It took almost an hour to drive the thirty miles or so home to Nevada.  There wasn't much talk along the way.  Most, if not all of the talk had been between my mother and stepfather.  I had sat quietly on the back seat thinking, maybe it was more like feeling.
    I really didn't know what to expect in this new life of mine I was embarking on.  I didn't know what family life was like.  My only perception of what family life was like, what little I did have, was to prove somewhat unrealistic.  Since it was based on memories of my adoptive home more than six years before when I was nine years old.  Since then I had lived in institutions.  Almost three quarters of my life, a long time for such a young and confused mind.
    It was only a few days before my fifteenth birthday when I had gone home to Nevãda.  It had been a little over ten years since my dad had died and then later I had been taken from my mother.  Most of that time had been spent in three different institutions.  None of those years had been in a normal home environment.
    I guess at the age I was when I went home to Nevãda most people felt I was old enough to be responsible for myself and my actions.  That made as much sense as to turn an nine year old boy loose in the middle of town on his own.  All of my life I had been told when to get out of bed, when to eat, when to quit eating and leave the table, when to go to school or work, when to play and when to go to bed.  Everything in my life had been regulated by the clock, by the day, week and the time of the year. All under an adult's close supervision.  I wasn't allowed to make any decisions on my own.  I was never given that responsibility.  I had never been allowed to express myself as I was growing up.  I had been taught very well in that respect.  I never had money to budget and spend so I didn't know the value of money, except I found no one would do anything for me unless I gave them money.  I never had much contact with girls as I grew up.  (I wasn't suppose to have any contact with them.)  So how was I suppose to have a normal relationship with them now?  There were so many things I didn't know, most fifteen year old boys knew and took for granted.
    They had taught me how to live in institutions not how to live once I had left them.  They had taught me a way of life that was to destroy any chances for me of ever having a normal and happy life.
    The worst part of it all, I thought I was old enough to take care of myself.  I wasn't a bit more responsible for, or of myself than when I had ran away from the orphanage a little less than four years before when I was eleven years old and had told the police, "I'm big enough to take care of myself."  They had thought it was funny then but now everyone thought it was all right.
    Outside of being a little older on the outside, emotionally I hadn't grown a day since returning to the orphanage when I was nine years old and I wasn't doing too good then.  If anything, I was doing worse when I went home from the training school.
    No, they had not taught me how to live and survive in the world I was entering.  There had been no transitional help from the one world I knew to the other world I knew nothing of.
    Of course my first view of my new home was at night.  It was sort of a lean-to addition on the back of the house at 635 5th.  Street there in Nevada.
    My stepfather had to leave the car lights on until my mother had gone to the door and turned the hall light on.  I had gotten out of the car and had followed my mother to the door.  At the far end of the hallway, on the left hand side, a door opened into my new home.
    The apartment had been small but then I hadn't noticed for I had no visions of what it would look like so I wasn't disappointed when I had seen my new home for the first time.  The first room I entered was the living room, there was a couch and a matching chair, a lamp and a small end-table, with a magazine rack near the chair.
    The apartment was "L" shaped.  To my right in the base of the "L" was first, the dining area then the kitchen.  Beyond the kitchen was the bathroom.  The bathroom was only big enough for a shower and a stool.  Above the stool was a storage cabinet for towels and such.  To my left, at the top of the "L" was a doorway that led into the bedroom.  A bedroom that was only big enough for a double bed and dresser.
    The length of the whole apartment wasn't more than thirty feet, nor was it wider than ten feet.  So it was quite a small apartment for two people let alone three.
    The size of the apartment should have told me something.  That they had not expected me to be coming home.  Maybe I thought they felt like I did, I was happy to be home again, a little confused but happy.
    There hadn't been any talk about how nice it was to have me home again.  Their mood hadn't been joyous but I hadn't noticed that then.  It was almost as though there had been words between my mother and Ed earlier in the evening, but then again, I hadn't noticed that then.
    Maybe since it was around ten o'clock or so, we prepared for bed and didn't sit around and talk.  Maybe it was because we were all tired and Ed had to go to work the next day.
    My mother had gone into the bedroom and came back with a pillow and blanket.  Laying them on the couch she said, "Son this is where you will sleep."
    I had quietly said "Thank you."  Almost saying "Mam" from force of habit.  I thought, "What do I call her?" I couldn't call her, “Mom” or “Mother.”  I couldn't get that out without it choking up in me.  I had felt bad about it but I couldn't do it.
    "Well I'm tired," Ed had said as he took off his shirt and walked towards the bedroom.  Then at the bedroom door turning towards me, he had said, "Turn off the light as soon as you get your bed made."  Then adding, "There isn't a door on the bedroom and I don't want the light shining in here."
    I tried not looking towards him as I quietly replied, "Yes Sir."  For I had never seen an adult getting undressed for bed before and I felt it might be improper for me to do so but because of the way the apartment was laid out and because we were talking, it was hard to avoid seeing him undressing.  Once he took off his pants all he had on was his T-shirt and a pair of baggy briefs.  His fat belly stuck out from under his T-shirt.
    Quickly spreading the blanket out, I turned to the light switch by the door and turned the light out.  Returning to the couch, I removed all of my clothes except for my shorts and climbed under the blanket.  This had been about the first time in my life I hadn't slept in pajamas.  The only times I didn't have pajamas to sleep in had been while I had been on escape from the orphanage or juvenile home and the times they made me sleep nude in the juvenile home.
    As I laid there, I could feel the cool air coming through the open window behind the couch.  It was the first part of May and the air had felt soothing.
    I could hear my mother getting ready for bed in the darkened bed room, then there was some small talk, I couldn't understand and then it was quiet.
    I laid there looking up at the moon, feeling the cool breeze flowing over me and fell asleep.
    It was after six o'clock the next morning when I had awakened.  Ed had already gone to work.  My mother was siting in the overstuffed chair reading the newspaper.  Even after I had awakened I had kept my eyes closed as though I was still asleep.
    I had to go to the bathroom but with my mother sitting there I didn't want to get up.  I felt uncomfortable her seeing me in my shorts.  It was a strange new feeling for me, for at the institutions I never felt that way around any adults.
    Finally, after waiting several minutes I couldn't wait any longer.  Keeping the blanket wrapped around me I got up and headed for the bathroom.
    "Good morning Son."  She had said as I rose from the couch.  That bothered me, her calling me "Son."  She had visited me six or seven times in all of the years since I had been taken from her and now I didn't feel that closeness to her that maybe a son should feel.  It was like there was some sort of unseen barrier between us.  In some way I felt bad because I felt that way.
    Going into the bathroom I had to pass through the kitchen area.  Along one wall was a small gas stove and a sink, the refrigerator sat against the opposite wall in front of the stove, with barely enough room to pass between them.
    Finished in the bathroom I returned to the living room, still with the blanket wrapped around me.
    "Are you cold Son?"  My mother had asked, noticing the blanket wrapped about me.
    "A little bit."  I had replied as I picked up my clothes from the arm of the couch.  Still wrapped in the blanket, I turned and went back into the bathroom.
    The bathroom was the only room that had a door.  So entering the bathroom I closed the door.  Closing the door I had stepped into the shower to dress.  That was how small the bathroom was.
    Once dressed I came out of the bathroom carrying the blanket.  I placed it on the couch and then went to the sink where I had seen a comb and combed my hair.  As I laid the comb back down I thought, "Now what do I do?"  Not knowing what else to do I went over to the couch and sat down.
    My mother had picked up the blanket and pillow and was in the bedroom putting them away in a drawer.  Returning to the living room she had asked, "Are you hungry Son?"
    "I wish she would stop calling me that," I had thought.  I was looking down at the floor, not looking at her because of the thoughts I was having.  I was feeling bad about it but I couldn't help it.  I didn't want her to call me "Son" but I couldn't tell her that.  I didn't understand why I felt that way and I was sure she wouldn't either.
    "No." I quietly replied keeping my eyes downcast, again almost saying "Mam."  Then I added, "I'm not hungry."  Which was a lie but I didn't want her to put herself out for me.  The feelings I was having were very strange and very confusing.
    "Well why don't we go up to Howard's and I will introduce you to everyone?"  It had been more of a statement than a question.  Who Howard was I had no idea but if that was what my mother wanted to do then I would go with her.
    Leaving the apartment I went out first letting my mother to close the door after us.  She didn't lock the door so it wasn't necessary for me to ever have a key.
    We walked around to the front of the house and went up to the front door.  My mother knocked on the door and a few moments later a woman about my mother's age came to the door.  My mother said, calling her landlady by name, "This is my son Larry, who I was telling you about."
    Her landlady turning to me said, "My, you are a nice looking boy."  Feeling sort of embarrassed, I had replied, "Hello."  And stepped off of the porch away from them.
    They had talked for awhile as I stood there waiting for my mother.  I couldn't make out what they were saying but occasionally they would look towards me.  Once my mother had said something to me but I hadn't understood what she had been saying.  Then she didn't realize I was hard of hearing.
    As I had waited, I had been watching some kids about my age playing in the park across the street from the house and it had been several minutes before I had heard the closing of the door.  I turned and seen my mother coming down the front steps of the porch.
    It was about eight or nine blocks to Howard's.  As we walked, my mother explained to me Howard was my uncle, her older brother.  I would also see my grandparents who I had seen about three years before when I had ran away from the juvenile home.
    Every now and then my mother would meet someone on the street she knew.  We would stop and they would talk for a while before we would continue on.  Each time she would introduce me to them.  Each time I would be embarrassed.
    Arriving at my uncle's we stopped outside and my mother pointed out where she worked.  A place called "Donnely's."  It was across the street and about a half block further down.  This being Saturday she didn't have to work.
    My uncle Howard was a plumbing contractor and above his shop were two apartments.  My grandparents' apartment was in the front and my uncle's apartment was in the rear.
    I opened the door and my mother went in, I followed her closing the door behind me. My mother led the way upstairs, opening the first door at the top of the stairs without knocking.  It opened into my grandparents' kitchen.
    I noticed how neat and clean it was as I followed my mother through the kitchen and into the living room where my grandmother was sitting in a chair near the window.
    "Well Mom, here's Larry." My mom had proudly said to her mother.
    "Hi Grandma. Where is Grandpa?"  I had greeted her as I put my arms about her.  Even though I hadn't seen my grandmother since I had ran away from the juvenile home, I had easily greeted her.  I had felt more at ease with my grandparents than I did anyone else.  Maybe it was I didn't feel they would put any demands on me I couldn't fulfill.
    "Your grandfather is over at the pool hall."  She had answered, then went on, "He will be home this afternoon."
    Talking to my grandmother I asked, "Can I go see him?"
    Before my grandmother could answer me, my mother spoke, "No, it's not a good idea for you to be running around town yet."  Then she added, "You stay here with us until it is time to go.  You can listen to the radio if you want to."
    I turned and walked over to the window that overlooked the street.  Tears were in my eyes and I didn't want them to see.  I didn't like feeling that way and I didn't want them to know how easily my feelings had been hurt.  I had been happy when I had first saw Grandma but not being able to do something I wanted to do had quickly brought tears to my eyes.  I had wanted to see my grandfather and I couldn't understand why my mother didn't want me to see him.
    In a few minutes I had regained control of my feelings.  The radio was sitting on the table near the window so squatting down by the table I turned the radio on.  After fiddling with the dial for a few minutes I turned the radio back off.
    I asked my grandmother if I could listen to some records and getting an affirmative answer I had taken a record from a rack on the shelf under the table and placed it on the turntable of the record player.
    Turning the record player on I positioned the needle at the edge of the record and sat down on the floor to listen to it but nothing happened.  I had looked for a knob to turn the volume up but there wasn't any knobs on the player, only the switch to turn it on and off.
    Thinking I had broken the record player, I turned to my grandmother and said, "Grandma, I think the record player is broken, it won't make any sound."
    My mother and grandmother had been talking and I had interrupted them without thinking.  My grandmother had sort of laughed and said, "You have to have the radio on to hear the record."  Then getting up, she said, "Here I will show you."
    The record was still spinning when she turned the radio on.  It took a few moments for the radio to warm up but as soon as it had warmed up she started turning the dial to the proper place.  As soon as she had found the proper place on the dial I could hear the record.
    I had never seen a record player like that before and it fascinated me.  "Grandma, how does it work?"  I had asked in amazement.  "There are no wires between the radio and the record player."
    She laughed and said, "It transmits a radio signal through the power cord.  You can pick up the music from the record player as far as three blocks from here."  With that she had sat back down and continued talking with my mother.
    It had been a long time since I had listened to a record player, or even a radio.  Not since I was nine years old and was living on the farm had I listened to either of them.
    I had gotten a chair and was sitting there with my head laying on my arm, next to the radio listening to the music, like I use to do when I was nine years old and lived on the farm with my adopted parents.  It felt good to just lay there and listen to each record.  All of the records were country music.  At that time I didn't know there were different kinds of music.  But I quickly discovered I liked country music.  One of the songs which I listened to over and over again was, "There's a Star-Spangled Banner Waving Somewhere." (the one playing on the MIDI now, is that song.) I loved that song.
    I must have fallen asleep for I was laying that way when my grandmother came and touched me on the shoulder and told me, "Come in the kitchen and have something to eat."
    Turning the record player and the radio off, I got up and went into the kitchen.  There was a bowl of Cream of Tomato soup, a sandwich and a glass of milk sitting on the table.  "You can sit here."  My grandmother had said as she pulled out one of the chairs.
    After eating, I had returned to the living room.  Only my grandmother was there.  My mother must have left after I had fallen asleep while listening to the records.
    "Grandma, where is my mother?"  I had asked.
    I must have sounded a little worried for my grandmother had replied, "Don't worry, she only went to the store to get you some new clothes.  She'll be back in a little while."
    The only clothes I had were the ones I was wearing.  They were my state clothes I had worn home from the training school.
    I could hear noises downstairs and I asked my grandmother what it was and she told me, it was probably the men returning from "the job."  They only worked half a day on Saturday.
    "Can I go down and see them?"  I had excitedly asked.  The only one I would have known would have been my stepfather, Ed. But I wanted to go anyway.  Maybe what it was, I wanted everyone to know as soon as possible, "I am home!"
    But my grandmother had answered, "You had better stay here, they'll be up in a few minutes."  I had been disappointed but not like before, at least I didn't feel like crying.
    Before they could come upstairs my mother came back with my new clothes.  She had two pair of blue jeans, some T-shirts, briefs and socks.  Handing them to me she said, "Go into Grandma's room, close the door and change into these clothes."
    Taking the clothes, I went into my grandmother's room and closed the door.  This was the first time in several years I had anything but state clothes.
    I stripped out of all of my state clothes I had worn home from the training school.  Standing nude in front of the mirror on the back of my grandmother's bed room door, I excitedly tore open the package the briefs came in.  When it came to me looking at myself, standing nude in front of a full length mirror, I am afraid I was not very modest.  When my body wasn't marked with bruises from a beating I was very proud of what I saw.
    Finally getting the briefs out of the package, I shook them out and slipped into them.  The briefs felt snug.  Standing back I admired myself in the mirror.  I liked what I saw.  The briefs were tight around the waist as were the leg bands.  They were tight everywhere not like the state shorts.  The shorts I had been wearing were the type, "One fits all."  They were like boxer shorts except they were open up the front without buttons.  At the top were two strings that crossed in the front going around the waist and back out in front where they were tied.  I hated them with a passion.
    Yes my new briefs made me feel good.  I turned to the bed and picked up the package of T-shirts and tore one of them from the bag.  I shook it out and quickly pulled it over my head and again turned towards the mirror.  "WOW!"  I thought.  I was proud.  I was very happy at what I saw.  The T-shirt was also snug fitting.  All I wanted to do was to stand there and stare at myself.  I had never had clothes like these before.  Yes, I was very proud how I looked in my new briefs and T-shirt.
    Putting my blue jeans on and zipping them up I was disappointed they didn't fit as snug as my underwear did.  They were also too long and I had to roll the pant-legs up
    Removing the belt from the pants I had taken off I threaded it through the loops on my new pants.  Then turning to the mirror once again I smiled and thought, "Well, I don't look all that bad."
    "Larry what is taking you so long?"  My mother called through the door.
    "Nothing.  I am all dressed.  I'm just folding up my old clothes."  I replied as I quickly turned to the bed and started folding my clothes.  I didn't think anyone would have understood how I liked to admire myself in front of a mirror.
    The door opened and my mother walked in.  "Let's see how the clothes fit."  She had said as she walked towards me and as I had turned around to face her.
    "How do they feel?"  She had asked me.
    "The pants seem to feel a little big."  I answered.  I didn't want to sound like I was complaining for I did like the clothes.
    "Turn around and loosen your belt."  She had instructed me.
    I had done as my mother had told me, putting my back to her.  I had unbuckled my belt, then feeling her thumbs inside of my waistband at my sides I had raise my arms.
    She had circled my waist from my side to around in front of me.  Then standing back she again looked me over as I refastened my belt.
    She assured me, "They will be all right after the first time they are washed."  Then added, "I hope they don't shrink too much."  I wanted them to shrink a lot so they would fit tight like my underwear did.
    Looking towards my clothes on the bed she said, "Leave those there, we'll get them on the way home."  Then coming to me she put her arm around my waist, smiled and said, "Let's go meet your aunt and uncle."
    With that we walked towards the bedroom door, where she removed her arm, allowing me to go through the door first.  Then taking me by the arm she led me through Grandma's kitchen and down the hallway to a door that was standing open.  Going through the door we entered my uncle's kitchen.  Ed was sitting at the table drinking coffee with three other people.  One of them was a boy about nineteen years old.
    "Larry, this is your aunt Louise, this is your uncle Howard, and this big fellow over here is your cousin Bob."  My mother had pointed to each person in turn as she had named them.
    Then turning to the people at the table, "Well folks, what do you think of my big boy?"
    Howard, Bob and Ed only glanced up then went back to their conversation.  They all worked together and it sounded as though they were talking about the job they were working on.
    Aunt Louise had gotten up and walked around the table, came to me and put her arm about my waist.  "My gosh Larry, you have grown since the last time I seen you." Then standing back, she remarked, "You were only about five years old then, couldn't have been much more than three feet tall.  Now look at you, you'r as tall as I am."
    I had sheepishly smiled, as she again put her arm about my waist, I was sort of embarrassed with all of the attention she was giving me.  I felt she liked me and that made me feel good.
    At that time, my impression of my uncle was that he was a very important man there in the community and I had felt very proud when later I was to tell people he was my uncle.
    Maybe I thought I should have been the center of attention or something like that. This did seem like a very important day.  It was my first day home after nine years and to the men it was only another working day.
    Hearing someone coming up the stairs I turned and looked that way.  It was my grandfather and he was almost at the top of the stairs.  I wanted to run and put my arms around him but I had felt I was too big for that.  Turning to my aunt I said, "Excuse me, I want to go and see Grandpa."
    She had taken her arm from about my waist and laughed, "Well go ahead if he means more to you than me."
    Quickly I had turned towards the door.  I wanted to run to him and it had taken all of my will power to hold it to a fast pace.
    "Hi Grandpa.  I'm home and this time they aren't going to take me back like they did the last time."  I almost yelled as I had approached him.
    "Well I sure hope they don't.  What has it been, two years since the last time I saw you?"  He had asked.
    "No Grandpa, it was three years ago when I ran away from the juvenile home."  I had replied, putting my arm about him, then quickly taking it away, thinking he would think I was to big for that.
    Going into his kitchen he said, "Let's sit here awhile," pulling a chair from the table. "Those stairs sort of took the wind out of me."  Grandpa seemed a lot older than what I remembered from the last time I had seen him.
    "Grandpa, do you work at the pool hall?"  Before he could answer, I had asked, "What's a pool hall?"
    "No, I don't work there, I only help out on the weekends."  He had replied and then went on.  "If you want to see what a pool hall is, I'll take you over there one of these days when you have some time and I will show you."
    Grandpa talked kind of slow like, like maybe he was tired.
    I didn't have long to ponder it for my mother came to the kitchen door, "Get all of your clothes Son.  It is time for us to go."  I hated to have her called me that.
    She had gone on to say, "We will have to stop at the grocery store and I still have this weeks wash to do."
    Then looking down the hallway towards my uncle's apartment, she raised her voice. "Come on Ed, we've got things to do."
    Grandpa, raising from his chair said, "Well I guess it is time for my nap."  He went into the front room ahead of me.
    I wanted to get my clothes off of the bed before he got there.  But instead of going into the room where my clothes were he turned and went into another room.  Then I realized he and grandma didn't share the same bedroom.