…of the Millennium
…of the Jet-Age
…of the Space Age
…of the Digital-Age
bit by bit:
First, there is a white-porcelain bedframe. More like a cage. It’s in the pedes ward of a hospital. The window-shade bright. Somehow, though he’s only three years old, he knows it is morning.
A patch on one eye, holding his mother’s hand, walking into a single-floor wooden building. It is a doctor’s office.
The carport of his house on Ardennes Circle in family housing of Ft. Ord, California: playing with plastic models of World War II combat aircraft. They have been assembled by his brother and only sibling, four-years his senior.
He visits a nearby raceway named Laguna Seca. He hears the name, Stirling Moss. British racing green becomes his favorite color.
As for other automobiles, regularly on Ardennes Circle is an auto he considers unusual and humorous. The auto passes-by daily, and he laughs, observing it from his front lawn. It looks like an egg, has three wheels, and is two-tone red and white. He learns later, the auto is a Messerschmitt.
Also nearby is a beach. He laughs as his brother and he stuff seaweed down the back of their mother’s swimsuit.