The day my sister was born I kissed the sky.  I felt like I belonged.  Life was new.  The strangeness of my family felt balanced and harmonic.  There was an echo of peace and calmness that I have since forgotten about until now.  David Morea was my neighbor, my best friend, and life was good.  I remember feeling safe before Run Hill Road. 

Baseball was my favorite escape.  I could lose myself in playing catch, in catching, in the dialogue between umpire, pitcher, and batsman without having to use words. 

At breakwater beach with Mac Gallant I would fish for crabs with beach grass, using muscles as bate.  You could hear them click their claws against the rocks.  They were green and slimy like the idea of aliens and I was afraid to touch them, like I was afraid to step on razor clams. It was the word razor and the idea of stepping on something sharp that my Dad shaved his face with .  It made me think of blood. 

I loved golf until it began to ruin my baseball swing.  I loved being in the woods, climbing trees, and creating missions like building trap doors in the Earth of my forts for invaders to fall into.  It never got too late to play.

I loved Hip-Hop.  At the time in my school it was Evan Roberts and I who were the only ones who listened.