My life began in fragments—passed from one set of arms to another before I was old enough to recognize a face or remember a voice. I was born in 1947, but the roots of my story reach back to 1944, to two young parents who were not yet ready for the responsibilities that came with the children they brought into the world.
They met on a Saturday night in August 1944 at a USO dance held at the Blue Jackets Haven, a recreation center for Navy personnel run by the Oakland Navy Mothers Club in Oakland, California. One week later, swept up in wartime urgency and young love, they were married. My brother arrived the following year on September 2, 1945—just nine days before my mother turned nineteen. She was thrilled to be a mother, though she had no experience with babies. Thankfully, her younger sister, Melva, and my father’s sister, Lucille, stepped in to help.
Despite their deep affection for each other, those early years were marked by hardship. My father left the service in April 1946, and the family moved to Tacoma, Washington, where he opened his own auto repair garage. But stability was short-lived.
In November 1946, when my brother was only fourteen months old, he suddenly became gravely ill and was rushed to the hospital. Doctors determined he had been bitten by an infected tsetse fly—an insect native to Africa, likely carried to the States on a ship. The parasite had entered his bloodstream, causing “sleeping sickness.” He remained hospitalized for a month. My mother, pregnant with me at the time, faced the ordeal with worry and exhaustion.
By the time my brother recovered, and I arrived four months later, the family was struggling financially. In September 1947, pressed by necessity, my father reenlisted—this time in the Army, on September 7. Survival, not stability, guided their decisions.
