beginnings

No more than five, I knelt on my blue comfy chair next to my window. Not sure who told me to kneel or why I did, but through the curtains I peered up, up to no where in particular – just a place outside of myself. No practice or echo, I just asked. He answered.

Dr. Fish brought the revival. I couldn't help but listen. Your life is a house in which there are many rooms. He walks through them, stopping at each one to discuss this aspect of your life. He stops at a locked door. Knowing whats behind it, I won't open it. Then I give up. His words rang true in my ears. In proper fashion, my surprised parents walked me down to the front. No one told me to, but tears flowed. People surrounded me as Pam congratulated my parents. I just wept, proof if was real.

My frail, nine year-old body shook in the freezing water. I had to swim to get my badge for the week. My dad left me there shivering. Half way across I couldn't tell the water from my tears. Members of the under-dock tapole colony became close friends that week. I watched them grow into frogs. My couselor threw them out because they reeked. The quiet, shy kid now stood atop a ping-pong table on new legs to greet his parents.