Children are all foreigners.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 - 1882)
While an adolescent, there were certain struggles I faced, as does any lower-middle class family. However, my pot of gold was blood. Fortunate enough to sprout from a mom who built our lives using the most primitive of tools, a sister who was (and is still) my hero, and a little brother who I felt compelled to germinate. Without knowing it then, family was the North Star subtly guiding my lost ship.
But alas, villainous influences lingered about and at times were a more powerful catalyst.
Budding in a sleepy mountain town where the local economy thrived off wealthy outlanders and California contemporary white collars (most from the Silicon Valley). These self-made successors who enjoyed vacation homes for summer and winter gaming, were oblivious. Often us locals felt it our duty to prove that these "aliens" couldn't just come and go as they please, capitalizing on Tahoe's natural resources we so generously let them borrow with our hearts, and fists...
And thus we battled. Kings of the Hill. Not ever with manufactured weapons from man, but with the ones the big guy blessed us with, our hands! Defenders of the kingdom we loved but wished offered more. Perhaps we were just jealous of them and most certainly unappreciative of it's beauty they used it for.
Regretfully there were times when we were more the "brow beaters" picking on the happy-go-lifers who were just trying to enjoy their financial success in our town. But no matter, we let all know none were except from meeting the locals.
The town we defended... our mountainous Tahoe. Molded from ice the size of small continents.
Tahoe my teacher.
Family my guide.
-Rob
