Origins

Today I am on a walk my parents took with me outside of the apartment I was born in. They swaddled me up in a ton of blankets and took me out into the Chicago winter.

On that short, one block walk to the lake shore park I imagine parents who were happy?... confused?... uncertain of what to feel or what would be expected.  Their little baby, going outside for the first time, one of the first things they attempted to do together as parents.  I of course just stared up at the bare tree branches a lot, and took it all in.

My father's experience inside must have been blocked, or conflicted, or incomplete somehow, maybe in ways he didn't realize, since he was already cheating on my mom by then.

Perhaps my mom did not know yet.   Her fantasy may have prevailed against the warning signs; or perhaps evidence of the truth pushed her further into denial, dissociation.

But they walked along. They were new parents.

My parents didn't anticipate that ultraviolet rays burn even in the cold. So I got a blistering sunburn on my face, at eight weeks old.

One of the first things they attempted to do together as parents.  And the result.

My grandma gave them hell for not thinking about that later.  Psychosoma: the overly sensitive area tingling on the right side of my face, returning to that same spot in the sun.