MY STORY



     First of all, I think it's wise for me to introduce myself.

     My name, at present, is Sasha Kasdan...but I was born with the name Blaze Sasha Moscowitz. I know what some of you readers are going to say...

     How on God's green earth did I ever get a name like that? Right?

     Well, here's the whole story...my whole story.

     I was born in New York City on Saturday, May 8, 1971. I wasn't born in any hospital, although I left one with my mother after a stay of several days so my mother and I could be put through a battery of tests to make certain that both of us were in perfect health. You see, I was actually born in the back seat of a taxicab. How I got to be born in the back seat of a taxicab is a tale within itself. Earlier that evening, shortly after 6 p.m., my mother was bringing dinner to the table for herself...since her parents were out of town for the weekend, visiting friends in Dutchess County on the east side of the Hudson River. Where in Dutchess County I haven't the foggiest idea. All I was told by one of my mother's friends was that just as she was preparing to eat her dinner, her water broke.

     Now, what was my mother supposed to do? None of her friends owned a car...and her car was being used by her parents upstate. So, my mother had no other recourse than to call for a taxi. She walked down the front steps very slowly until she got to the door of the taxi, which was being held open by a beautiful young woman named Blaze McCarthy, who knew at once what my mother was going through. When my mother entered the back seat of the taxi, she saw several pictures of Ms McCarthy with her own children. So, as soon as she made certain that my mother was comfortably belted in, she got behind the wheel...and peeled out as if the devil himself was on her very heels!!!

     Halfway to the hospital, Ms. McCarthy attracted the attention of a motorcycle officer by the name of Romanow...Sasha Romanow. When Ms. McCarthy explained that she had a woman in the back seat who was in an advanced state of labor, Officer Romanow took a look and immediately ascertained that I was going to be born long before my mother even arrived at the hospital. So, Officer Romanow took off his jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, washed his hands as best as he could with some alcohol that a nearby druggist brought out and began to instruct my mother on what to do to bring me into this world...with Ms. McCarthy helping my mother from inside. In other words...Officer Romanow was on the receiving end!

     By the time the taxi, led by Officer Romanow, made it to the hospital's emergency room, my mother was holding me in her arms. The neonatal nurse, who looked like a Bride of Frankenstein with a gauze mask over her nose and mouth, quickly snatched me from my mother's arms and brought me with all haste to the maternity ward, where my mouth was washed out with a jet of lukewarm water (to get the mucus and amnionic fluid out of my mouth and nose) and then gave me my first bath, washing all the fluid off my skin as well as out of my ears and eyes. After making certain that I was in 100% perfect health, the nurse returned me to my mother, wrapped in a blue towel...and dressed in my first diaper and gown, with a blue bonnet on my head and blue booties on my tiny feet.

     "What are you going to name your new son, Ms. Moscowitz?" the nurse asked.

     My mother's eyes immediately went to the young woman and the police officer standing by the door.

     "I'm going to name him in the order that I was helped", she replied. "His name is...Blaze Sasha Moscowitz. And I would be very proud if you two would be his godparents".

     "We would be honored", Officer Romanow replied.

     When my grandparents arrived at the hospital after their uneventful weekend jaunt up in Dutchess County, they wondered if my mother was ever going to tell me who my father was when I got to be old enough.

     "Never!" my mother exclaimed. "After the way his family treated me? Why should I tell them? As far as this baby and I'm concerned...those motherfuckers don't even exist!"

* * * * * * * * * *



     Now, let's jump ahead about five years. My mother and her parents, at this time, were starting to show their true colors. And, so was I...black and blue! I mean, if I so much as peed a little bit on the floor, my mother started spanking me across my bottom. And, if that weren't enough, my grandfather started taking his belt to my backside as well. And, my grandmother? Well, you can forget about her being the saint of the household. She almost broke my arms every time she grabbed me and brought me to my mother for a spanking...and enjoyed it!

     My mother would have gotten away with how she and her parents were treating me if it hadn't been for one of our neighbors noticing the bruises on my arms...and the welts on my bottom when she pulled my pants down.

     "Who gave those to you?" she asked me.

     At first, her being a stranger to me, I was afraid to answer her. Moreover, I was afraid to tell her who the culprits were who gave me the bruises.

     "You don't have to be afraid, Blaze", she said in a voice so soothing as to sound like an angel. "Who gave you those bruises?"

     "My mommy", I said. "And poppy and nanna, too".

     The neighbor just couldn't believe it. But, seeing what kind of a person my mother was, she believed it all too well. She sent me home and made me promise not to tell my mother and grandparents that she saw the damage...that it was going to be our little secret.

     A few days later, my mother received word that she was being transferred by her newspaper...to Schenectady. You see, my mother was the tops in her field for the newspaper. She was considered to be one of the best photographers that the newspaper (and its parent-company) ever had.

     Was I scared to move? You bet your sweet patutie I was! Moving to another town or city meant not only finding new friends...but trying to get another adult interested in what my mother and grandparents were doing to me.