My Mother had 8 children to my father. The youngest was named Francis Xavier after the Saint. During delivery he got tangled and they both almost died when his umbilical cord got wrapped around his neck. Caught in labor and with careful handling, both luckily survived the birth. He was a great kid and I was his protector from the 3 older brothers (who had the habit of being complete asses). None-the-less, he remained safe under my protective watch. Then there was a fire (theorized to have been started by the 4 yr old brother between Francis and I) while the rest of us were at school. This fire killed both Francis and my Mother (who was filling the tub, then after being told by the 4 year old there was a fire, alerted the neighbor from the second story window, "Call the fire department, Raymond is up here and I'm going down for the baby!") She then wet a blanket in the tub to cover herself and went down for Francis, the 2 year old... Long story short, both she and Francis died, but Raymond was saved. I was 6 and in 1st grade, was whisked away from school in an old 1940's black sedan with seats so low I couldn't see out the windows; I had to look up. I never got to see the damaged house, wasn't allowed to go to the funeral, and was sent to an orphanage 7 months later where I spend the next 11 years trying to survive before graduating and being told, "Don't come back!" How do I know the details? I'll tell you. In 1980 I joined the Army and went toBasic Training at Ft. Dix, NJ. We got a 3 day pass and not having anywhere to go the Sgt said, "Get out or I'll make you clean the latrines with a toothbrush!" Curious for closure, and not have seen my home in 14 years since leaving for school that morning, I went to SW Philadelphia, to the old neighborhood. Strangely it appeared nothing had changed except the size of the trees. It was bizarre. The house looked like the rest on the block with no apparent changes; same cedar shingles and porch. As I wandered around the block a guy washing his Corvette across the street watched me closely. With a skinhead Army haircut I'm sure I looked out of place. Finally I approached him and introduced myself. I said, "Hi, I know I don't look like I'm from around here but actually I used to live in a house acrossed the street (and I pointed to it)." He said, "The ______ house?" I said, "Yes!" Then he said the strangest thing, he stood up, stopped polishing his hood, looked me straight in the eye and said, "I'm the Fireman who pulled your brother out!" I was completely floored, it was 14 years ago and this protector moved in across the street; unbelievable. So he told the story, how... " your Mother called out to the neighbor ..." Evidently the wet blanket over the head does NOT work! He said my Mother collapsed on the steps and was found below in the living room closet. After the clothes burned and weakened the steps, her weight put her through into a heap in the closet. Of course, I stood through his explaination in complete shock, then without hesitation I asked, "Where did you find the baby (Francis)? He stopped then and hesitated, not wanting more to speak, but it was too late, I had asked too much to now escape the horror. I said in the best cold Army tough I could muster, "Where did you find him?" "Tell me," I said. Then he replied, "He was in the middle of the living room!" Looking through the gates of hell I perced, "What was left of him?" I looked him straight cold in the eye demanding an answer and you know what they say about being careful what you wish for, he said, "He was just a grease spot on the carpet!" Wow, I thought, left in the high chair, seeing the fire knowing Mom was upstairs, he managed to tip over the chair and crawl to Mom as she desperately tried to save him. Umbilical cord wrapped potentiating death for both or living death for one. A tragedy of epic proportion; unfathomable to some and fantastic to all, what a shame. For my part, I met some old neighbors who held me through the weekend and I finished Basic Training filled with pride for protecting my country, but in reality, I have thought of Francis every day. I blocked the major front, the 3 older bothers, but the younger subversive enacted destruction while my back was turned. The official cause of the fire was wiring faults, but in the back of my mind... Always try to be respectful, especially to my brothers, my younger of which I spent years fighting his battles for him, but I harbored resentment and one day unleashed it for what he did to my favorite brother; I threw him through a plate glass window. It was crazy anger, pent up for years and was frightening. I figured I needed to channel it to control it and weight lifting was the only cure. So much, so much. Many here recognize I'm a bit deep, well, there's a bit of the reality beneath the veil. The umbilical story brought it out; two go in, both die now or later, or one survives to carry the curse. The Mother has a cross to bear, but at least they weren't robbed of a personality as well. Therein lies the hell...
