Roaches

I still have posts to make from Rome, so its annoying when I get a hair to write something down because I don’t want to forget it!

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I was having a conversation the day…  It had me thinking about my first memories.  Like, first as a human being.

It was roaches.  (Sorry Mom!)  Well, I think the name we referred to them as was Palmetto Bugs.

My first memories start in Pensacola Florida sometime in the early 70’s.  My (late) Father, Don, was stationed at the Naval Base during the final days of Vietnam.  He joined the Navy with dreams of civil engineering but ultimately was working as a cook on a tug boat.  Over the years, I have heard many stories of government cheese or ham making its way back to our house to feed us.  We were poor.  We lived in a trailer and I remember those bugs.

The memory is of dark nights and 100’s of these bugs being attracted to the light of our kitchen slider door.  The inside lights would bring the bugs in from all directions and they would claw and fly at the glass in a frenzy to get inside.  It was normal and part of living in the South.

Side story:  As a young man, I was working as a Bellman at the Intercontinental in Miami and would see the giant palmetto bugs fly into the reception area.  I am not exaggerating, they were so big they looked like a bird!  I remember one lying on the ground as it was exhausted from bouncing off the ceiling lights… I ran over it with a bell cart and, having little effect, the bird-sized roach flipped over and flew away.  I always had a paranoia about being dive-bombed in revenge.

The reason I was thinking about the roaches…  I was having a back-and-forth with someone much younger than me… who is in the throws of being a parent to young kids, but wonders if he is still on the path to success and fulfillment in life.  (Those scales slide all over, and I don’t think it’s something you can quantity.) He was picking my brain, but was looking for my “easy button”.  Knowing my origin story, it was still hard for him to wrap his head around where life finds me/us now.  Our escapades with the kids and the home that Angela and I have built led to another question…  He immediately asked, “Married the farmer’s daughter?”  That gave me a laugh.  No, Angela and I brought very little to each other back in the early 90’s.

I have no exit on this post.  Its a free floating thought bubble.  I did tell my friend that raising kids IS the most important work he is doing.  To that end, we all want better for our kids.  So we work.  We make money to support them.  We may have times when we feel like we are in a holding pattern in life, but as long as keep pushing, we will look back and know that we did what was required.  Like anything, you get what you give.

Yes, my parents worked hard to get me there, but my memory is roaches.  I wonder if I asked Aiden what his earliest memory is as traumatic?

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Below are some pictures…  All from Florida!  Angela visited me in Fort Meyers in 1992 (or so?) and the rest of the ancient pictures are from Pensacola.  Sorry, no pictures of the trailer!

Oh, and sorry to my friend for sharing this conversation. I kept everything private, but it got my juices flowing and I had to write it down!