Portrait of a Childhood

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Once a upon a time and a dismal time it was, there was a little baby who was supposed to be born on Valentine's day but was born a month earlier. His mother told him that story. The little baby had no nickname, but he was called a lot of things because it was not a normal name. When he became a boy he met smaller little children who liked to finger paint just like him. He thought paint felt really cold and wet. Where does paint come from? Is paint like wax?

By five years he was on the carpet with the letters, learning to write. Then it was nap time on the mats and when he woke up the sky wasn't so blue. It was orange. His mother picked him up and they walked home. He put on his long socks and slid on the hardwood floors when he was home, because it was fun. There was music playing, but he was confused. Was music with a violin or a microphone?

He was taller, but he still liked paint and now he enjoyed movies very much. Loud movies scared him, but everyone else sat still. He and his cousins and nephews played hide and go seek, and he could hide the best because it was his house. As long as he stared the game, he got to be the leader. If they played power rangers he chose blue or green since he liked them best. Big people talked about sports, but it seemed to him they didn't play them. Why did people talk about sports, but not play them? Why did people wear jerseys with other people's names on them?

His grandma told him stories while he sat in the white chair. His mother told him the same stories, but a little different. His brother was big and talked real loud so he was called a loud mouth. He also talked too much. The boy wasn't loud and he liked to listen to others, to their stories. When he got bored he colored or went outside to play. During summer he went to basketball camp where he dribbled around orange cones forever. That was hard. How could playing be like work?





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