Let’s start with a birthday party: my 6th.

It was in my backyard, and I have no idea if it was the 24th or not. Probably not. Most of the memories are from pictures, really, that live on (or not) in some box/book in my mom’s house. I remember the faces of lot’s of little boys sitting at a long table outside. These super-important boy’s (all boys – damn sexism started young in the 70’s) in my first formative social circle. A few who I still know on Facebook (David Wesoloski) and a bunch (Tony Carol, John Fiaco) whose names I see from time to time on FB. I remember a “big tree” that we could climb up into (I think there was a rope) to escape Godzilla – my dad chased us around as a monster. 

I remember that backyard better than the party – because the yard is the background for so many memories, and the party was just a few hours. 

I don’t remember the presents, but I sure hope there were Legos in there somewhere. I don’t remember the actual sounds, but I’m sure it sounded like a dozen boys running and screaming, so it sounded like 300 horny monkeys. 

I remember it as joy and innocence. And cake. But cake tastes like joy and innocence.