The first memories I have is of a small boy about four years old.
I hurt and am scared, I’m on the floor, I look up, my bed is way up. I’ve fallen out of my bunk bed. Someone is on the lower bed so I must have been on the top bed, so far away.
I remember walking in file outside with other children on what seems to me to be a dirt road or path that I have walked before. The image in my mind is that we are returning to a cabin or house that we live in. We are returning from a large building that we just had food in. The sun is shinning and it is warm out. And as we pass another small building, I remember shouting “I have a brother, he lives in that house”. I know I live with these other small people, but I have something they don’t have. I’m not sure what it is, but I was told I have a “brother”.
I think I have met my “brother” but there is more than me and him. It is a warm sunny day, from my perceptive we seem to be to the right of a main building on a gravel and grassy area, playing in front of a car. There are a few grownups around. I remember sitting on the front bumper of the car [remember 1951] there is a metal, springy thing clamped to the bumper, and every time I bump it the horn blows. Looking back now and realizing the year, cars did not come with radios then. Had to be an add on and the antenna was attached to the bumper. Someone was beeping the horn every time I touched the antenna. Playing with my young mind. This as all I remember about this time in my life, this time in my first orphanage.