I called him Jesus, because that was how it was spelled, but I am sure the correct way to say his name was hay-zus. I was only 8 years old, and didn’t know any better. He was Puerto Rican like many of the children in Brownsville, New York in 1957. The others were all black, except for my brother and me who I think were the only two white children in all of Brownsville. I guess that gave us some sort of status, or at least made us easy targets.
We lived on Bristol Street. Those who are old enough will remember the lyrics….”kids in Bristol are as sharp as a crystal, when they do the Bristol stomp”.
It was a wonderful neighborhood, if you thrived on murder and poverty, and the year we spent living there was torturous, fearful, and bizarre. My mother was married to a man named Al, and he liked to drink himself right out of a job, so we would move often and when it all bottomed out, there we were, in Brownsville. It was the same year the Brooklyn Dodgers announced they were moving to Los Angeles. Since they didn’t plan to take me with them, I was left to learn a bit about the streets, and I made one friend that I remember. Jesus was kind enough to never correct me while I called him by his anglicized name.
I believe Jesus was in my class, although I don’t know that for a fact. I only remember two kids in that class and got to know them in an intimate way. There was one black kid who was the class bully, and would pretty much push the rest of us around and get in our faces. One day I had had enough and we had a terrific fight which ended with me having that kid in a headlock while I punched her skull repeatedly. Yes, her. Her name was Shirley and after I gave her a small pounding she left me alone. But I was soon to discover that the life of the new champion brings with it certain pressures and expectations, and it wasn’t but a week later that a kid named Carlos found me outside of school and he I engaged in a very one sided boxing match. I didn’t know how to box. He did. After my pummeling I remember running home and looking at myself in the mirror. Like an overmatched prizefighter my entire face was swollen and there was more than one part of me oozing blood. Carlos, I realize now, did me a great favor, as I was, and remain, more a lover than a fighter, and it would have been hell to have to defend my lightweight title on a regular basis. Shortly thereafter my uncle, a former Golden Gloves boxer, taught me how to fight and the lessons that he and Carlos taught me have served to keep me safe for the rest of my fighting days.
Much of my spare time was spent making what we called zip guns. Jesus was part of this group and he showed me how to make my very own weapon. Zip guns today are crudely fashioned weapons that shoot real bullets. The kids I hung out with weren’t that sophisticated so our junior zip guns were more basic and made with rubber bands and wood. I don’t recall how they worked exactly but I do know they shot broken pieces of roofing shingle (readily abundant as the neighborhood was in a perpetual state of decay) and were very effective in ripping into flesh.
Another favorite activity was robbing parking meters. This was a very simple process as the lock boxes were all broken, and all one had to do was insert a popsicle stick into the slot where a dime would ordinarily be deposited and it would then push the last dime into the lock box which, since it was broken, could be opened by hand, thus allowing thieves, young and old, the occasional dime. This dime was enough for a soda, or two pickles pulled from a large pungent wooden pickle keg. It could buy a kid an ice cream on a hot day, and was enough for entry into the local movie theater that cost ten cents, but required you to bring your own soap box to sit on, as there were no seats. I remember feeling so guilty about my first heist that I ran home and buried that dime in the dirt in front of our apartment building. I suspect it is still there, waiting to be dug up. To be sure, you won’t find me returning to look for it.
When Jesus called me to say he took a $20 bill out of his mother’s purse I hurried to meet him at a subway stop where we boarded a train for a better shopping district. I don’t know for certain what a 1957 $20 bill would be worth today, but it was a lot of money back then and Jesus was generous with his stolen loot and we ate a fine lunch and eventually found our way to a toy store where we took our time and shopped for the perfect toy. I ended up with a wooden ten inch model of a human that bent at the joints, and gave me more joy than you might imagine.
Jesus caught hell from his mother who I’m sure was a single parent working hard for every penny. I wish I could remember if I suffered any consequences for my eager partnership but I do not. Chances are I got away with it, and I suspect my mother never found out about my shopping trip and never even noticed my favorite toy.
We moved from that hell hole a year later and landed, briefly, in a much softer place. Life with mom ended in 1961 when she couldn’t care for us any longer and my brother and I went to live with our father, and his wife. There I experienced athletics, girls, and a degree of comfort never felt before. Still, it is a fact that children are unable to understand how a parent can be toxic for them, and I missed my mother terribly. That feeling of loss became a permanent part of who I am, and I don’t have to reach far into my soul to feel it all over again.
Jesus, if you are alive and might by some great coincidence ever read this, I say to you thanks for a great adventure, and next time I’m buying.
© 2013 Michael Fiveson
What a wonderful post Mike. You have a gift for the written word and your story is certainly one of survival, resilience and love. My heart aches just thinking about you leaving your mother. All the best to you! Robyn
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Thanks Robyn. Leaving my mother saved my life, although I did not know that at the time.
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What a nice tribute to a childhood friend…a spot of sweetness in a rough life. Thank you for sharing, Mike.
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Thanks Scott.
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Hi Mike,
A wonderful story: thanks for sharing!
Best regards from southern Texas,
Pit
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Hello down yonder. Thanks pit.
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Mike, what a great coming of age story. It’s amazing you survived all the changes and upheaval.
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It is, and I remain an unpolished gem, of sorts. Thank you for the read and comment.
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Beautifully written story, Mike. It touched my heart.
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Thanks Pat.
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Mike, you do indeed have a gift for the written word, you have written of love in tough times, as well as survival. Great tribute to a childhood friend. You don’t just take great photographs.. 🙂
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Thanks Susan. Writing is my first love, but taking pictures is so much easier, and I tend to take the easy route.
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You and me both…I started this blog for poetry and photos…the muse is not very active at present!
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A delightful read. You managed to convey the bitter sweet reality of your youth and the wisdom of your grown- up self. Thanks for sharing.
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Very thoughtful comment. Thank you very much.
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Great post Mike.
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Thank you The Lady Bean.
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A very heartfelt story Mike. I really enjoyed reading it. Thanks for sharing part of your life.
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You may also have a kidney, if you ever need one, amigo.
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Thanks man! Ditto to you!
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I just received word that this story will be ‘freshly pressed’ by WordPress. I am to have 15 minutes of fame, at last!
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That is awesome Mike! So glad to hear it. You deserve it!
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Send cash.
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hahaha! Ok you got it!
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Congratulations, Mike. You write so very well. I am happy that WP noticed. 🙂 Fifteen minutes of fame and no cash… Life is like that. I love hearing about the little boy who was almost lost. I don’t require a kidney, but I would like more of that wonderful little boy’s story. 🙂
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Yeah, I’m going to have to find that voice. Part of me just wants to scream, to be honest. Thanks my friend.
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Great writing! Glad you survived your childhood to write about it.
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I take that as high praise coming from one as gifted as yourself, my clever and talented friend. Thanks Lilly.
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You have a gift. As well as the working at it part. 🙂
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What a beautiful thank you to a lost friend. It stirred up a lot of stuff from the past. You write beautifully … really fine work.
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Marilyn that means so much to me since you are such a great writer. Thank you very much.
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Beautiful story, Mike. Thanks for taking the time to write it up and share it with us….
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Thanks John. Good of you to read it and comment.
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This blog earned a Bean’s Pat. Check it out at: http://patbean.wordpress.com
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I don’t know what I am looking for, Pat.
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The Bean’s Pat is at the bottom of the blog.
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Thanks, I am off to look….
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Got it. I am honored, and thank you.
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That is an amazing story, Mike. And that’s only a year out of your childhood. Ever thought of writing a book abut all of it? Very well written.
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Thanks Andy. I do have other memoirs, but short of me acting out, fully, and doing time in prison, there is not enough material for a book. That is a good thing.
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Amazing story! ^_^
In my humble opinion, I think you should write more often! ^_^
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That is a nice thing to say. Thank you, sincerely.
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Yay! I am glad this made it to Freshly Pressed! Congratulations! ^_^
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Sweet! I’m glad too. Truth be told it has kind of lit me up.
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Beautifully written, Mike.
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Thanks Robin. Really appreciate that.
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I have said many times that I thought my childhood and early teen years were average, but I learned years ago that I in fact, had an exceptional childhood. I was safe, cared for, fed, and loved. Thanks for sharing this painful part of your life, Mike.
Congratulations on Freshly Pressed … so well deserved
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Well they notified me I’d be pressed, so I guess I will. Don’t know how long it takes. Thanks. Ah, life.
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Wonderful post despite some harsh facts about growing up the way you did. So this is, important too. Thanks for sharing!
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Sweet comment Inga. Thanks.
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I remember you speaking of Jesus before Mike. A fabulous post!
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Thanks Adrian. Generous of you to say so.
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Reblogged this on deejayiwan.
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following your blog now! great post. congrats on Freshly pressed.
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That was my mother’s name, Geraldine. Too funny, since the post was largely about her.
Good of you to take the time to comment and thank you very much.
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This is Jesus, and I want to eat at Antoine’s in Paris. Just kidding.
Seriously, though, what you are writing is finely observed, honestly remembered, and of great value. Lovely, man. As you know, I’m writing similar remembered stories on my blog, so you might check it out, especially, “Why Don’t You Get Lost.”
BTW, if you’re interested in what things were going for in 1957, check out this page: http://www.gti.net/mocolib1/prices/1957.html. It shows what things cost.
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$78 for a television was not cheap. I guess that is why not every household owned one. Your comment cracked me up. If you were Jesus and you wanted to eat in Paris I would ask you to enjoy yourself and send me a postcard. I’ll now traipse over to your blog….
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i remember the pickle jars. I taught at that time in Bed Sty at a junior high school. Across the street was a food place that had pig’s feet and knuckles. The pickle barrel was in the front and kids would buy those juicy pickles and eat them in class. The whole classroom would smell of pickle juice early in the morning. I remember the food place was on the dirty side of sanitary. You would have to use napkins to wipe yourself from getting germs when you left the establishment. Big Joe was our assigned cop and he would take weapons from the students? who came armed. Gravity knifes were plentiful and there was an occasional zip gun or two. I see that both of us have survived being dipped into the wasteland. Great post. It brought up many memories, none of them pleasant.
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Hi Barry. Always nice to get some validation and if you remember the pickle kegs and zip guns, than no one can call me a lunatic. Mike Tyson is from Brownsville, but was produced after me. Sweetheart that he is. I love “dipped into the wasteland.” I’m still coated in reality. And so are you, eh. Thanks for the comment, my friend.
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It is my pleasure. I wrote of some of the old days on my blog. Give it a look and let me know what you think.
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I will Barry.
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I love your writing style. I could clearly see the details of your story in my head. Congratulations on being Freshly Pressed! 🙂
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Generous, gracious, and well received. Thank you very much.
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Gasping for breath after reading your story. Stunning and direct and yet told with an air of innocence. How is that possible? Great writing!!!
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And now I am gasping with appreciation. What a lovely comment and Kami…it means the world to me. Thank you.
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Loved your story, honesty and feelings expressed with words. Thank you for sharing.
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Thank you very much.
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Quite wonderfully written! Your piece on stealing and loss and growing up brings fuzzy images of my own childhood to mind. But I think you said it perfectly, beyond all the external, you’re better for those strange moments, intangible lessons from a child’s perspective. You’re able to turn it all back around, to pay it forward. Thanks.
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I have raised a great son and have a 42 yr marriage. I have turned it all around and your gracious comment is most appreciated. Thank you.
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Beautifully written post, I could picture it in my mind as I read, I almost see it like a coming of age movie like Stand By Me or that old show the Wonder Years, where the narrator tells stories of his youth through his now grown up perspective. Very vivid, I enjoyed it, I’m going to enjoy reading more from you! Congrats on getting the FP, it brought you to my attention!
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Yes, making new friends for sure. As a followup to this story I have one called “Almost” which is a sequel of sorts. It is located under memoirs.
Thanks for the read and the comment. I liked the Wonder Years. He was a cute kid. I also loved Stand By Me.
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Wow, this is gut-wrenching and beautiful. I love your writing style.
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Such generosity and grace. Thank you more than you know.
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That is touching. Great read!
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That is a sweet thing to say. Thanks Jenna.
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Reblogged this on TED.
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Great writing! A tale from childhood is always amusing to read. The idea of zip gun sounds interesting.
I liked the narration particularly. You have vividly created images from your memories.
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Very nice that you would take the time to tell me this. Thanks very much. Zip guns indeed.
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Hello Mike,
I felt I have lived your life through this post…..it was tough enough to leave MOM…putting the words are really amazing….
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Yeah, it was an interesting childhood. Thank you very much.
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wonderful post!!
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Thank you very much indeed.
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stunning piece of writing x
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I accept your generosity as well as the kiss
x
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ah-hahaha! I really like your writing. I’m looking forward to reading more.
🙂
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The memoir which is a sequel to the Jesus story is called ‘Almost’ and is on my blog under memoirs, curiously enough. Thanks again, eh.
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Wonderful story, tales of our childhoods always seem to touch so many people. They are so easy to relate to. Good job. I will be following from now on, you hooked me. thanks
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Very nice gus. Thanks a ton.
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Mike, I loved your storytelling. You have a great voice. And congratulations on being Freshly Pressed!! It’s quite a buzz, isn’t it?!
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It is quite a buzz, and thanks for your feedback. I expect now I will become rich and famous. I hope I can remain my humble self 😉
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LOL. Either way, you can write about it!! And wouldn’t it be a hoot if Jesus showed up?! Stranger things have happened….My blog is memoir also… but you are a much better writer than I am!!!! Enjoy the day!
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Excellent post Mike. You have a beautiful writing style and bring your experience to life. It brings back many memories of my childhood – a sign of good writing.
Best wishes.
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Very nice Leon. Thanks!
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Great stroy telling. I laughed aloud when you revealed that you had “her” in a headlock. Good stuff!
http://jwolffblog.wordpress.com/
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I could still beat her up today 😉
Hey, thanks a lot.
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I smell a script in the air or perhaps a song: ‘me and [Jesus] down by the schoolyard’. As it is, though, it’s a great post.
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Yeah, that was a different Jesus, but I am VERY open to a script.
‘Me and Jesus, down with that zip gun’
Hey, thanks for the read and the comment. Much appreciated.
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Congratulations on being FP’d and thank you for sharing this wonderful story with us. I am a fan!
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That is nice thing to hear Allan. Thank you very much.
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I suppose one of the greatest compliments is this: I liked what I read and wanted to keep reading.
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Your comment is well received and is most appreciated. Thank you very much.
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Mike… great post! In my Brooklyn neighborhood zip guns shot bullets.
Do the names Chaplins, Bishops, Bucaneers or Jolly Stompers ring a bell?
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Not the 8 yr old version of zip guns, at least not in 1957. Since I was just 8 I don’t think my exposure was sufficient to remember whichever gangs were ruling the roost. Jolly Stompers, lol. Bishops actually do ring a vague bell. Mickey was my nickname and most of my family called me that, back in the day. Yo, Bitsko, thanks for the read and the comment. You be Mickey b.
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Thanks for a great read. Jesus sounds like a great guy. I’m not saying stealing is a great thing, but he sounded like the kind of guy who would have your back.
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Thanks for taking the time to read and comment. Very cool.
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Thank you for sharing with us! Hope Jesus does somehow come across this great story that brought good moments to your young life, and created lifetime memories.
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Thanks for the read and the comment.
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Thank you for following my blog! I’m excited to follow yours as well:)
God bless you
Olga
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Thanks Olga.
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I just now realize this went Freshly Pressed. Congrats to you Mike. I hope you will be writing more… your writing and expression hits home with so many of us.
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Hi Lori. Yes I was freshly pressed but you really deserve to be. I think your blog is nothing short of remarkable. I would like to write more, even if it’s just haiku. I do have a story in my head, eventually it will spill out.
Thank you my dear friend. And that face!
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I was FP a long time ago… just once, and it was a thrill. Of course it was Daisy deer’s story that got recognition… and she continues to be what draws the most attention!
I appreciate your friendship so much, Mike. My face? What about your new photo? That’s just damned sexy!
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🙂
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Wonderful POST…. really amazing….!!! 🙂
http://cdluxag.wordpress.com/
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Thanks.
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Thanks. I enjoyed that. Dan
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Sure thing. Thanks.
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Your writing pulled me in. You have such a gift for story. Thank you.
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What a nice thing to hear. Thank you!
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You sure were a wild one back in the day huh? Anyway, I enjoyed your post. It very interesting to read about your exploits with your friend.
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I like that expression, “back in the day'” You have a nice face.
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such an interesting post, thanks for sharing your memories. A sharp contrast to my own childhood on a rural farm, we all find our way along life’s path in different settings.
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Yeah, I would have preferred a farm, I think. It is thoughtful of you to comment and I really appreciate it.
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I wonder what changes may have occurred with Brownsville?
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Not many. It is where Mike Tyson is from.
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What a shame.
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Wow – that is a really visceral story!
I read once that who we are as children – up to our teenage years – lives with us for the rest of our lives … our fears, anxieties, hurts etc. The stories we write rather prove that.
Thanks for pointing me to this story. It was very powerful.
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Well thank you very much. Yes, for a fact that stuff stays with us forever. I was just yesterday discussing with my wife the extent to which I am the same child I used to be. We evolve, we grow, we live and succeed, but success is relative, and some experience limits us.
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Holy cow Mike I could feel so much in this story, and now I know why you can relate to that lonely-based pain of being separated from your mother as a child. I have to give you kudos too for having that load in your heart and still making your way to helping other kids for as long as you did.
As a mother now, I can’t even imagine how messed up I would have to be, to leave him for any time. I guess it sort of helps me to understand what bad shape my mom was in then, and how hard she had to work to come back to us so completely. I count myself one of the lucky ones in this for sure.
As everyone has said, you’ve told your own heartbreaking tale so beautifully.
Robyn
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When that story got freshly pressed I had many lookers and lot’s of comments. Now, I have to steer someone to read it and they still won’t. It defines me in a much larger way than any photo will. So thanks Robyn, it means much to me and now you know who I am at my core. And who wouldn’t like that. I sure do.
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Bravo! I love your writing style. Straight-forward and sparse, with a touch of poetry. I’m tempted to push work aside today so I can sit and read everything you’ve ever written. Please don’t stop telling your stories.
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What a lovely thing to say. I think perhaps we have a similar writing style as you too are straight forward, with no punches pulled. I started reading your book last night. It will join another I am reading and since I am slow reader, I’ll be with both for a spell.
Thank you. These are always my favorite comments because at my core I think of myself as a writer who takes photos.
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A literary agent told me she liked that about my writing style – clean, straight-forward. It went a long way to boost my confidence.
Glad to hear you’re reading my book. I would appreciate it (if you feel inclined) if you would mind writing a review on Amazon after you finish. It would mean a lot to me.
I am also a writer who takes photos, and paints when the stars are aligned just right 🙂
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I find that when I read something that requires me to re-read paragraphs that are not easily absorbed, I get distracted and am not always up to doing that work.
I will certainly write a review for you. It would be my pleasure.
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I’m the same way! Thank you very much.
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