On The Moon

 

 A.I Image - click for a larger version

Whatever else you might think of A.I.-created images, they do allow differently abled artists – e.g., the rest of us - the chance to produce pictures of things we’ve seen, imagined or dreamed. This is one of those.

When I was young, my family fostered quite a few abused and neglected children over the years. Most stayed with us for only a few months, but one, Allen, came to us when he was an infant. No parent or relative ever came to visit him. Without conscious memory, at least, of trauma or separation, Allen spent the next five years with us as a member of the family. He was my little brother.

One standout memory of Allen is always seeing him with his favorite toy, a plastic guitar. He’d stroll around the house like a miniature troubadour, strumming that guitar, improvising lyrics responsive to his thoughts and experiences at that age. If he ever reads this, I hope he takes my reminiscence as fondly as I do:

“Nebber, Nebber, Nebber
Pick Up Poopies!
I HATE Poopies!” – one of his hundreds of songs.

After a while, his plastic axe started to resemble one of B.B. King’s love-worn instruments, as the strum-wear around the sound hole began to show. I wondered if Allen had been a musician in a past life.

In kindergarten, when Allen was asked what he wanted to do when he grew up, he’d say:

“I want to play the piano. On the back of a garbage truck. On the moon.”

Back in the early ‘60s, it was a rule here that foster parents weren’t allowed to adopt their charges. Eventually, Allen was officially declared abandoned by his birth parents, and thus available for adoption. The day ultimately came when we were told he would be moved to his assigned adoptive parents.

Tears streaming down his cheeks, Allen promised he’d break a window and come home to us.

Allen, I wonder if you became a musician. I hope you’ve had a wonderful life, brother.