1.

More often than not, throughout the span of my life, when I lay down to rest--not necessarily sleep--I find my self, searching for comfort, crawling into the fetal position. i didn't find out until I was a full score in age, this behavior first begun when I was but a fetus in my mother's stomach. So, I guess it's safe to say, in the beginning when it was only she and I, it was pretty comfortable for me.

Had my life gone in another direction, I more than likely would have grown up a mama's boy. But for reasons I did not know let alone understand, until I was old enough to know and understand, I was not only taken from the woman who gave birth to me, but also the comfort i had unconsciously grown accustomed to.

Unbeknownst, I would not easily give up on the need of warmth and affection that became apart of me while I was still developing. I would not so soon turn my back on the protection I found in love. So I turned to the next figure that was in my constant line of focus while I was being fostered. I believe, this is how I grew to not only love, but Idolize my father.

For some reason I was blessed with the gift of a great memory. It is this prize that allows me to see, vividly, pretty far back into my childhood. Along with these sights I can also touch the feelings associated with them. So, To this day I can put a finger on the effects this man had on me as i was being reared.

As a child, the simple sound of my father's voice could soothe the cries of his baby boy. Contrary to that bring on, his being gone for long periods of time would call on a suffering, that at the time, I was too young to cope with or comprehend. Up or down, in or out , my emotions went either way depending on how close I was to my father.

As the earth changes, so does man's life. And right there, clear as day, I can still see when ours, my father and I, lives were forced to change shape and we found ourselves down the road into a home that wasn't ours. Here, where I would find a new family that would accept me as their own, where I would share a bed with a child that would become my brother, and my father would share a couch with the cat, my love for him wasn't only incontrovertible, but obtrusive. Whenever I could, wherever I could, I would solicitously interact with him in search of the comfort of his embrace.

At this particular time, I knew it only unconsciously, that dad knew the moon better then he knew the sun. Due to this pattern I was forced to go to bed without seeing his face. But not even that was enough to stop me. As if I were programmed, every evening for a good while, without assistance from another, I would wake from my bed around the same time in the wee-hours of the night to find my way down the long project apartment hallway to the living room where he and the cat tussled for sleeping space. Without warning to either I would join the tussle, squeeze in behind my father, wraps my arms around him, and fall straight into sleep. Many mornings he would wake up and greet me with a smile, while the family who had taken us in would be standing over us, innocently ridiculing the love that made me sought him out in the night.

Inside these memories are humor. I remember one night dad missed our appointment and I woke-up wrapped around one of the neighborhood drunks; Mr. Wilbert. Mrs. Janie's husband. I was teased for a good while about that one. And if i am to be honest, I still laugh at it myself to this day.

At the age I was in which all this was taken place, I was oblivious to my father's character outside of loving me. I had no idea of his principals. NO idea if he even had any to begin with. I couldn't tell you what made him mad. couldn't tell you what were his motivations. I can only attest to the fact that he was my enjoyment for no other reason then the fact that i was his son and he my father. In my eyes he was incorrigible. And I say this having full knowledge of what he did for a living.

Unbeknownst to him, being my idol I watched every move he made. Plus I was born with an innate ability to put two and two together rather easily. It's funny because I can still see his futile attempts to hide his activities. I'm not sure if he knew, but it didn't help that we lived in a project complex shaped as a box. And in a box sound does not only travel, it bounces off the corners of the square which defined it's make, forcing it to remain and linger. In fact it could linger so long, one could leave, return, listen and it would still be there. You would still be able to hear the remnants of the echo. All of this is mentioned in conjunction with very important mitigating factors. He provided opulence in the face of poverty. Fine fabric in the face of thin threads. He provided attention while others walked invisible to the world. There wasn't a second when I took my eyes off of my father. And for that reason alone, from as far back as i could remember, years before I had any understanding of any form, I wanted to be just like my father. I wanted to be a drug dealer.

Poem:

Why...

Why do I so easily recall the effects of events I've never lived?

Why do I suffer a pain I've never had the privilege of knowing?

Why do I produce tears for emotions I've only had described to me.

Why am I here at all, when it's clear on one is calling?

Why.....

Marion Frampton III