George Caywood

There is no way for me to express what I endured as a boy. It was frightening, lonely, overwhelmed because I fought so hard to win the nurture of my Mom. If a social worker had taken me out of the home I would have hated her or him because I was completely persuaded that given enough time I would win her love.
My first years were in Tucson, AZ. My dead and mom moved to San Diego, Ca so my dad could get work at the airplane factories that were operating 24/7 trying to get ready for the war. I was 3 years old.
We lived in one bedroom in a boarding house kind of place because there was not any where near enough housing for the war workers.
My dad worked many. many hours because of the emergency situation. That meant my mom was stuck with me in a single room. I was told later that we even used the room inthe night and left it during the day so someone else could sleep in it in the day.
I do not remember those days specifically except when my mind tries to recall them I remember wondering why the rest of my family including the loving ones were back in Tucson. Writing this I feel a sense of hopelessness, terror and aches and pains in my body. I still often feel I really do not belong anywhere. I know that isn’t true but the feeling remains. I just try to keep on keeping on and depending on the faithfulness of my family and friends.