Chapter the first.

I

They always said I was born July 7^th, 2003 at 11 o'clock on a cold, dark night--as nights normally tend to be. I have no reason not to believe them, for it is evident that I was born at some point in time, and the point they give is just as likely to be correct one as any other. They also say that I was born in Wooster General Hospital and given the name Liam Ignacio Ellen. This I know for I can still remember patches of early years, which I will now try to recall for your edification.

My parents are immigrants, my father from Scotland; my mother from Portugal. Hence the strange name. We weren't exactly poor per se, but we certainly didn't have any extra money lying around in excess. My dad was a mechanic at the local car shop and my mom worked part-time as a housekeeper. We didn't have much, but I lived in a happy home, conveniently situated in neighborhood almost entirely populated by elderly couples who both gave me treats and were usually asleep before the sun. What is more, our home was filled with love, and that love brought along with it joy and peace. I still hold images of my parents putting me to bed. They would stand over me—they seemed quite enormous, but in that somehow not intimidating way parents seem to naturally be masters of— my mom with her large, doe-like brown eyes glimmering in the soft evening light, her brunette curls forming am exquisite frame for her kind, motherly face. Then there was Daddy. He would alternate his glances between Mommy and I. He was slim, and had a boyish sort of face; a face filled with love for his little family.

There was the swing outside under the oak tree. Ah, the countless hours we spent swinging underneath it's branches, and how I longed for the day when I would be old enough to lose myself among it's foliage. The summers were filled with lemonade and watermelon, the winters with stories. Ferdinand the Bull and Winnie the Pooh being the most revisited. If the entirety of life was like my early days, there would be no need for heaven...

Speaking of heaven, my family wasn't strictly religious. That is, we didn't go or belong to a particular church. My parents were good people, though, and they believed in God and in turn instilled that belief in me. Something that I did not comprehend or appreciate until recently.

The days happily piled one on top of the other until I was three and a half. By then I could read with affluence and had my multiplication and addition tables down. Pat. Everything came so easily to me—perhaps too easily. There was at least one thing, though, that my little head could not wrap itself around. Why were the kids my age so slow and unintelligent? I would ask and re-ask myself a form of this question whenever I was left without entertainment. I just couldn't get it. The result of all this was that I'd sit in corner, reading, while my peers would rumble around on the playground, fighting, eating bugs and dirt, etc. during the 'mommy meetings' or whatever those things that all the moms went to were called. I was, I'll admit, a prototypical social recluse.

But then Kevin came along and he changed everything. Oh gosh, the stuff that went down when we joined forces still manages to crack me up. I'm really not sure how our moms managed to retain their semblance of sanity. Kev was five and pretty smart for his age. He was small, though, so he fit right in with me. We fought an undeclared war on the rest of the playground crew, and our un-mated mates were no match for his age and my brains. The awful cruelty of children is only outmatched by their wonderful honesty. And my, we were both cruel to our “playmates” and honest about some of the more plump of the moms. The oddity of it all, though, is that our cruelty was more often left unpunished then our brutal honesty. How unjust life is. Even after all this, I still think that the honesty of a child is wonderful. It's much better than the deceit and reservation that confines our supposedly grownup world to it's never-ending boorish state. Anyway, there was one time when “the others,” as we called them, were roughhousing and eating away, when Kev and I found the sprinkler box. And it fortuitously was unlocked. All we had to do was turn the handle from the left to the right—just a few fateful inches to get back at those dirt-eating rapscallions for putting earwigs down our shirts the other day.

Needless to say, we turned it. The result was glorious. Pure chaos. I particularly remember watching with glee as an abnormally dimwitted chap tried to get out of one of the sprinkler's paths. The only problem—for him that is—happened to be that he was revolving in the same direction as the sprinkler. He came out of the ordeal slightly more drenched than the others. Ah, poor little man; we were shameless. Veritable devils. Unfortunately for us, the evidence against Kev and I was quite tangible this time around, in the form of a plethora of screaming, wet three year-old’s, and two little gremlins laughing beside the fateful sprinkler box. We got timeout. Quite a lot of it. But we afterwords agreed that the effect was worth the punishment.

Another and more important result of my interactions with Kev was the idea of having a sibling. He had two, an elder brother and a little sister. I naturally decided after a time that I wanted a little sister ad well. My heart was soon set upon the idea. I wanted a sister with all my heart.

So I asked my mom about it, “Mommy, I want you to get me a little sister like Kev.” Sadly, that was my way of 'asking' as I was somewhat spoiled and thought the world revolved around, well, me. My mom gave one of her knowing little chuckles that I remember so distinctly and replied, “You silly boy, you, I can't just go and get you a little sister like I go and buy your lunch, or pick one up at the drive-through.”

I was perplexed, so I asked, “Why not?”

“Because a little sibling would be a gift. You don't buy gifts, do you Liam?”

I replied in the negative, but I wanted to know who gave little siblings as gifts, so I could become friends with that person and then he'd give me one—or so I thought— I asked her, “Well, who gives them so I can become friends with him...?”

Another chuckle as she ruffled what little hair I had and then, “Come on silly, you're already friends with him.”

“What? No way. Don't tell me its Kevin.”

“Kevin! Spare us, no. God, my dear.”

God again. Although I felt an inexplicable attachment to this three letter word, that's what it was, a three letter word that Mom used to explain the inexplicable, if you can call what she did explaining. That's all it meant to me: an aura of undefined, vague goodness. And that was the thing I had to be friends with in order to get my little sister. I was at a loss as to how to foster that friendship, so I gave the all-knowing, “Ohhh, okay.” and continued, “Well, how can I be sure that we are really good friends and that he will give me my little sister?” I had dealt my mother four Aces and she played them well.

“I think the best way, Liam, for you to be sure that that you're God's close, close friend is by doing what he wants you to do and all you need to do is ask him every night for your little sister until you wake up one morning and she's there.”

“Okay, but what does he want me to do?”

“Oh yes, of course. Long story short, Liam, for now all he wants is for you to obey and listen to me.” And with a wink she added, “No more sprinklers.”

After weighing whether the price was worth the product, I nodded and blurted, “Alright, if its sure to get me a sister.” and started toward the door for the swing.

If only my young head had appreciated fully the weight of my mother's answer, “No, my love. Sorry, but nothing in life is for sure.”


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

.....So there it is. Sorry if the format was confusing...blogger is stupid and it disregarded all of my indentations etc...I am far to lazy to do it again when its already there on my word-processor. And after all, I am writing this for no other person than myself, so if any of you read/enjoy it, it'll just be a bonus. 

I know that probably sounded really self-centered, but it really makes any sort of potential pressure nonexistent, so that's my mindset. And, well, I'm a bit self-centered--but aren't we all?

I also have really good news to share about my triathlon stuffs. I heard yesterday that I have been selected to represent Team USA at the Pan-American Championships in June, which awesome because I really wasn't expecting that. And the training is going awesome. And SUMMER IS ALMOST HERE!!!!!Everything is awesome.


Till next week,


Peace.