I turned two years old the day before my parents moved us to Challenge, Texas.  My Mother tells me what a gift it was to us.  I question that every year on my birthday.

I remember it as a pleasant place, a little north of Austin.  We had warm, hot, cold weather.  All of the seasons were lived and celebrated. It was a gated community.  A white brick wall surrounded the town. A high arch over the entrance boldly displayed the name "Challenge" in bright blue letters. Underneath the letters, this welcoming message in green - "A Community to Change the World."

The people of Challenge, young parents with children between the ages of two and six, seemed friendly and warm.  We were part of the first generation in this city called “Challenge”.  

We had everything we needed in this small town, a grocery store, a hospital. a church, a park.  All the buildings built with the same beautiful white bricks of the wall that encircled us.    

I don't remember much until I turned about three and a half. I vaguely remember a hospital.  At least that's what I think I see in my head. White walls, scary needles, my Dad crying, my mother holding Daddy's hand, tubes of some sort connecting me to a wall or a machine, someone in a bed next to me.  

My earliest memories are colored with happiness
     - Daddy playing with me.
     - Mommy hugging me.  Mommy kisses.

We spent most of our time outdoors, running, laughing, playing games. The air so fresh, with faint, flavored scents of lilacs and jasmine. 
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We had a school, a Montessori type.  We had workstations with manipulatives, hand tracing letters, beautiful teachers who loved us. There were only about 30 children.  We were a tight-knit group.  We became best friends.  When we weren't at school, we were allowed to play anywhere in the city. A public park with all the latest play equipment became our private getaway.   We rode our bikes, never worried that someone might harm us.  

Mom and Dad truly loved each other. They were a wonderful example of commitment, understanding, and devotion.  I rarely heard them argue. 

Occasionally, I would see a tear in my mother’s eye when she while she held Dad's hand.  She had this wonderful way of looking into his eyes, holding his face and telling him what a gift he was to her. 

Dad spent so much time with me, never impatient. Even when I did something wrong he would pull me up on his lap and gently explain to me, "Life is too precious for bad behavior."
 

One day when I was a little jealous of another boy, Daddy gently explained.   “We all have our talents, our gifts.  That boy’s gifts are different than yours. You will find your gifts in time.  You will find out how wonderful you are and what you need to give to life.”
I will never forget those words.

Shortly after that Daddy got sick. It started slowly. He couldn’t breathe well. His feet started to swell. Gradually, he declined. Throughout his illness, he maintained his fun personality and bright spirit.  It took years before that spark went away in his eyes.

Mother changed the most.

She would try to hide her tears but I could feel them.  She wore a new sadness behind her eyes.

She cherished my father.  As he slowly got sicker, her sadness grew.

Towards the end of his life, she patiently nursed him.  Even when he yelled obscenities, she never lost her temper with him. When she had to change his soiled clothes from urine and feces, she patiently undressed him, cleaned him and diapered him.  

Every night she told him she loved him.
Then she would start to sing.  “I love you, need I say more.” 
 
I asked her about the song.  "It's a song that came on the radio during your Dad and mines first date. Though he didn't write it, George Straight made it a hit.  It was written by some guy named Clay Blaker.  He had a band called the Texas Honky-Tonk Band.  It's your father's and my private love song. Dad sang it to me at our wedding."

Let me hold you, let me show you
What true love's all about
In these arms of mine I know you will find
You won't do without anymore
I'll love you forever need I say more
 
I was eight when Dad died.

It took me years to realize what a closed society we lived in.  All of the families in our community came at the same time we did.  All the children were two to six when the city of Challenge was born.  Now we were between the ages of eight and twelve.
 
No new babies conceived in Challenge.  No newcomers to Challenge.

I vividly remember the day I realized one of the terrible truths of that place.

Every child in Challenge lost one of their parents.  Either their mother or their father died after living here for five or six years.

Being in mourning became normal in this city.  As children, we tried to play games, run - be our normal selves.  Sometimes we would comfort each other and cry together.  Most of the time, we played pretend games. 

We had no video games in Challenge.  We did have books.   Our parents read us wonderful adventure stories - Camelot, Robin Hood, Peter Pan, books that opened up our minds to the wonder of the world.  We acted out these stories in the park.  

Life appeared normal, or what we thought was normal.  

Abruptly,  it changed. 

I only heard the words “Challengers” once before. 

That night, my father was sick but still strong. Mom started crying, “Are you sure we made the right decision?”  They were as close to arguing as I had ever seen them. “Could the challengers be wrong?  Should we have let God choose?”

They raised their voices. It woke me up. I got out of bed.  When my parents saw me they stopped.  Daddy picked me up, threw me over his head and on to his shoulders. He played the piggy back game with me.  They were both laughing again. It took an hour to get me back to sleep.  As I started to drift off into that mystic half-asleep, half-awake world, I thought I heard my father’s voice. 

“It was right.”

I met the “Challengers” six months after my father died.  They invaded our small apartment about six o’clock on a Monday. 

They appeared to be human.  I am not sure they fit that description.

“Your contract is up,” they told my mother, “You have fourteen days to evacuate the premises.  Per our agreement, you have been provided with an apartment in the suburb of San Antonio, Helotes. You are legally tied to our confidentiality agreement. You will speak of this to no one.”

Then they left.

We began to pack.  My friends packed too.   We all had different destinations.  The children I grew up with would be spread throughout the United States. The evacuation of Challenge took only fourteen days. 

We began our new life.

Mom and I both missed Daddy.  Grief followed us.  I missed my friends.

It wasn’t until my mother was on her own death bed that she told me the truth about Challenge.  Yes, the city of “Challenge” was a choice my parents made when I was barely two.

I had been born with severe defects, both physically and mentally.  The doctor they selected for me told them there might be a cure.  He had a brochure from a study in a city just outside of Austin.  Mom and Dad jumped at the chance to save me.  They called them up and didn’t hesitate to sign the deadly contract.
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The scientists at “Challenge” had discovered a way to transfuse the life of one person into another.  It was a slow process that would take about five years.  The contract stated that either the mother or the father could choose to be the donor.  A decision had to be made within 48 hours of becoming a resident of “Challenge”. 
  
Mother told me she wanted it to be her.  She adored my father and wanted him to raise me.  My father would have nothing of it.  He insisted that a boy had to have his mother. 
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I have many questions.
.
Am I really me?

Am I the essence of my father?

Am I a combination between the two?

Was I worth the sacrifice my parents made?

I will never know.
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Challenge is not on any Texas maps.  I have looked.

I found a map in the drawer in my mother’s bedroom after she died, the directions to the city marked with a highlighter.  It was part of a brochure explaining "Miracles" were happening in Challenge, Texas. 
  
Challenge is still there.  It is only thirty-three miles outside of Austin.

I am driving there now.
 

 
 
 
 
 
 

Author Notes

"Need I say more" was made famous by George Straight. It was written by Clay Blaker and his band "Texas Honky-Tonk Band".