1974 started out to be quite a year. Even now, I remember the sense of pride I had as my father filled out the official papers enrolling me in my new Jr. High School. It was Jan.30,1974. My birthday. I was 15 years old. I was in a brand new world.
I moved from Northern California where I had lived with my mom and 2 sisters to a suburb of Seattle, Washington. I do not remember how or when I moved. I do not really remember why I moved. Well, maybe I can guess. I was making life hard on my mother. It seems to me that life was hard. Life was not hard in comparison with the deep south or, say, Lebanon. I was a big, white boy. The few pictures of me from the time exude a confidence in what I cannot remember. I had asthma.I learned later that asthmatics often develop larger chest areas due to the struggle to breath. It seems life was hard for no reason; or none I could understand.
As he completed the forms and wrote the date he turned to me and shook my hand wishing me a Happy Birthday. It is as if, even now, the day had taken us both, my father and me, by surprise. I was to spend the next 6 months living with my father and his wife and her son.
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