The first of many memories.

A living remembrance.

Everytime I stir that South Pasadena kettle lately some sort of valuable memory comes bubbling to the top. Oft times it is a tid-bit or a flavor that completely overwhelms me.

I had shared a message with someone from my distant past. When "Pam" responded, not only did she "make my day". but, she was also the bearer of a memory of such brilliance that I could use it to cut the thickest "pea soup", I mean fog. (sorry "Anderson's".) Her little jostling also opened another pathway or tributary to further streams that hold the sweet-water of friendships past. 

I have spoken of the "block wall" near the steps of the Science Building before. The girls who came to share the lunch hour with me were not interested in the hamburger, hot-dog, or pizza on my tray. They wanted to hear the words of a young man who could listen with an inner softness that came from the same right-brain sensativity that would learn to sew, design, dance, sing, and eventually write the words that were set free from the stereo-typical guidelines that were etched into the concrete of my high school experience. 

Lynne and Pam and I shared our faith and friendship wih no-holds-barred. The spiritual connection was one of my strenghs, but when I was with people like these two I found strength to carry-on from day to day. They also helped me find my center, and what it was made up of. I realized I didnt need to prove my masculinity, or justify the shortcomings that were caused by things beyond my control. I believe that was the force that brought certain people to find me. 

If you were one of the people who asked for a preview of the book "My Life, Now", you know that the second chapter is filled with moments spent near that wall. I realized early on that some walls are not barriers. They are the foundations and starting points for building lasting friendships. They finally found the culprit of my "disability", and pin-pointed the major area of the brain-damage. It truly scrambles the "Logical" thinking ability. The creative, emotional, and poetic sphere is all I have left. Please forgive me in advance if I ever hurt you with anything I write or say. I dont even notice when it comes out wrong. 

Once while standing near that very wall these words were used: "The feeling of a friend's arms around me is perhaps the warmest sensation I have ever known." I live to regather the memory of those embraces. 

If you have memories like those, and have the nerve to share. Please go with that feeling. I am rebuilding my memory one block at a time. Give me a hand if you can. Did we have any shared experience or moment. An embrace, a moment of laughter, or even a smile near the apple machine all qualify!

Say something about someone from your softer side. I dare you!

More to follow.

Love, held fast with tiger seals,

Derek

Derek Gene Bird, 1977

The SPirit of the Night Blooming Jasmine.

Back in the "olden days" of the last century. The 1970's. Way back when the kids could walk the streets, or ride their bicycles between friends houses evenings could be a sensory delight.

The best of all was during summer vacation. When curfews has less grip, and the weather wasn't a factor you learned the lay of the nightscape by the sights, sounds, and smells of town.

When you could drag yourself away from the center of town you realized that there were lesser lights, and smaller sights to be found. Get the bean burrito's and taco's out of your mind and go residential.

When I was still in the junior high they let me take a PCC class. It was a non-credit "Voice and Solo Singing. It was held at the junior high. There wasn't too much red-tape to overcome.

I lived on Magnolia Street just off of Fremont, so there were a dozen choices of how to get home on Tuesday night. Crossing from Fair Oaks over to Fremont I chose Bank Street. I passed under an arbor with a thousand tiny little white blossoms on it. I was overwhelmed by the fragrance. I imagined that every color in the rainbow originated from that very spot.

Whenever I spend sleepless hours in the hospital, I try to contemplate that arbor. It is the arrival point for every answered prayer signified by each blossom. A canopy of fragrance and soft light to protect me............ My beloved friends dwell there also!

You've heard me speak of the Lord's compensation. When one avenue is blocked, a sometimes unseen option or direction has usually presented itself. As you know, I am actively seeking the memories of my youth. When I reconnected with Pam, she came bearing gifts. One such gift was a special memory that was lost or buried with my swift dissent into the abyssal depths I visited prior to the discovery of the brain damage, and ultimately the Hydrocephalus I was slowly losing my battle with.

I was reminded of incredibly special lunchtimes when my deficits were never mentioned. This was a time of discussion, friendship, and celebration. I hope to rekindle the special fire Pam shared with me. God bless you, Pam.

The other member of our trio was named Lynne. She lived about a block and a half from me. The light of her smile became a source of hope. I sought this glow with no foreseeable limit. We spoke of college choices, and desired pathways. We spent time like the closest siblings. I carried a portion of her heart. That portion she gave me freely. I started carrying it again yesterday.

I love you guys!

Derek 

Trusting Friends:

Opposites to be sure, but clearly like magnets that attract. With multiple and distinct traits of non-uniformity between them. This is not to say that they were weird, merely different. remember, that's what this is all about.

Alicyn "is" drama class. living to play inner roles, but often so off the wall. Had they ever been allowed to leave our dramatic sanctuary, God only knows the impact it might have on her. Kids can be so cruel.

On any given day you may find Alicyn and me together discussing La Magra and his daily dose of dramatic whimsy. Space walks, bug eating, and glops of "moment to moment". It's lunchtime now and we are walking across the back patio. That's where Karen spied Alicyn. She came to greet us, and Alicyn took care of the formalities of introduction.

I will quickly grow to cherish Karen. We share among other things, "a birthday". October twenty-first. She should be into boys. They should be a dime a dozen. She is a fox, and really worth a second glance.

October 31, 1974

It's All Hallows Day Eve. That's right, Halloween!

The three of us, Karen, Alicyn, and I are taking Karen's younger brother and his friend Alan Trick-or-Treating. The boys are regaled as Arabian Sheiks. The girls and I are dressing as "Hippies" just for the heck of it. Maybe we would score some candy, too.

About an hour into our quest, the allure of goodies began to wain. We stopped going up onto the porches with the boys. The surface chatter quickly ran out. We started talking about real teenage concerns. No, I'm not talking about pimples and homework. I am talking about our home-lives, and depression, and the big -P- word, Parents.

Our walking slowed way down. It was much more of a stroll. By the time the girls and I would reach the end of a block, the boys had already covered both sides of the street. With our arms embracing we ventured further into the night.......... At last Alan and Jack were satisfied with their pillowcase filled with bootie.

Back at Karen's house. Alicyn said, "I love you, friends." She left me with a kiss on the cheek. We watched her drive off into the direction of the Monterey Hills.

It was the end of the evening. Karen and I found ourselves together alone. One more slow walk to the corner. She said. "I really need to talk to someone. How bout you? Would you have lunch with me tomorrow?"

Sure. You got it.

Our high school had made some real strides. Like "Open Campus" at lunchtime, and smoking area for students. (I don't smoke, but it may keep them out of the restrooms.) However, the change that would affect me the most was the institution of co-educational P.E..

I began in Archery. Finally, a gym activity that was personal and non-competitive, but, I knew that I would become bored with that, too, if it were the only choice.

The information about an unseen option was given to me by one of the girls that had already accepted my differences. I was not gay or effeminate. She was encouraging my strengths. "You already had the guts to take the sewing class. Why don't you join Modern Dance? My group really needs a guy to balance us out. You said that you would try anything once. Well?" Yes, I did.

Dancing to my own kind of music.

I walked across campus from the boys gym in my tights and a dance belt. Then I started wearing my Kung Fu gi over my dance clothes. Even the cat-calls and teasing was a reasonable price to pay in order to be able to dance. To be able to make the best use of my physical education class requirements. From the first day I loved it, but the time I wasted in transit between gyms was still a bummer.

Mrs. Weisinger comes to the rescue. She got the idea that I could probably use the little faculty room. It was off to one side of the girls gym. It could be "my" space. It was never used by anyone anyway. It was a totally unprecedented notion that before I knew it had become an unprecedented fact. It works out great. It fits me perfectly. I was pretty sure I had another first. being the first male student to be naked in the girls gym on a daily basis. with the blessings of the school board no less! Thanks, Dixie Luckenbill.

11-02-1974

Dearest Alicyn,

As there is no way you can read this letter until the time, if ever, I rediscover it in my journal, please forgive the writing in the present tense. The actual time I wrote it will be long since past. I am however certain that the feelings will remain the same.

Hi! You know, I was just thinking. What if your last name had been "Wonderland"? Just teasing. I do wonder why I was one of the chosen few that you would allow to see the real you.  I'm not just talking about drama class.

I want you to know that the true Alicyn can make it out there without hiding behind a character. I believe in you like you believed in me. Even though your best friend and "big sister", Karen wont be around starting next year, you're still going to make it. If it at all helps, you can lean on me whenever you need to. "I" will have to watch you leave the year after Karen graduates. Just think how I feel.

I don't ever want to forget you guys. I want to be able to look back 15, 20, 25 years from now and rejoice in our friendship I had with you and Karen. Our relationship has been far more than an aquaintence. I hope you feel that way too.

I hope that you were never jealous or envious of Karen. If it had not been for you, we may have never been brought together to be friends, and we need each other. Not any less than I need you. Just in a different sort of way.

When the three of us were together on Halloween. When we stood on all of those porches. I cherish the fact that my arm was equally around you, too.

I love you for cheering me on, and cheering me up. For lifting my spirits at the end of the day. Just before I would inevitably leave the security blanket of school, and go home to unknown problems.

I love you no less than any other friend, past or present. My future will be faceable. I will strap the memories of my true friends to my heart, to strengthen and protect it.

Love ya,

Derek

If you drive a truck they call you a "Teamster". But, If you drive an Elna they call you a "Seamster!"

gauges. There are a lot of different kinds. Speedometer, odometer, tachometer, fuel, temperature, pressure. You may find any of all of these in the cab of a Teamster's truck. If however you want to find a seam guages you need to look on the dash of an "Elna". If you want to hear the whole lurid truth you can talk to a "Gage". Mrs Gage Jones. She is my sewing instructor.

She is sort of like a commander in there. She doesn't just sit at her desk and snicker as her troops fall by the wayside, either. She knows every person, and every machine on a first name basis. Some of the names I just couldn't repeat here. You'll have to wait for the "R" rated movie to come out. Actually she never said the names out loud, but, her facial expressions tell the tale.

Mrs. Jones in the picture of femininity. The title of "seamstress" blends into the total woman who is Gage Jones...........

Okay, that was all well and fine but, I was a young man, and although I was engaging in an activity that one usually associates with girls, I did not wish to be labelled a seamstress. I was not effeminate. "Tailor" doesn't fit. I thought "Seamster" was appropriate.

The fact is, you have started on a road to believing in my capability. Though often frustrated, you were there. "Not the seam ripper again!" Though useful, I still think that the seam ripper is the most hideous sewing implement ever created. All of that aside. You gave me time to think and time to learn. Patience and understanding. Oh, and most importantly a large measure of tolerance! If you put all of these ingredients together you could only come up with one thing. The name of the recipe? I guess "Super ala Jones" might fit.

I had given much thought to my next sewing project, deciding upon a patchwork of many colors.

Mrs. Jones has a scrap cupboard filled with interesting remnants that could take the place of the expensive material I didn't want to ask my Mother to pay for. The only pattern I needed was a piece of cardboard Mrs. Jones cut out for me. I will use it to make all my pieces a uniform shape and size.

Snip-snip-snip. I will cut squares for days and days. I have cotton, polyester, wool, and blends of all sorts. I think some of the fabric was meant for curtains, too. It was truly potluck.

Next come the pins. Hundreds of them. My fingers are getting raw from pushing the pins through the fabric. It hurts. Mrs. Jones saw the difficulty I was having. She leaned over and said, "let me see what you are doing, Derek." Is this right? "Yes, just make sure that you watch this edge."

Mrs. Jones always wears one of these smock type over-blouses with big pockets to keep her own clothes from getting messed up. After noticing my fingers, she reached into one of the pockets. She pulled her hand out and slid a thimble onto her finger to push the pins through the fabric. Suddenly, one of those "Ford better idea" light bulbs was illuminating my mind. Daaaaaaa. I reached into my sewing box for the thimble I knew I had. "Good idea, Derek."

I finally finished with the pins and started sewing. I would make a dozen straight twelve inch stitches to complete a row of squares. I rush to the ironing board to press open the seams. I'm still looking like a clutz with the iron. After all, until this class I had no reason to even touch an iron....... except to hand it to my Mother. "Ouch!" The girls couldn't help laughing at my ineptitude. "Hey, be nice you guys!" "We're sorry, Derek."

 Derek! Male dancers are wonderful athletes and have tremendous strength and stamina. I loved modern dance in HS. I'm glad you had the opportunity to enjoy it too! I took it for 3 yrs.