If I were to write an autobiography, where would I start... and what would it matter? This is where I grew up, leaving in 1970. The Boulevard Gardens in Woodside, NYC, NY. I remember playing in the shrubs and lacerating my shin on a sharp stump; it tore a hole in my leg and I bled like a pig. My father carried me to the car to go to the hospital. I remember getting into a lot of trouble and was not a happy kid. That just about summarizes my childhood.
It is ironic that I can access people who were with me at this time, during these early years. Sometimes I feel I might go through the Alcoholics Anonymous procedure of apologizing for any damage done to them. So I do, generically. I had a memory of running through the pictured place, on the grass (taboo) and jumping the chains, promising God that I'd be good. I suppose I'm still the same... life's not exactly a bowl of cherries, but I do ask God to help me be a good man nonetheless.
There was difficulty in being, in feeling included. Bad feelings of rejection. My own behaviors might be at the root but it was really tough getting along with some of the other kids who made it difficult to get along with others, the hostility recirculating. All so long ago now... fifty years ago.
