Jim was the third child, born to his parents in the cold month of January. Elder brother John and elder sister Joan were five and three years old at the time of his birth. It was a grim morning with no sun in sight and the midwife grumbled as she prepared for birth. She had been paid very little as advance and she did not expect full payment to happen any time soon. She would have to wait, like last time but she trusted the Langston family to pay up sooner or later. It was a cold day to begin with and she had not even had her coffee till now. Henry Langston tried to make up for everything by fixing her a cup of coffee as he waited for the birth. He threw nervous glances at Laura, his wife and mother of his children, as she went through labor. The kids had been sent to the neighbors' house, where they slept in blissful ignorance.
The previous year had been very rough for the Langston family, with Henry losing his permanent position at the quarry. He was able to meet the needs of his family by taking any temporary work that was available at the quarry and working at night in the dock. It went on for sometime, till his position at the dock became permanent and the family took a sigh of relief. Laura Langston had been a good wife and mother who dutifully ran the household and prayed fervently throughout. By Christmas, Langston family had moved to a neighborhood closer to the docks, though not far from the town.
This new house would be home as Jim would know it for a long time.
As Jim stopped to think, memory provided some images. The road to their house was second from right as one approached the route to the dock. It turned into a quite corner and ended in a group of trees. His house was right there - an old, wooden structure with rust color paint, peeled at places to make a peculiar pattern. Memory played games - it was brighter and bigger in his thoughts. It must have been a sad, small place. But to him, it was home - warm and comforting to his bones.
