbling through my attempts to impress. Inexperienced and obviously to others needing attention, this was to some easy pickings, a target who appeared vulnerable and uncertain. To some, this was a perfect victim, an opportunity to assert their own dominance or elevate their social standing. I became a target of anyone who could prey on my weakness, and in this case, bullying became a relentless shadow, haunting my days and feeding my insecurities, leaving me to wonder if I would ever find my place among my peers.

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Come on in

“Come on in” was a saying that my grandmother used to say. It’s a southern term of warm welcoming. My grandmother was a southern girl who could give you that warm comfort every time you saw her or spoke to her. If you were in trouble, you could hear it in her voice: “Go outside and pick out yourself a switch,” or her motherly love: “Come on, hun, why are you so upset?” She was that grandma that you didn’t want to mess with.

My grandmother is my hero; she will be mentioned a lot, and as she should. She was my rock, and when she passed away, it was a turning point in my life. She would always tell me, “You’re my guy,” and I would just smile at her, knowing that means she loved me and I was her favorite.

My grandmother wrote a book herself called “Pure Endurance” by Joan E. Parrish. I think the title says a lot about who she is as a person. She was strong and she overcame many obstacles. Life wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t easy either. In my life, and as you read and follow this path with me, I also have many obstacles. I wanted to write; however, I didn’t know how to. How does someone write a book? I don’t even read books, let alone write one. Recently, I started listening to Audible. Now that… I can get with. A book… not so much. So here I am writing my blog, and here you are reading it. I guess maybe a book has too much structure? Chapters, you know? Will everything line up? Will everything make sense? Am I telling a story, or am I just saying what I feel? And then it struck me… blogging.

I want to tell my story to anyone who will listen. “Come on in” and make yourself comfortable. Everyone may consider this as a blog; however, I consider it a memoir. The feelings and statements are accurate. While some of my memories are filled with trauma, this is how I remember it.

The typical disclaimers apply: Some names and other details have been changed or omitted to protect the privacy of individuals. Any connections between a fictionalized name and a real person are strictly coincidental. If there are any posts containing dialogues, quotations are used when I am within reason that the speaker being quoted is verbatim or the meaning is being reflected.

This is my story….