Blog M-3 = My High-Traffic Infancy, Ages 0-1-2. — The Santa Fe Railroad, U.S. Interstate 80, and the Santa Monica Boulevard.
RXR I was born right up against one of the noisiest railroad tracks in America, in one of those California cities whose governing bodies were quite recently indicted for their allegedly despicable corruption.
But did that ever matter to this On-the-Move Kid? For some bizarre reason, I have always been too full of myself to worry about such trifles. I am not bragging here: It is only my reptilian brain that even remembers my rail-side birthplace at all. That explains, however, why I am always sleeping right through any conversations you thought you were having with me.
Just Playing With Wooden Commuters, Above U. S. INTERSTATE 80 :
NOR do I remember my next stage of life, either, although photos do show me up in my High Sierra home in my bib overalls, playing in the snow with my little wooden school bus and my little wooden bus-passengers. (Strange as it seems, one of my brothers DOES remember those High Sierra years, even though he had not even been born yet!)
Just Having Fun, On Santa Monica Boulevard:
I DO remember having lots and lots of fun at age two, playing alongside Santa Monica Boulevard with the landlady’s daughter Beverly. (And no, her name was NOT “Beverly Hills”.)
The Moves-A-Lot Kid (me) had his little red wagon. Beverly had her little yellow dolly carriage. We used to play for hours and hours, underneath that big rustic redwood carport. What on earth did we beginning talkers find to talk about? Ah, that was our little secret!
Besides, I do not remember any of our actual words, anyway.