I've often heard that you don't know where you're going if you don't know where you've been. Well how do you know who you are if you don't know exactly who you are?
             One fall about 1992 my mother called me into her arms and told me that we were going on a trip. I was young and didn't quite know what she was talking about because to me a trip was a short ride to the grocery store or a swift walk to the park. My mom told me that we were going home and again I found myself quite confused because I thought that I was at home. Houston, Texas was the only home that I had ever known. Now I am four years old and my mom is telling me that she is taking me home. I'd have to say that was the first time that I was fully convinced that my mom was crazy and was in full need of psychiatric help. But being that I was only old enough to do exactly nothing in the world for myself I went along with the story and began to get ready to go home.
             After my mom packed suitcase after suitcase, bag after bag, and bundle after bundle into the car and finally me we were ready to leave on the trip. At first I was excited and eager to see where we were going, but after the first hour and then the second and then the third my small fragile body and mind were totally exhausted. The car was cold and had that stale new car smell that was about to make my stomach upset and my car seat was sticking to my rear end. I was confined and destined to sit in what I thought was pure torture until finally I gave up on the battle and fell asleep resting me head against the cold plastic that was imprisoning me to my seat.
             After what seemed to be eternities I arose from my nap and peered out of the window and experienced things that I had never experienced before in the short four years of my life. It was almost as if the entire world as I knew it had faded away and I was placed in a new world that was nothing like the old. The air no ...