Part I: In the Beginning
Why am I as I am?
“Why am I as I am? To understand that of any person, his whole life, from
birth must be reviewed. All of our experiences fuse into our personality. Everything that ever happened to us is an ingredient.” Malcolm X
I was born five plus decades ago in Meridian, Mississippi, twenty miles or so from the western border of the “Heart of Dixie” state. Walt Disney World opened in October of 1971 and I had been delivered some seven months before. I’ll share the significance of that fact for me later. I was the first born of two first born parents and an only child for the first six years of my life. My only other sibling is my younger sister who as a child with blond hair and pigtails was the spitting image of Gertie in the movie E.T.
I believe that being the first born and only child in our household for a number of years is important and contributed to my personality and other characteristics such as a fairly strong self-image and reasonable self-confidence. At least this was the case for the first half of my life.
My father was a business person, beginning with a small clothing store, soon creating his own residential real estate firm, and later transitioning that venture into commercial real estate brokerage, ownership, and some development. Throughout his career, he was often recognized for his business acumen and success. As a child I remember him receiving a community award for Small Businessman of the year. I called it the Little Business Person award.
If my father was a business person, my mother was a music and education person, majoring in elementary music education and teaching in the Meridian Public Schools for the entirety of her career. She loves children and music, and the combination even more. My parents were very involved in our community--, serving in and on boards, committees, associations, service organizations, our schools, and the local church. I use the word “very,” and we’ve talked about it since, that their commitment to service and our community could border on obsessive at times, causing its own intensity and stress for our family.
My family moved four times, all within the city of Meridian, throughout my childhood and adolescence. The last move took place while I was in the fourth grade. My parents still reside in that spot today, and my sister, her husband, three kids, and two dogs live in a neighborhood not far away. Our homes were generally within older established neighborhoods and most often abutted or were very close to acres of woodlands, especially on Myrtlewood Drive and Parkway Boulevard. I loved being outside, exploring, walking trails, climbing trees, digging in the dirt, playing in streams, making roads for my Tonka trucks, Matchbox cars, and Legos. Our family spent many hours in the yard, enjoying the outdoors, eating together, hitting the tee ball, tossing nerf footballs or baseballs, landscaping, planting flowers, and creating rock gardens. I once asked my mom, having observed our newly planted rocks for a few days, how long it would take for them to start growing. She said I should just keep watering and see.
I had a lot of freedom as a child and was one of the only kids I knew who had a large sliding glass door in his bedroom. It was a canvas for looking out and daydreaming on muggy mosquito filled Mississippi afternoons, or a portal that could be opened for a morning of adventure or an evening of wonder under the stars. On Parkway (ever wonder why we drive on parkways and park on drive ways?), it seemed as if we could ride our bikes forever, from our dead-end on the south end to the north where the Boulevard gives way to 38th Street. Just four long and very wide blocks of asphalt in all, but enough to feel one’s fair share of autonomy and abandon.
There are early pictures of me sitting with my mother at the piano my mother’s parents gave us. Music was meaningful. Our family appreciated and enjoyed music. Whether it was my mom singing “This is the Day…” in the mornings to wake us up or playing Moonlight Sonata or Clare De Lune on the piano on a late Sunday afternoon. Or my father listening to the Carpenters or Johnny Mathis on one of his many vinyl albums. I got the bug of music appreciation. I listened to my own records and enjoyed singing along, playing the piano by ear, learning the trumpet in middle and high school, and strumming the guitar in college and following.
As we were a church going family, I also sang in children and youth choirs and soon took the leap into church musical productions, playing the roles of Daniel in It’s Cool in the Furnace, Joseph in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat, and Amahl in the opera Amahl and the Night Visitors. I was a boy soprano until my vocal cords began to change. When that occurred, my mom reminded me recently, I said it felt like I was losing a close friend. But before that happened, I also threw my voice and flesh into our community little theater acting in parts such as Louis in The King and I, The Skin Horse in The Velveteen Rabbit, and Tom in Camelot.
The part I did not get, and had dreamed of playing for years, was that of Oliver in the musical based on Charles Dicken’s novel Oliver Twist. Supposedly the director understood the role to be that of a tougher and scrappier fellow, whereas I always thought it was obvious that Oliver was a gentler soul. Perfect for me at that time in my life, I thought. But the director did not concur. Rather than remain in the play and join the cast as one of many homeless pickpockets, I decided to do other things. I don’t remember even seeing the local production. Not sure what that says about my ability or lack thereof to handle defeat and disappointment? (May return to this later…)
Overall, I think the confidence I gained in singing and acting in front of audiences propelled me into leadership positions. I ran for president of my Middle and Junior High Schools, having to give speeches in front of the entire student body, and was elected into these roles. I was responsible for making morning announcements on our school’s public address system, often offering a thought for the day or recruiting another student who would. I learned that my expressive optimism was not shared by all when one student proclaimed that “Life is just one damn thing after another.” She was quickly invited across the hall to the principal’s office, most likely for using the word damn rather than for her pejorative take on life. Perhaps she was simply sharing an honest appraisal of her reality, as I too would later discover a time when life could feel this way.
*Thanks for reading and/or listening. Continue to next post The Lines. To read from the beginning please go to Why I'm Writing in the Archive.
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