Thursday, June 18, 2015


 My Mother told me numerous times that I was so sweet, and she had a story to back it up.  I really don't remember doing this, but she said I did, which is enough for me.
 She was ironing in our house in New Orleans one day.  I was nearby.  After all, I had learned not to stray to far.  Her bedroom was next to the ironing room.  I closed the door between the two rooms, and went into her bedroom.  There, on her dresser, sat a bottle of Chanel #5.  I thought it looked good, so I drank the whole bottle.  I suppose I got sick from doing that, and my Mother was not pleased, but she told me I got sweet after that.  I guess that is why mosquitoes love me too.
 My brother is almost 8 years older than me.  They used to live across town in the Garden District before I was born.  So, he had an orthodontist on that side of town.  After the seminary moved across town, so did they.  That was where I knew home.  When my brother needed to see his doctor, my mother would put him on the bus and send him to the orthodontist.  She didn't know that the bus went through the French Quarter, and my brother received an education that was not suitable for a 12-year old to see.  One day, the orthodontist requested for my brother to bring my Mother to his office.  So, both of them got on the bus.  After my Mother saw the route that the bus was taking, she told my brother that they were switching doctors.  My brother was disappointed. 
 My best friend in New Orleans was a boy named Paul Price.  His father taught at the seminary too.  Paul and I were the same age.  One day, he showed me the hatching of a chicken egg in his garage.  He had the egg under a bright light, and the chick came out.  I thought it was kind of gross, but it was my introduction to sex.  There was a large dog across the street from where I lived.  He tried to eat me one day.  I have a fear of large dogs from that experience.
 The house, that I spent the first 5 years of my life, was destroyed by Katrina some years ago.  When the levee broke, it flooded out the house.  A friend sent some pictures to me, and my heart was broken.  They had to tear down the rest and rebuild it.  So, if I ever go back, it won't be the same.  They say you can't go home again.

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