When I abruptly entered this world as a baby I was delivered into the arms of a woman, my mother. What few moments of tenderness that happened at that time I’ll never know but I know a habit of sweetness was not initiated and it was a fight ever since to allow my place in this world to be valid. I was not nurtured with love and grace rather tolerance and impatience. What sweet mystery that is behind the face of a woman was never revealed to me other than a countenance that displayed rancor and disappointment. I was never to know the beauty behind the secret smile, the tender guile behind gentle blue eyes. No my mysteries were more the raging tempest of unpredictable storms, the stringent sting of a whip on my backside. The humiliation of waning trust turned into a shallow bitterness weathered constantly in front of family, friends and the occasional feminine interest. I felt more of a social experiment in a lab craftfully built to look like a home, a family, a den of safety.