That day in 1950 when I stood with a small cake

That day in 1950 when I stood with a small cake in one hand and with the other, I clutched my mother’s hand. My confusion knew no bounds. Why was I here? Who was this guy with the white frock? Why did my mother bring my bedding and that tin box with my clothes? Where was I? It was twilight and fading fast. So did my mother. The white frock took my hand and led me on as he carried my bedding and box. I struggled and looked back searching for mother in vain. Tears welled up and all blurred as I began my life as a boarder in St. Stanislaus High School.

I was confused, angry, and very afraid. Confused because at the age of five, I could not understand the reason for this radical change of scenery. Angry because I did not want to be a boarder among the nearly two hundred and fifty boys. And afraid that I would never see my mother again. I threw tantrums but nobody cared. Finally, tired and very sleepy I sank into my dreams where I was a free bird.

It would be fourteen years later that I would be standing at that same spot when it all began but this time, I was a tall young man with hair on his legs and a hint of a moustache. It was the time when I looked all around me and felt sad at leaving my foster home for good. I was tough, independent, fearless, cocky and of course I had an Elvis puff. What transpired in all those years? A lifetime transpired as it molded me, refined me, and polished me, increasing my worth.


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