If I could go back into the chapters of my mind and resurrect memories, I wish I hadn’t had my soured childhood. Teenage pressures conquered my soul as I was bullied in school as the “the fat kid”. Constantly in one turmoil or another, I watched my father wilt away. I was the young age of fourteen. My dad and mentor is now in heaven but I still look to the skies today to talk to him. I guess, though, there were some fonder times. Let think if I can remember one.
My parents sent me to Rising Sun summer camp every year. It reminded me of the song, in more ways than one. I always looked forward to it.
I moved out at twenty-one under defiant protest. I didn’t need to hear the sermons filtering down. I was so disgusted with everyone that I packed my bags and moved to Florida.
Reaganomics crippled the economy with 14% interest; life had stymied. The challenges we met were battled on the front lines whether it be Vietnam or our own city streets. God, I’m sure, watched from above. But nonetheless, drudgery became a way of life. Until…..
A knock at the door and a metallic memory you’ll never forget – the innocence of an Angel. Poised, her persona was nothing short of Heavenly. With no way to stay in touch, God was the only. Priors soured, single now, neither knew the other’s crossings. But those joyous moments became a distant dream as reality set back in, like an evening thunderstorm, scattering debris. The trials and tribulations remind me of metals on a lapel from wars fought on a personal front. We struggled to survive. Our pure little hearts never realized the heartaches we individually endured. But God saw what no one else could believe, “a spark”, thirty years ago that united two souls in infamy.
Youthful in spirit, with collected memories from obituary relationships, only God with all His strength would seemingly find our two spirits. He reconnected these metallic memories of life.
Working feverishly to build an empire, may God too, bless our days and nights. It’s another battle to share from God above. My eyes closed, I listen to your blessed spirits, your fingers going a hundred miles an hour.
We move to a new plateau, holding hands, while making more “Metallic Memories.”