They say," The Devil dreams on an idle horse ". But who are they, to say such things ? And what about you ? Are you one of those who complete the
exchange ? That bargain, that rapture of words destined to find truth in the collective human psyche. Or maybe you're like me. Me ? I have the magic
of sweet memories, all the way back to the very day I was born. I remember the rush and the surprize of light I felt, passing through my mothers birth
canal. I remember being held up side down and screaming in terror, as the pattern of smoked hickory and yellow colored tile floor, came into focus. I
remeber the doctors thick jet black hair and the white cap he donned. The thick lenses of his black framed glasses. His white apron and rubber gloves
spattered with blood. His stocky build and hieght. But I don't remember feeling any pain and as I came to find out, the doctor didn't have to smack
I guess he stopped his normal procedure, at that moment he heard my screaming new voice, that would later earn me the nickname Vavoom. As Mom would
often say proudly, " The doctor didn't have to smack you cause life did ". To this day I wonder if her saying that didn't some how curse me. Whah.
I've had these memories and many others from infancy. But didn't pay them any mind up to my tewnty first birthday. When I finally got around to asking
my Mom about these memories, I had always assumed were, just the memory of some odd dream. What were they and where did they come from ? I remember
the astonished look on her face, as I described the day I was born. I even told her about the cold St. Joseph Missouri rain on the way to the
She said, "No that was they day before!" and jumped out of her chair at the dinner table, yelling the name of her lifetime love and husband, my Dad,
who loved her faithfully, up to the day they died together in a car accident. They were always together once their three kids, two boys and a girl in
the middle, were raised up and able. She yelled," Pete ! Damn you! Pete!" He was already almost through the sliding patio door behind her, when he
said back," Now what's he done?" I remember saying, " On my birthday even"? With a look of utter shock and extended arms with open hands in front, as
if pleading my innoscence. She asked him what kind of joke this
was and how he could be a part of such a scam? And believe me, she had my whole childhood full of reasons to think such a thing at first.
But I could tell that if this were a joke, we were playing on her? We were both in deep poo poo by the anger on her face. And by the time she got
herself and her finger, turned around towards my Pop. I guess she somehow figured out it wasn't a joke. She had me repeat everything over again
exactly as I told her, word for word and interupted me where and when, I used the slightest difference in wording. Then with her open hand, raised
just under her chin receivingly and bending the upper half of her body towards my Pop. Then flinging her open hand towards him slightly, then around
to the small of her back and holding it there. She exclaimed, " Now you stand there Henry Shores and you tell me, you had nothing to do with this?"
My Dad walked right by her, talking out the side of his neck saying, "I don't know where all these wild accusations can even be coming from. After all
the countless times we've sat talking about this very same thing. How you can even implicate me, in such a wild ass scheme? You know he has a good
memory". And as usual my Dad wouldn't bat an eye if he seen a ghost. He never let anytrhing give him the ooz and ahs. But you can bet your last
dollar, if it would have been a joke? It most of the time would have belonged to him. Then again,if my Mom ever asked him a question the joke was
pretty much over. Because from what I know and even what she said, my Dad wasn't even capable of lying to her.
So this is my offering to humanity. I was raised up in a very humble home in this world, by two people who spent their lives loving God, each other
and their children. In that order and under no uncertain terms. I feel this has everything to do with having a great memory. I believe because the
doctor abandoned his usual protocol to inflict pain, I wasn't quick to forget the things that happened to me. My memory of birth and even of the day
before remain intact to this day. Even as I remeber the ride to the hospital, being in the car, jumping from the backseat to the front seat. In my
Mothers lap, looking out the passenger door window, at that rainy Missouri day of Febuary third 1959. Then to the back seat and back again to the
front. Then my next memory from there we go back to where I started this account. So what about you?
Does this seem impossible to you ? If so, then I'd like to suggest that you may be someone who knows nothing of the magic in memories. You could quite
possibly belong to the few who offer words of fame. But the chances are, you're one of the many who accept the bargain finding truth in the words of
people who also know nothing of the magic in memories. And therefore can know nothing of God. It isn't just drama. But it is most definetly the trauma
of life, that can wipe away what should be recorded in each one of us. Our very own happiness and the magic of our story. If we are raised in a
violent or disfunctional home, or in an atmosphere of alcoholism and insecurity. Then there are very few intelligent enough not to let fear replace
those memories. Sometimes with
absolutely nothing. But there are those who do and are intelligent enough.. And what about the Devil dreaming on an idle horse thing anyway? What was
that all about?
The fact of what that was all about is, that some times, the truth comes from the most unlikely people.
edit on 17-7-2012 by randyvs because: (no reason given)