snippets

As a little girl I drove with my mother and younger
brother to an army base somewhere in California.
We waited for a long time until a man wearing
a dress uniform came to meet us. I was told to
say hello to this stranger and I shyly did as I was
told. I can not remember his name or even if I was
told it. 40 some odd years later I believe I saw that
man’s face again in a photo sent to me. I cant be sure,
but I think that man in the uniform that day was my father.

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I lived in San Jose California for much of my youth.
There was a vacant lot that became overgrown with
tall grasses in the summer. My friends and I used to
smash down the center of this field with our feet and
make a fort for ourselves. Occasionally what my mother
then called Hobo’s (homeless people) would wander into
our fort and frighten us away. We did any number of things
our mothers would have been shocked by. It was our secret
world. I kissed my first boy there and later a girl kissed me.
On the far end of this lot, orange California poppy’s grew.
A field of poppy’s as far as you could see. It was my favorite
place to sit and dream. I often laid down in it; letting the sky
meet my face, the sun beating down on me as I welcomed
the heat.

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I was born in 1959 and fancied myself a hippy at the age of 10.
Long skirts were sewn, peace signs emblazoned my denim jackets
and jeans. Mom sewed over sized bell bottom attachments to
stirrup pants. It was the height of fashion for a hippy wanna be.
I was too young and too late, but none of it mattered to me.

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I was once arrested for shoplifting.
I stole a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread and a pack of bologna.
My children were hungry. I no longer feel shame for that.
I did what any mother would do. I had to tell that truth
to Jan early on. It was my greatest shame to reveal.
She never thought less of me for it.

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When my mother died, I was given a sign I made for her
in woodshop class years before. She had hung this sign
in every home she lived in. Then a cane I once gave her on a
visit here was begrudgingly handed to me as well.
It was all I was allowed to have of her by my siblings.
Later, they sent me what I had asked for. The only thing I
wanted was the music she loved. A dusty old box of cassettes
arrived along with pictures I had sent her of my children over
the years. No empathy ever came my way from them, no
compassion for what I too had lost. Only hate for me.
She was also my mother.
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On the day I met Jan I waited on the front porch. I knew
she would be early. When she drove up to my home in her
little silver Honda car, the sun through the roof shined on her
gray hair. It glistened in the most appealing way.
She wore a leather jacket and sunglasses shielded her eyes.
She smiled as she drove down my driveway. I was immediately
taken with her look. It was only later that I learned that she
was honest and kind to all. It was then that my heart welcomed
her to stay. I still love her in a leather jacket.
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When we first met I wanted her to leave, she wanted to stay.
I drove her to the exit nearest my home and we said our final
good-byes at a gas station there. As she leaned in to kiss me
I burst into tears. My heart did not want her to leave.
She took the star of life necklace off that she never removed
and put it on my neck. With that act, I knew she would be back
for me. She was back three days later.