Houston

I've always wondered - how much of who we are is formed in the earliest of days?

I was born in Houston, Texas. A poorly kid who needed a lot of surgery, which kept me out of trouble for a while, I guess. We left when I was nearly four - and I've often wondered what sort of imprint Houston has had on my life. It's always been a great unknown.

The rest of my life, barring holidays and the last 8 years in the UK were spent in Canada. I didn't ever go back to Houston for over 30 years - until last week. And there I am, in the photo, in front of the house where I first lived. To someone who grew up mostly in the cold north, it seems tropical and a bit otherworldly - ivy covers the front lawn rather than grass, the palms sway in the wind, and at the right time of the year you find pecans falling from the trees onto the streets. But this was normal life for me once.

I can't say that my memories of Houston are true or just fragments which have been implanted in my conciousness through listening to my parents, and looking at photographs. But it did feel eerie at times, driving around the streets and seeing some random thing that would trigger a thought or a feeling - or did I just want to have those feelings, to feel that affinity and connectedness with my tiny Texan 70s self?

At any rate, the city surprised me. It lived up to what I expected - sprawling, divided, western and rich, but it was also arty, multicultural, friendly, and seemed as much related to the deep, mysterious South of New Orleans and Savannah as the Wild West.

So thanks to my mom for taking me there at last and showing me my distant past - for once I felt like my American passport made sense, with 'Houston' stamped at the top as my place of birth.