Last night as I was walking home with the cement and rocks digging into my feet hurting for miles, my thoughts fell on people who I had not thought about for years. This family down the street, three kids. From youngest to eldest, Bill, Jane, (i think) Gazelle. One of those idylic neighborhoods where all the kids got along very well. Before the university decided to evict and level all the dwellings used for student family housing. Ignacio(iggy) and Sebastian(subby) were just off kitty-corner, though that is a different set of flickering memories.

This family was curious, earthy and religious. Knowing not at the time, they accidentaly taught me things, which until last night I had neglected to recall the origin. From them I learned bees are not vicious creatures, if you are gentle and kind they will surround you untouched, unharmed. They owned a hivebox often engulfed in a hurricane of bees swirlling in and out into the windy summer. Walking timidly into this frenzy to open and investigate the glistening golden honeycombs.

Their mother was peculiar, I was never sure what to think of her. She became nervous when a fly landed on some fruit we were about to eat shortly thereafter. Concerned about contamination from the fly, they carry disease which is deposited on the food upon flying away. I loathed flies to an even greater level thereafter. I was to taste the salt of religious conflict so young. Parents and children alike were staunch in their beliefs. One day, some of the other kids were somehow talking of evolution subsequently the origin of man. There arose a chillingly cruel meltdown between Bill and another boy. Bill, steadfast that man was created from dust. Instead of accepting that difference in belief, the other child ruthlessly mocked Bill and his religion for some days to follow.

Finding apples too small sour not yet ready are best thrown at a friend after one bite. The crab apple tree behind their house annually yielding so many skirmishes. That large bushes make exceptional forts, a home away from home. What led me to where they reside in my memory, the children always went about barefoot. Not out of need, instead pleasure. Feet were rougher, more durable than the rest of us, amazed by what they could walk through without flinching. An early inkling towards the ability of conditioning to open new levels within our capability and potential.

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