Pin It Now!
The earliest memory I have begins with darkness. I am a captive. Black bounding walls constrain me. I’m suffocating, yet breathing, all is moist. I hear muffled yelling, it’s frantic, other voices cry abound. Confusion begins to set in, beyond my conscious thought. I know not who I am, but rather that I am. Alas! A blinding light separates from now what I know to be my mother’s vaginal walls. I am thrust into the open vacancy of oxygen, of life, and into my mother’s arms. She softly looks me in the eyes and I give out a large, voluptuous, “WHAZZ UP!!!” Next thing I know everyone’s high-fiving-
There I was, a slender chap, the tender age of three. The silver spoon of my birth had been thrust into the archives of my mind and in this particular scene I accompany my birth-giver, my mother.
She and I are standing in a line, wavering in the dense viscosity of the August air, waiting to update mother’s government issued identification. I watch as the ever-expanding queue increases with the protruding misery of each and every customer. The evil employees are snickering evil hyena-like laughter. Basking in the apparent anguish, taking their time to suckle at every last shroud of dismay, and refusing driver’s licenses for each and every minor flawed detail.
Seven hours pass and mother finally reaches the front desk, “Sorry were closed for the lunch hour,” a man says through his rat bastard smile, howling like a madman. Tears welter from mother face, but I simply stand as the assailant, along for the ride. Mother walks away, pulls me aside, and says, “The only worse people in the world, than the ones working in there, are teachers. More specifically, fifth grade teachers, probably named Mr. Thomas.”
I wasn’t sure if I agreed with mother back then, but now I am certain she was correct, if anything, understating the fact.