Most of my younger years were all a blank to me. I do remember one morning, about the age of four or five. I was lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling when all of a sudden my ears popped, just like when your ear pops after flying an airplane. That’s when I began remembering my first days of life and seeing my two older sisters, and older brother. The only thing that I could remember before that day was when I was playing in Jamaica. I was playing on a dirt trail, when a black car blew its horn. That same black car pulled up right next to the house where I was staying. A white lady with blonde hair exited her vehicle and went into her house. All of the children from the neighborhood knew her and ran to her yard. Shortly afterwards she came out her house and let the kids into her yard to pick grapes. I was too small to reach them, so I remembered her picking me up so I could pick a fair amount. After everyone grabbed enough grapes she piled us into her car and drove u

When I got of the train in Germany, my wife and kids were waiting. I picked up Paris, and I ask him “do you know who I am?” He said “Daddy”. For some reason I was shock in his response. The only way we got to see each other in the past year was by pictures we sent each other in the mail. I had to make it up to my family for being away for so long.

At the age of eight my parents decided to move out of our apartment and into a house. We moved to the Flatbush section of Brooklyn. The white people were moving out and the West Indians were moving in. My neighbors were Haitian and Jamaican. My Haitian neighbors had girl named Bernice who was my age, and the other neighbor had a boy named Sean also my age. We would all grow up to be best of friends until this day.

s up and down the trail. It seemed like every kid from the neighborhood was in the car. Every bump we hit shook our heads back and forth. We had so much fun that day. Until this day I will never forget that ride. I can still picture that car in my mind and it reminds of a Model T Ford. The first type of car, Ford put out for production back in the thirties.

Later on in 1990, I was promoted to sergeant. My platoon was deployed to Saudi Arabia to fight in the Dessert Strom conflict, except for me. My commander wanted me to stay behind to drive for a general who was in charge of supporting the spouses left behind while their love ones were deployed. Being left out of the deployment I didn’t take well. I didn’t want to go to war, and I didn’t want my platoon to leave me behind. I corresponded with the guys for a year, and after the war, my platoon returned a year later. At an award ceremony they received medals along with their combat patch. I was the only soldier in formation without one, and the guys in my platoon always reminded me about it.

Some topics in this essay:
Jamaican Haitian, Bosnia Bosnia, West Indian, Model Ford, Dessert Strom, Pia Pia, Pepsi Cola, Postal Service, Drill Sergeants, War August, combat patch, ft hood texas, tried fit, hood texas, military career, black car, days life, received report, ft hood, military housing, birth child,