SOML

On a Thursday in a small white-panelled home-- early February in the late 90's, I was born into a family of six. Dad, Mom and 4 older siblings.

I don’t remember much of that small white-panelled-home (least of all my birth, ha!), as I was just about two-and-a-half when we moved across town to a nice, bigger red-bricks-with-white-pillars home. But I have a few memories that took place there.

One such was frequently visiting our next-door neighbors (two families that lived to the north of us-- we lived on the corner), the Reeds and the Speeds. Sounds like two families from a Dr. Seuss book. The Reeds consisted of Lana and her teenage son James and newborn Zane. Lana was my buddy. Poor lady, I constantly begged her to carry me around as a (probably) 50-pound nearly-3-year-old. But she was very patient and gentle. James would often play with my older siblings-- usually baseball and such, even after we’d moved across town. I also remember once chasing after their dogs, Mack and Mattie, around the neighborhood when they had gotten out. My oldest brother had scooped me up in his arms, I think, for my poor little legs couldn’t keep up.

The Speeds were a family of four at that time. Two sons, Trevor and Calvin. Calvin was a little chunky happy toddler when we lived next to them-- I vaguely remember his first birthday party and how he got his cake ALL over his face. Their family also kept in touch with us for some years after we moved across town and we would often meet for play dates at both their house(s) (they ended up moving a few towns away several years later) and ours. Trevor was wild and rambunctious, Calvin was more goofy and also dubbed “The Cheese Monster” (he was my “twin” in this regard). They were both “all boy” and therefore we spent countless hours together in their tree forts, chasing and alternatively being chased by their dog Penny, playing Legos, and braving the battlefields of our backyards. I adored their mom. She was so kind and basically “adopted” my siblings and me into their family. I often think back and admire how she was a wonderful and involved mom to two boys, yet maintained a feminine essence.

Sometimes, at the white-panneled house, we would eat our dinner on the back porch. I remember one such time it was Spanish rice that we had.

At about 2-and-a-half, at the Cowboy church our home church hosted, there was a young man named Trent. Even to me, he seemed quite slightly built for his 20-or-so years. But his kind demeanor made him a man of great stature in my eyes. He would talk to me every week and was overall a good buddy to me. I had a stuffed animal piglet that I would bring with me, and he would animate it and make it “talk”, like a puppet. One week I came without Melissa the Pig, and Trent asked about it. “I don’t know where Melissa the Pig went. She’s lost,” I think I maybe even cried. Not sure.

Another memory I had was also related to the cowboy church. I think it may actually be two memories in one, or perhaps they happened two separate days. Not sure. Anyway, one Tuesday night, Mom decided to keep my sisters and me home from the cowboy church service. However, we had gone up the street one block to the church prior to the service (unsure of the reason for that). I remember being so disappointed that we weren’t staying for the service (probably because I wouldn’t get to see my buddy Trent) that I began crying, and being embarrassed about it (because by then, people started to arrive), I hid behind the door.

The second part to that memory (if it is instead on the same day) was that back home we were somehow made aware that the house across the street from the church had caught fire. We walked up the street to the church and watched the fire from the porch steps. I don’t believe anyone was hurt, but it left a lasting impression on me.