My long journey home

This story is still in the making.

I was born Gary Washington, August 2, 1952.  Now understand, I have no recollection of being in my mother’s womb or coming out and the doctor spanking the breath of life into me.  So I really can’t prove I was even born.  I could have been an alien dropped off on this earth one day somehow winding up with a family.  But seeing that I had to have came out of my mother’s womb, lets begin with that fact.

Our memories as a newborn are faint at best.  In fact, we all differ in when and what we first remember.  Some remember their first Christmas and even a toy or two they got.  Others start at a later age with some event that left a lasting impression.  It’s even harder to correlate the event with the age we were when the event occurred.  But whatever age we were when our memories began, that day, as far as we are concerned, is where our lives here on earth began.

I learned that after two months on this earth, I was adopted.  I have no idea of what any of my family looked like or what they were about.  Were my parents good, wholesome people or drug addicts, alcoholics or criminals? The bottom line is that I remained in the dark on that issue for 65 years.