An Outsider

Perhaps since the moment that I was born, I have always had the feeling of being something of an outsider, and that is neither a confession nor a boast. I simply did not see the world in the same terms as other people. I missed things that others saw, and saw things that others missed.

When I was coming of age, the beats and hippies proclaimed that outsiders were "in." At times, I thought that I might be one of them, but that never clicked. I decided that they were phony - just insiders who were, temporarily, pretending to be out.
At about the same time, a lot of people were saying that Blacks were the ones who were really alienated. For somebody who had often been the only White boy in all-Black classes, this did not ring very true either. I had trouble even thinking of them as a "minority" (and I still do).

Now, well into my Sixties, I feel myself as much an outsider as ever, but that seems a bit more comfortable. I can claim age as an excuse. I would never trade my 60s for the 60s. When one reaches a certain age, alienation becomes "normal."

But that sense of alienation is a large part of why I write, as well as why I am not always to join writing groups. It is also why I am preoccupied with animals, which can appear strange as I sometimes feel.

Everyday is a gift wrapped in solitude. That is why I write.

Stealing Fire: Memoir of a Boyhood in the Shadow of Atomic Espionage

The Raven and the Sun: Poems and Stories