As we last left our intrepid hero he was being abandoned by his father and the rest of the family was landing on a snowy runway in New York. An old lady (grandma) and a middle age woman (mom) dragging three small children a couple of thousand miles away to try a start at a better life. I actually remember getting of the plane and having to go down the stairs of this gigantic plane, it was a Pan-Am 747, we had to walk on the runway to get to the concourse. It was damn cold for us true southerners.
I don't know if I was like other children in that same situation but I do not remember anger or fear, I remember just doings. Playing somewhere, eating, setting myself on fire trying to lite a gas oven to make frozen pizza. I remember the building we moved to but I don't remember how we got there. It was a dark brick apartment building 170th and Walton avenue. Right across the street from PS 64. OK a little taste now. Be back no more months in between...
