The Story of Growing Up in Los Angeles (Childhood Memories of an American Director)

Author: Guele Ge·Anderman | Translator
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-08-01
Features: The gate at the back of my house leads to a small forest, which is right by Silver Lake. Silver Lake was named by the earliest Native Americans to live in Los Angeles. Los Angeles means the City of Angels, but as a child, I had no concept of angels. My parents often took me from the back door of the house into the dense small forest behind, but they always warned me not to go out alone through that gate and take risks, saying that if I stepped out, I might get lost because the forest was very large and it was hard to find the way back. But they never warned me that there might be beasts, people, or other dangers lurking in the forest. One evening, while playing alone in the backyard, I felt the gate leading to the forest tempting me to push it open and explore the wonders beyond. At first, I just played a trial game—opened the gate, ran a few steps outside, looked around, and immediately ran back to the safe area in the backyard. After a while, my sense of freedom and indulgence was stimulated, and I gradually began to act recklessly, thinking that the forest would be more exciting than my familiar surroundings. So I ran out, wanting to see what I could find. I told myself that there must be other children playing in the forest, and I could go find them. After all, on many weekends, when I went on picnics with my parents in this forest, I had seen many families playing and frolicking among the intertwined pine trees. But it was a workday now, and the forest was unusually quiet at dusk. I was confident that as long as I didn’t leave the main path, I could definitely find my way back home. I remember I was humming loudly while strolling forward, exploring. Singing could boost my courage, and my mom said I was a natural at it. Just as I was singing energetically, I was suddenly startled by a tall and rough voice. It turned out that three young men were playing hide-and-seek. For some reason, they didn’t look like good people, and I felt a chill run from the top of my head straight down my spine, making my skin feel cold and I was terrified. What happened next was enough to make me panic. One of the young men approached me and said, "Let’s see what’s coming out, come here, little boy, let me have a good look at you. What’s your name?" My parents often warned me not to talk to strangers, so I ran away as fast as I could. But the pine forest was like a maze, and the three men chased me relentlessly behind, shouting, "Little boy, come here! We have something to show you!" I desperately dodged over the fallen trees lying in all directions, running as hard as I could while crying out, "Help! Help!" trying to get away from the men right on my tail. But they quickly caught up and surrounded me on three sides. I sensed that something terrible was about to happen, and I wanted to escape, but there was no way out. A man in a red and white striped shirt grabbed my arm and laughed cruelly. I felt like I was about to die. Just then, my terror was interrupted by the sound of footsteps stepping on dry twigs and pine nuts. The man who had grabbed me quickly let go and began to step back. I turned around to see who had stopped the bad guys. Standing there was a tall, gray-skinned man with thick eyebrows and large, sharp black eyes; he was wearing a coat