Yeah, we made the move West, again. It was in the summer of '59. I was in my early teens by then. I was more aware of why we had decided to move. My father was getting itchy feet. I remember every Saturday he would go down to the local tobacco & newspaper store and buy a copy of the Los Angeles Times. It was huge newspaper. It would take forever to read it. I remember how my dad would go through it and recite, like a litany, the wonders of living in California.
My mother was strictly a Southern girl. Although her father had immigrated to the South from Indiana, on her mother's side of the family they went "back to dirt." A Southern term meaning they were here since the beginning of America. Family was very important to my mother, especially her father. But my father was persistent and it just so happened, my mother had gotten into a big argument with her family and decided it was time to go. So we packed up and away we went.
After a fairly uneventful trip we ended up in Southern California. Pomona, to be exact. Why? My mother said it rhymed with Ramona. Ramona was my oldest sister's first name. That's when I had an epiphany. These people I called my parents were not playing with a full deck.
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