A Page Out Of My Book-The Gingerbread House on LaCollina Drive-Caged Behind the Wall of Sound.

A painting I did of the house I grew up in.

Chapter One:                       
A Pair of Twins for Christmas

(This is just the first page from Chapter One-an unedited version)  

      Her name was Mrs. Erickson but I called her mom. As a foster child, I called a lot of people mom. Mrs. Erickson was actually my social worker.  Her job was to find me a family with the hopes that one may actually adopt me; however, I wasn’t alone. I also had a twin brother and Mrs. Erickson thought best to keep us together.

Gary, though 30 min younger than I, took the role of older brother. He protected and looked out for me. He even talked for me. Though having hyperactive tendencies, I was often quiet. I didn’t talk much due to a speech impairment. It seemed no one could understand what I was saying, no one but Gary, witch I’m sure is why Mrs. Erickson didn’t want to separate us, as I was completely dependent on him. Other than having a speech impairment, I was also slow. I didn’t learn as fast as Gary or any of the other kids our age. It’s one reason why I not only called Mrs. Erickson “mom” but all my teachers as I really didn’t know what a mom was. To me it was any lady who looked out for me, read stories to me and pretty much hugged me when I was feeling sad or stood up for me when all the other kids laughed at me for doing something foolish, such as calling teachers “mom.” As a foster child, with little understand of the world around me, I had no idea what parents were but Mrs. Erickson was desperately determined to change that as the years for us being adopted were quickly running out. At the age of five, we had already been to many homes and would be families but with no luck.  However, Christmas was just around the corner and things were about to change.

The Spector’s were a family on the verge of separating. They had already adopted one child in the hopes of keeping their marriage going. Donte was only a few months old when adopted but it was kept secret as Mr. Spector wanted everyone to believe that he was born into the family.  To do so, he had his wife hide a pillow under her blouse whenever friends came by giving the illusion that she was pregnant and handed out births announcements weeks before his arrival.  Because Donte had the same mulatto skin tone as Mrs. Spector, no one questioned it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to keep the marriage going so three years later in 1971 Mr. Spector decides to adopt another child but all that was available in such short notice was five year old twins.

Mrs. Erickson looked optimistic as she drove Gary and me to our next home-located in the town of Beverly Hills-a dream place for any foster child. The road was LaCollina Drive it was a private narrow road a short distance from the Sunset Strip. Minding the speed bumps, Mrs. Erickson drove her station wagon up the winding road as I gazed out the window exploring my new surroundings. Some of the houses were half hidden and nestled behind foliage and walls blanketed in vines while others were out on display with their elaborately manicured gardens and cobblestone entrances, not at all like the simple stucco built tract homes that I was accustomed to. What was missing were the sounds of kids playing around or any indication that there were kids at all. There was no unattended bicycles or footballs waiting to be thrown. All I heard was the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

Further up the road I saw an elder lady sweeping her porch. She had snow-white hair and upon seeing us, a kind and warm smile. She stopped and waved at me as we drove further up the road. Once she was out of sight, I turned my focus to a long chain-link fence covered heavily in ivy with signs warning us about guard dogs and trespassing.  We followed the fence until we came to the entrance where other signs were displayed. Although the wrought-iron gate was wide open, the signs warned us about entering.  Electric fences and killer dogs were meant to keep us out, but Mrs. Erickson drove in anyway and according to a sign... at her own risk.

Two guard dogs greeted us at the entrance while viciously barking at us from within their cages where they were further restrained by a heavy chain attached to a metal pole. As Mrs. Erickson got out of the car, leaving us inside, she saw one more sign before ringing the doorbell. It had a picture of a gun pointing right at her and read "NEVER MIND THE DOGS BEWARE OF OWNER."