"There are trees in the desert since you moved out."

Um, Hi.

My name is Madrigle, also known to friends and family as James, Jazbo, Jimbo, Joe-cool, J.C., and Uncle Beans. If my brother would have had his 10 year old heart's desire, I would be called Geronimo. Thank GOD for the intersession of rational parents saddling me with the tasteful name of James.

Names are important. They can make or break us, and at there very first intonation fill another with all kinds of preconceptions about the name bearer. Take James for instance, every James I have ever known has been a suave bastard, I'd like to think I'm the exception. Or the name Carlos, a name that still brings about particularly strong feelings of revulsion and even starts my skin to crawling all because of the memories of a particularly cruel Carlos in grade school. I once found a undamaged birds egg, a little brown speckled thumb nail sized of a thing that I had in fact watched fall out of the birds nest perched high in a mulberry tree on the playground of Memorial Elementary, in Deming, New Mexico. I was cradling it in my hand wanting so desperately to keep it warm, but also fearing that my touch had forever tainted it and condemned it to the absence of it's mother's love. I had it in my hand, not knowing what to do, protecting it from the jostling kids around me on our dusty playground where the slightest breeze picked up the grit and tossed it in our desert dwelling eyes. Carlos walked over and with a tenderness I had never seen him demonstrate asked me to see the egg. I gently opened my hand, letting the smallest of cracks open between my two hands so that he could see as he had asked. Quicker then I realized what was happening Carlos brought s short stubby stick out from behind his back and stabbed it down through the egg grinding the shards of the shattered shell and the muck of the developing young bird deep into the crevices of my palm. I was so distraught, I didn't even move, and I began to cry, to cry not for the bird or the pain in my hand, but to cry at the sheer cruelty I had just seen this boy, this human, this Carlos, exhibit. I think at that moment I was sure there was evil in this world, and cruelty and people who could destroy and kill others and enjoy it without the slightest regret or remorse. On that day the world lost some of the innocence I hoped it might have. On that day, I lost a little bit of my trust in my fellow humans. On that day I may have felt the first TRUE feelings of hate I had ever experienced. On that day I think I learned much of what you need to know to survive as an adult in this world.

Today was a happy day. I'm not sure why such unhappy memories came rushing back to me just now. Perhaps those lessons I learned will be needed soon. I should be mindful.

Love to you.