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Diaryland
From the Beginning March 22, 2005 @ 10:31 p.m.
I was born January 20, 1983 at 8:41 am at St. Joseph's hospital in Stockton, California. My dad was finishing his PhD in Chemistry at the University of the Pacific. My mom was a registered nurse working to support her and my dad. They lived in a little apartment off of Hammer Lane, with a young dachsund they had brought home from the Daisy Hill Puppy Farm. For that reason, they named her Daisy, although my parents also called her deeder-dog and I have no idea where that name came from.
My parents had been married for several years and had patiently waited to have kids until they were more financially secure. That was harder for my mom, because she really wanted to have children. I was not just the firstborn son for my parents, but also the first grandchild for my mother's parents and only the second grandchild for my father's. So they tell me I was very wanted and very welcomed when I came. They named me David, which in Hebrew can mean both "beloved" and "lover", although they were aware of only the first meaning. David was also the name of my mom's paternal grandfather, as well as my aunt June's husband at the time who she later divorced. They also gave me the middle name Kenneth, after my mom's father, which is interesting because I've turned out to be very similar to him in many ways.
My dad has always been very active in the Boy Scouts of America. The day after I was born, he received a medal called the Silver Beaver Award, which is given for distinguished service by an adult volunteer on the council level. He went on later in life to get the regional and national level awards as well: the silver antelope and silver buffalo. They sound strange enough, but my dad has poured in countless hours of volunteer work for the BSA. There have been many times as well when he has done as much travelling around the country for scouting projects as he has for work, and my dad racks up a lot of frequent flyer miles for his job.
I wish I could remember what it was like to be a baby. Isn't it strange how our memory isn't something well-defined, but rather grows out of a haze? It really shrouds the question of what it was like to be born, or even if we had an existence before that.
I look at my baby photos and if somebody hadn't told me that was me, I would never have recognized myself. My hair at the time was blond, and later it darkened to a brunette brown. I had very dark blue eyes - now they have gold sunbursts against a lighter blue background. And of course, my facial structure was completely different too.
They tell me I was a happy kid, and I guess its sad that I have a hard time believing that.
"Details in the Fabric" - May 31, 2009
Not So Quick Questions - April 6, 2009
The Morning Stars - Lords of the 15 - April 9, 2009
Sincerity and Faith in Magic - April 10, 2009
Not So Quick Questions (2) - April 14, 2009
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