When I was young and coming of age, and with a yearning to plug this hole in my chest that only the outside world could fill, I looked for more than was served up my neighborhood of brick row houses, each pair arranged to be mirror images of the two on either side. Something was missing in daily life. I was that kid whose role it is to push boundaries. In the late 1960s this was amplified by the Nam thing. And the Woodstock thing. And the Black Panther thing. And the drug culture thing. And every other thing that spilled over onto the path one walks to find out who he is or will someday become. At 15 and at 16 and at 17 and at 18 and for a good number of rotations of the sun after that, whenever my toes got near a line, I dared myself to cross it so I could taste the fruits and smell the scents of what was on the other side. I wanted to be as close to trouble as I could without getting into it. I failed at this as much as I succeeded.
All This By Hand
.
