Gastown : Xanadu : Gringo

Memoirs of a Lone Baby Boomer

2. When I was one-and-a-half

When I was one-and-a-half we moved to San Diego (where my mother was born, where I grew up, on the Mexican frontier). I don't remember moving. I do remember the house we rented maybe two years in Normal Heights, very near my San Diego grandmother's house in North Park. A big rubber tire hung from the tree in our back yard. I liked to climb into it, straining to pull myself up, to hang over its rim on my belly, with head and arms on one side, legs and butt on the other.

My mother and wives will say why write that word, that idea? "I hate it when you eat with your fingers."

So writing my earliest memory becomes a lesson in social control.

Because my earliest memory is how I lost control one day in that house where I was two and three years old. Pooped in my pants -- the last time until I shall be senile or dead. I remember my embarrasment and shame over this failure to control myself. Isn't that what Freud said?

Maybe I was trying too hard. Climb up, climb up....

I think I shall be struggling, years later, just to write this spoor of words.

[Look it up.]

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INDEX

1. My grandmother of the north

3. The big engines growled and thrummed

4. I think I was three when we moved

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Send e-mail to the boomer thomas@masinternet.zzn.com

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Copyright 2001 Daniel Charles Thomas