Origins.
I want to share pieces of my origin story. Move backwards, in order to fully understand the trajectory of this story I am still writing.
The very first home I ever lived in, was in Inglewood, an area of Los Angeles. I remember always feeling safe, except for two incidents that will forever be etched into my memory. The first was when a man was shot and killed in the back alley. Bullets blasted through the front of the house and my dad recounts how he rolled over my mom when they were awoken from their sleep, and rolled them both off the bed and onto the floor. I can’t even imagine. Being a young couple with two toddlers, and having to be on “bullet” alert at night. The second time that I felt fear by proxy, was when someone stole construction worker equipment from the back of my dad’s old tan truck out front, and his reaction of helplessness, loss and anger as he punched a hole in the wall and cried uncontrollably, scared the absolute shit out of toddler me. His emotional outburst was warranted, because we did not come from money and because he had worked so hard to start his own construction company, and the stolen equipment was VERY expensive. That may be the first time I ever saw that kind of raw emotion before…
My very first home on this earth. We lived in the duplex upstairs, while family members usually rotated living in the unit below. My mother would hold me in her arms as a baby, and hold my brother’s hand as we all stood in front of the big front window and did a dance as we waved my dad “goodbye” on his way to work.
My maternal great grandparents (my maternal grandmother’s parents) lived in a beautiful, vintage peach home, where the streets were lined with the tallest palm trees I have ever seen. Their home was headquarters for all things familial. Someone getting married? Have a party at Ma and Poppa’s! Someone graduating? Have a celebration at Ma and Poppa’s! Someone’s retirement party? Let’s have it at Ma and Poppa’s. Ooop! Someone pregnant? Get your booties to Ma and Poppa’s for the baby shower! Summertime barbecue? Guess where the heck we’re going!??
This house was LOVE. Let me tell you. I remember as a 2 year old, my mom took me to get my ears pierced, and although I howled like banshee in the mall, I absolutely insisted she take me to Ma and Poppa’s after, so I could show my great grandmother how absolutely baller my new ear bling was! I remember having tons of weekend sleepovers where my brother and I and my two cousins William and Leelend would get up to all sorts of mischief! I was the youngest of the gang and the only female…but ohhh boy, was I the ringleader. Case in point: when I convinced my brother to throw a towel over the revolving fan blades above us, so he could fly like “Superman”. I was very convincing as a 4 year old. Spoiler alert, he did not fly. But the fan DID get ripped clean out the ceiling and we all stood there, bug-eyed and in shock. Allll the boys got whoopings from my great grandfather…he must have forgotten to “discipline” me though…Teeheehee…whoopsie doodle.
My great grandparents are no longer with us in this life, but they are still with me, always and forever.
My maternal great grandparents’ house. Ma and Poppa’s house was our family “headquarters”. Barbecues, celebrations, holidays, wedding parties, anniversary celebrations, weekend sleep overs with the cousins, all of the family magic happened right here. The house was painted peach when they lived here though.
My first ever school was called Purche Avenue Elementary School. Our mascot was a panther and the school colours were blue and gold. Ironically for university, I attended the University of Pittsburgh; which also had a panther as a mascot and blue and gold colours.
this is where I first learned to socialize. Where I realized fresh air and recess was just as important for my life as the lessons we were learning inside. Ms. Silverstein, a white haired woman who was sweet as could be, was my teacher. We had a class pet rabbit named Elliot…who bit me once…and forever made me just a weeee bit suspicious of bunnies. My dad used his construction skills to make a wooden planter; a giant wooden box that the teachers filled with soil and flowers and cute little veg. I didn’t see it outside on the blacktop when I last went to Purche, but I remember it and it’s clear as day in my memory.
Purche (pronounced like PUR-CHEE) Avenue School was my very first educational institution. A mere 900 yards from my great grandparents house up the street.
I distinctly remember walking to these gates and waving goodbye as my mom or dad would drop me off everyday for school. I remember the big Halloween parades where tons of little toddlers and children, all clad in “super cool” costumes, walked around the block with teachers, to give the neighbors a “fright”.
And although it was a tad emotionally sting-y, my visit back to these places in LA, conjured a spell that I am currently still wrapped up in. I need to move back to LA. I need to do some more digging. I need to find my inner child, and show her that she grew up, to be just fine.
I hope you enjoyed this reflection and insight into my past; I have a feeling, this won’t be the last.
light and love always,
-DW
#memories #LA #veganphotographer #lifebeforediabetes #wilsonfamilystrong #inthebeginning #solotravel #digging