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Growing up in this strange world of mine was a very confusing place for me. I remember it was the winter of 1965 in New York City and I was eight years old. That was the year I really started noticing that I didn't live like any of my other friends lived. I had a father but I didn't have a mother. My father gave me anything that I wanted and I wasn't ungrateful but the things he bought me weren't enough. I wanted my mother's love and he couldn't provide me with that necessary necessity. I remember looking out of my bedroom window daydreaming about my mother as the snow fell slowly to the earth. I didn't understand why I loved her so much when I didn't even have a picture of her but I still daydreamed about being in her arms one day.