In writing these words I have found that combining all I know helps me connect the dots between the car accident in my dad's made up Texas story with his need to always have a shining car. The fact that my mom told us many telling stories involving some boy or girlfriend, an older brother of a friend or a neighbor who had a car. These stories many times led to a daring tale about going somewhere and doing something exciting. It would appear that my mom may have been a bit wild when she was young and that she was attracted to men with cars. Cars seemed to have been a big factor in my family history from before I was even born. I definitely had something to do with my mother falling for my dad. My dad always had to have a nice shiny car and going for a drive or a weekend trip was his favorite thing to do. A car also led my father and mother to travel to California. Ultimately, a car caused the tragic crash that ended my childhood. A car became the symbol of my mother's newfound independence. In a later part of my preteen years. A car became a constant reminder of everything bad and good in my life. One of our cars showed me just how caring and giving a person can be just when you need it the most. I was born in Syracuse, New York in 1951. My parents, Leila and Norman, were my first teachers, and yet I cannot remember much of the early days of my life there with them. I believe so clearly, it feels like a knowing, that their issues from the start became mine in both small and large fashion.
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