Michael Parkes

We are not in Kansas anymore. I wish I could find the one I have that hangs in my living room to share with you. I remember the frustrations with paint by number kits from another lifetime ago. I also revel in the memories of pure joy as I mastered finger painting. Something I immediately embraced from school and then of course insisted be incorporated into the next biggest mess that could be made in my Mothers kitchen. I was going to be an artist. Dashed again, the dreams of a 4 year old, because I was living on Guam and there were way too many more urgent tasks to attend to, outside. Mango trees to climb, swing sets to scale, acres and acres of grass lands to explore (yards with no fences) and plenty of pals to romp around with. We were a gang of running, screaming, shirtless mates who were very busy saving the planet. My Mom tells me I refused to wear a shirt, outside to play, the entire time we lived there. On an island in paradise, shirtless was the rule, pretty sure. None of the boys wore shirts................oh I see, that would be me making new rules. The noisiest place in all the whole wide world was my haven from the storms.....a Quonset Hut. I believe that is why to this day I lust for a tin roof.
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