Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts

There were two daughters, separated by 3 years. They grew up moving around a little bit. Never in the same place all that long. Maybe not moving out of town, but house to house was the order of the day. It didn't seem to hurt the children on the outside, but on the inside where it mattered there were changes. Those girls learned to never make really good friends, because after all they would just move away and that hurt too much. So their childhood was spent entertaining each other more than other children. you would think that these 2 sisters would be thicker than thieves.

The teen years hit, and of course things changed a little bit. One was a teen the other still pre and everybody knows that puberty does some funny things to the mind (as well as the body). The girls would still hang out, but maybe not so much as before. The oldest had discovered boys, and that opened a whole new world. Her dad was too busy making a living to pay all that much attention to what the girls did. he was usually only around on the weekends. They found out later, that making a living wasn't necessarily working, he had other "interests" that didn't include making money. They did include other women though.

Their mom tried in the best way she could to make a normal home for the girls, but she was ill-equipped to handle anything that required that much emotional involvement. It seems the whole family had a pretty huge emotional detachment. The girls continued to grow up learning to be cordial without getting attached. Eventually both girls were teens and that's where the headaches began.

The youngest of them thought that boys were just objects to be used for whatever she could make them do. She was a pretty girl, and when she wanted to she could be oh so sweet. Not many would guess that she was a borderline sociopath. This girl was basically without conscience. The oldest tried harder to be the kind of person she thought was expected. besides that she wanted so much to be praised by her parents. She did well in school, never got in trouble, and did her chores. Funny thing, how parents are automatically drawn to the troublemakers, they think they need to fix what's wrong. They don't understand that sometimes, all they need to do is pay some more attention to their child. That younger daughter was making waves, not big ones, just enough to get her on the radar with her parents. She figured out that the best way to get attention from them was to get into a little bit of trouble. Then they would come running in to try and fix the problem.

A few more years ran by and the older girl was in a relationship. She was serious about this, or so she thought. Soon to be a senior in high school, she looked forward to being with him. He had defended her against everybody and everything that stood in front of her. For the first time in her life, she understood what it meant to have somebody love her unconditionally. It scared her though, because deep down she knew this couldn't last. She had learned that lesson a long time ago. As soon as you start to really care about somebody, that was when everything went bad and either they would move or the object of her affection would. Sure enough her father came home one afternoon, just as summer vacation had started. "We are moving." It turns out that he had a chance to buy a business and they just couldn't pass up the opportunity. Once again her theory was proven correct. Fall in love and get hurt. What was the point really.

She knew she had to tell her boyfriend the bad news. He took it in stride, never complained or got bitter that she could see. She just figured he was already figuring other girls he could get. So they enjoyed their summer, but she always remembered that it would be only a matter of weeks until her life would have to start over yet again. The hot months flew by, and they had a great time. He had graduated that year, and although he worked much of the time he would always find time to get to her house, or write her a letter (that's when people write down words on paper). Before she knew it August was over. Summer had come to and end.

The family moved about 3 1/2 hours away. The boyfriend helped move them into the new house, and told her that he would visit often. She knew he was just being nice. After all how could he drive 3 1/2 hours that often while he was working. Plus she had one more year of school. Things couldn't look worse for her. She hated her family, she hated her life, and she hated her boyfriend for trying to be nice. She wanted everybody and everything to go away. So many times she had secretly wished that she was brave enough to just end it all. She realized that she didn't have that courage to take her life though. She was resigned to the fact that she would have to endure yet another new town, and another new school. Somehow she would have to find people to at least hang around with for the year. After all she would be a senior and she was coming into a school where everybody had known each other for at least 6 years, and in many cases much longer. She knew that this would be a year to forget. Why couldn't her dad just find work in town, and she could try to be normal and get to be with her friends for her last year of high school. She thought him a bastard, but just as quickly was guilty for thinking such a thing. She loved him so much that she didn't say a word. She was convinced that Dad was doing this for the family. She didn't realize at that young age that her dad was indeed a bastard. He was selfish and narrow minded. He destroyed his children's youth for his gain, and thought nothing of it.


To be continued..............

If you don't live in California then you have a better chance of understanding what a small town is. I grew up in a town of about 11,000. That is considered small by California standards. Don't get me wrong there are some that are far smaller, but it's still pretty small.

This town was great when I was growing up. I'm a child of the 70's and while I wasn't much into long hair, as a kid it was a pretty great time to grow up. We had small town department stores, and small town shoe stores, there were no convenience stores, just mom and pop markets. You could get a bottle of soda (not pop) for 10-25 cents. The best part being that when you returned the bottle you got a dime back. There was even this really cool soda bottle called the pop shoppe and when you returned a flat of them back to the store you could get half off of the next purchase of a flat. For those of you unfamiliar a flat of sodas would be 24 bottles in that time and place, not sure if it still holds true. In fact I'm not even sure you can still get a flat of sodas.

We had a great baseball park. You could use it for baseball, football (no soccer back then), softball, and the occasional jogger would run through the park as well. We had long winding park trails and at different intervals there were exercises that you could do. One with a chin up bar, and then maybe the next one with cut telephone poles where you stepped up and down off of them. We had a pond in the park and back when California picked people over fish, we could actually ride a raft from one pond down the canal and over to the other pond and still be in the park. Night ball games were awesome. The town turned out for Little League, and in fact they turned out for softball and football too. It was more than a sport, it was a chance for all of us to get together and relax. Say hey to each other and share a coke. Watch the ball game and cheer on your kid, friend, brother, or cousin.

The best part about my small town was every April we had an Ice Cream Social. If you don't know what that is I'm gonna tell you. It's the time when everybody gets together at the park. We all bring ice cream and drop it off at the big tables that were set up. Now a lot of the people in this small town made their own ice cream, but to be honest we didn't care all that much. All this ice cream was put out on tables and there were a group of people behind these tables. Now the people behind the tables were usually the women from the Historical Society or the Italian Club. They were all old (really old like late 70's early 80's). They would serve up ice cream in these little plastic bowls and hand them out to everybody that came up to the table. This didn't cost anything. Everybody donated something to it. If you couldn't donate some ice cream or bowls, then you were there because being part of the community was important. You still enjoyed the ice cream and the jokes and of course if you were a kid you got to be involved in one of the many carnival style games they had going. There would be a band playing mostly old fashioned big band music and there were always a few people that decided to dance a little bit while we all enjoyed our ice cream and played. This would go on all afternoon and into the evening. Most of the time, there would be at least a couple hundred people left in the evening and if that happened you just knew that a barbecue was coming on. Now this was a little less organized but nonetheless it was together.

Somebody would bring out the barbecue and suggest they were gonna make some burgers. Then the next thing you knew somebody else was gonna make some hot dogs. Then somebody else said "Hey I'll go get some chips and buns." Then somebody else would be getting something else and something else and pretty soon it was a block party but this block was a couple hundred strong and taking up a good 1/4 of the park. We would eat hot dogs and burgers, and drink those pop shoppe soda's and tell jokes and ride our rafts back and forth between the ponds. Our parents would sit and visit with each other. Funny thing, but nobody drank alcohol at these events. At last not where any of us saw. There weren't a bunch of drunks getting in fights, and there weren't any gang bangers stabbing each other. There were just families coming together as friends to have a get together.

Our town has grown up since then. Unfortunately it hasn't grown better. We had an ice cream social about 4 years ago. Only about 20 people showed up and they charged $2.50 for an ice cream. They wouldn't even take our ice cream and use it, saying that there was a liability issue (Whatever). We didn't buy ice cream and we didn't stay. We didn't know anybody that was there so what was the point. They were all sitting in their own little groups and didn't seem to want to make any acquaintances. I was a bit sad over the whole affair.

The department stores are gone now, so are all the mom and pop markets. We don't have the pop shoppe any more, and most people don't even know what a refundable soda bottle is or what it looks like for that matter. The ball park still has games, but the only people that get in the stands are family and friends for that team. Oh there might be a few diehards like me, but for the most part, you see mom's and dad's, brothers, and sisters. That's not a bad thing, but I sure would like to see neighbors and school friends too. They still play softball on a couple of the fields, but the football teams don't practice here any more. The other fields are all filled with soccer teams now. Travel Soccer, travel baseball, travel softball. That's the new craze. Play the same sport all year round, whether your kid wants to or not. Because after all how else are they going to get the big shoe contract right?

I guess I get a little bitter when I think of what we have traded. I realize we traded James Department Store for Wal-Mart. We traded Dominici's Market for 7-11. I don't have anything against the big business (well not much at least). I just wish for things to be a little bit more like they were. I guess it's sorta silly but I long for those days when moms and dads brought there kids to the park on that late April Saturday afternoon. They put out those big tables and struck up the band. Games were played and friends were made. For one full day, we were more than a town, we were a family.

Small Town U.S.A. I miss you................

For any of you that have spent time in the military or are related to someone in the miiitary this acronym might seem familiar. Breath Relax Aim Stop Squeeze. It's one of the earliest things we are taught when learning to fire our rifles. It's very good advice and works rather well as long as you aren't amped up on any of the coffee or cigarettes that most military guys are.

I grew up with weapons around our house. My father and Grandfather both hunted (not very well). I took part at the ripe ol' age of 10 when I was allowed to get my gun safety course out of the way. By 10 I was already pretty familiar with weapons. I knew that they served one purpose and one purpose only....To kill. They aren't to wound, or scare, they are a weapon of destruction and used for good or bad is totally up to the person behind the trigger.

Now that being said, I might have known what they were for, but I didn't consider my daisy bb gun to be in that category. For those of you unfamiliar with the daisy BB gun it was a lever action bb gun that you almost had to aim at an angle to reach 50 feet. I got one when I was 8 years old, and I was in love with it. I had used my Grandfather's on many occassions in the backyard to have "target" practice. I wasn't allowed to shoot at animals or anything like that, but I could shoot fruit or bottles, and mostly cans.

In my neighborhood there were tons of kids around, but there were three of us that played together quite a bit. Me, Scott and Jeff rode bikes, boxed in a makeshift boxing ring in the front yard (using a water house to outline), had water balloon fights, and blew up more than our fair share of those little green army men with lady fingers (firecrackers).

Along with all those good things, we also decided one day to play War. All of our houses met at a corner in the backyard and we figured it would be a perfect place to hold our own little battle for domination. So bb gun in hand I got behind my makeshift bunker in the backyard.

Now you can't just start fighting in backyard war, you have to be prepared. You need a few essentials.
1. ball cap (battle helmet)
2. jacket (regardless of the time of year)
3. Jeans...No Shorts!!!
4. Boots or hiking shoes...Note sneakers are allowed if covered in duct tape.
5. Daisy BB Gun with pocket full of bb's.

This was a 1 on 1 on 1 fight. We would continue to shoot at each other until somebody gave up, was shot, or ran out of ammunition. Usually we all ran out of ammunition. The time I'm thinking about didn't end so easily.

I remember it like I just came in from the house. We were in the middle of our battle. I was getting mad because Jeff kept ducking just ahead of my shots. That wasn't so bad, but his laughter at my misfortune was maddening. I took a breath and started thinking. Thinking for a young boy is no easy task, we would much rather just do. I decided to figure out a way to win instead of always the tie that we had. I started timing things a little bit and sure enough I got Scott as he popped up from the fence. So he was out of the running and not even broken skin. This was looking up. I knew where Jeff was going to pop up, because he made the mistake of following a little pattern. So the next time his head popped up I was ready and got off my shot. SCORE!!! But he fell straight back like somebody hit him with a bat.

I hollered to Scott and we ran to the fence and jumped over into the other yard. There was Jeff sitting on the ground crying and.........BLEEDING!!!! "You're in trouble now!!" Those were the words out of my friends mouth. Jeff was too busy screaming bloody murder to say anything. So doing what any good friend would do we grabbed him by the arms and dragged him to the back porch and started screaming for his mom. She came running out and saw the blood running off his head and was immediately in action. She grabbed him up and we all ran to the car.

30 minutes later, Jeff was receiving a bandage on his forehead. The bb broke the skin and sat lodged in his forehead almost directly between his eyes. To this day he carries the scar. I lost my bb gun privileges for I think forever. I was grounded and a few other punishments were thrown on there. Looking back though it was all worth it, because I was legend after that incident. I was considered a dead eye by the other boys in the neighborhood now. That made for many good hunting trips later in life as they remembered that all the way through school.

So I guess I was ready for the military a little bit earlier than some because I was already putting into practice what they taught me some 11 years later.

B.R.A.S.S.

My grandparents were from the depression era. They didn't waste anything. I remember my grandmother using a paper towel and then laying it out flat to dry, because she could use it at least two more times before it wasn't any good.

They cooked huge dinners for the family and I can assure you that whatever went on your plate was eaten. It was a waste not want not dinner table. I like to think some of that wore off on me, and I try my best not to be too wasteful. I admit that in this fast food, one use, disposable world we live in I have been let's just say less than vigilant at times. I also feel a tinge of guilt when I don't save, because I know that my grandparents look at me from where they are and shake their heads at me because I didn't use that paper towel more than once.

I bring that up to say this. My grandfather didn't waste time doing things that weren't going to accomplish something. It just wasn't in his nature. He planted a garden because it was wasteful to buy at the store what you could grow in your backyard. He hunted because it was wasteful to buy at a restaurant what he could cook at home. The same thing held true for fishing. I do not enjoy fishing, it's just not something I ever developed the patience to appreciate I suppose. However when my grandfather wanted to go fishing, I definitely wanted to be with him because I enjoyed our time together.

His favorite fishing spot was some grimy old canal about 30 minutes from our town. My favorite fishing spot was Manzanita lake, and that was far further than 30 minutes away. Needless to say we went to the grimy canal bank more often than the lake. When we did go to the lake though it was a great trip.

I can remember waking up around 4 in the morning and I could hear my grandfather cooking in the kitchen. He was scrambling up eggs and cooking hotdogs. That was our lunch for the trip and I was excited everytime I smelled those eggs and dogs. We would leave the house around 4:30 and take the slow drive ( he was old and drove very very slow) to the lake. It was a good 2 hour drive and the whole way there he would tell me about how things were back when he wasa young man. How the roads had changed and the old stores that used to dot the highway where we were passing. I could almost see it as we drove past.

Now the lake was a catch and release facility. Meaning...yep you guessed it...you don't keep em....barbless hooks and fake lures....Which just meant that I didn't get to catch worms in the back yard the day before. Because at the canal we brought worms. No sense paying for bait at the store that you can get out of your own back yard. So we would reach the lake and make our walk to "the spot". This was the exact same spot we went to every single time we went. Nobody was ever there and I could never figure that out. It was a perfect spot. There was a big shady tree not 10 feet from the water's edge. and the shade went out in the water for about 5 feet. We would set up out chairs and fish for a few hours. By the way we never in all the years we fished there ever caught even one fish. so I guess that explains the reason nobody was in our spot. They were pretty certain that there was no fish where we were, and that could have been partially because I was a young man with lots of questions and my grandfather was a patient old man with a lot of answers. This was our time for Q and A. I would ask about this tree or that and what kind of bug was that on the tree. What kind of fish were supposed to be in the water because we never saw them.

We would eat at about 11:30 everytime and those were the best sandwiches I've ever had. I don't know why they were so darn good, but I just loved em. We didn't fish in the afternoon. After lunch we would take a little walk around the lake and find this little waterfall and toss rocks into the water for about 20 or 30 minutes. Once again this was a time for Q and A. Different questions and different answers. I'm convinced to this day that I learned more up there than I ever did in a classroom.

By mid afternoon we were loaded up and headed back home. It was never dark by the the time we came back into the driveway. My grandmother would ask how we did, and the answer was always the same. "We got a couple bites, but no luck. Maybe next time will be our lucky day." I would hang out with my grandfather and we would clean up our gear and put things away. Dinner would come and then Mom and Dad would take me home.

My grandfather has been gone for 12 years now. Funny I can still remember his face like it was yesterday. I can still see him making his little gestures and most of all I can still see him with that fishing hat on showing me how to cast a line. That's a little piece of my past that will never go away. It's locked away in my memory as safely as my wedding day, the birth of my children and my graduation from boot camp. I miss that man, but on days like this I can put a smile on my face and remember those great days at the lake along with those egg and hotdog sandwiches.

Good times...............

When I was 12, I ran through a sliding glass door at a birthday party...It basically split my face wide open and required 104 stitches...Yeah not my brightest moment...

I also learned a valuable lesson....At 12 girls are shallow...They are in it for the looks...There was a girl that had a crush on me before this happened. After I couldn't even get her to talk to me...(That's right I still remember you Laurie).

Fortunately for me, that allowed me to work on my personality a little bit. I will say that other than ruining my 6th grade camp and causing my friend's mom and my parents some grief the whole experience was not terrible.. Yeah there was some pain and a little discomfort but all in all it was a pretty good learning experience. It taught me not to judge people for their words but by their actions. My real friends continued to be my real friends.

The next year I met a whole new group of people. It was 7th grade and we moved from elementary school to junior high. A very unsettling experience, but I figured if I could split my face wide open and get past it, what else could be worse. Turns out that some of the girls in 7th grade thought that big ol' nasty scar in the middle of my face was really cool and wanted to know over and over how it happened. I was more than happy to tell the story, and I'm sure that I might have added a bit here and there.

Well 7th grade was looking pretty good at this point and then......I got the flu. No big deal everybody gets the flu right? Well I couldn't get over this flu. My fever kept getting worse, and I was having these terrible headaches, and I couldn't bend my head down. Convulsions and I woke up in the hospital overhearing the doctors telling my parents that it didn't look good. Now that is something to make you wonder on. Not quite 13 years old and I'm overhearing that I might die. Well HAH! I didn't...It was a 6 month recovery and I was out the rest of the school year. But the next year I was back and playing football and all sorts of other activities that I had enjoyed before. I had to learn how to walk again, so I figured heck if I can beat that I can beat anything.

Well it turns out that a friend of mine spread the story that my scar had split open and I had lost soooo much blood that I was in the hospital receiving transfusions and they didn't know if I would make it. I got a ton of phone calls that summer and eventually I had to come clean, but they sure did like that scar.

I am older and sometimes wiser now. I have added a few other scars to my collection over the years. I had a torn distal tendon in my arm that they reattached, I almost cut off a couple fingers, and they even managed to cut open my knee ONCE (never again). I don't have the scar on my face any longer, it went away years ago. I have the others and they are great conversation pieces.

Through everything I have had happen in my life, the one constant I have witnessed is this, Chicks dig Scars...They wanna know how you got em, if you saved a baby from a burning building, were you in a knife fight? Did you shoot it out in the military? I have been known to maybe stretch the boundaries of truth on occassion (artistic license and all).

I must say that running through that sliding glass door and getting all those stitches is one of the luckiest things to ever happen to me. It taught me to look at people for what they do, not what they say. I believe whole heartedly that you should never judge a book by it's cover. Stiches healed up the scar went away, but the lesson remained with me all this time...

Plus Chicks really dig scars!!!

I remember when I was in my freshman year of High School the big deal was Sony Walkman. It was a very cool thing to be able to carry a cassette player (bit pre ipod here) and a head set to listen to your favorite music whenever you wanted. A few of my friends had one. They were rather expensive and so the families with the cash were of course buying them for the spoiled kids they were raising. I say this with a memory of the envy I felt. I always wanted to be one of the rich kids that had everything whenever they chose.

Christmas came around that year and under the tree was a small rectangular box. I had no idea what could be in a box so small. Since I didn't wear jewelery (a lot of guys wore gold chains back then, not my thing) I hadn't a clue what it could be. I opened it a bit slowly trying to figure out what it could be before the package was revealed, but without the slightest luck. It was a plain brown box, no identifying features on it. Having decided that I couldn't figure it out I tore open the box and what could be in there but a cassette player just LIKE a Sony Walkman. This particular one wasn't a Sony though. It was an emerson and unlike the cool silver case that came with the real deal. This one had a leather carrying pouch. Now by my adult self standards, this one would absolutely be better than the crappy plastic cased silver walkman. Unfortunately I wasn't judging by adult standards, I was judging by teenager standards. I didn't say anything for a couple of minutes. My dad was immediately apologetic as he explained about this cassette player he bought me. He tried to tell me how he understood that it wasn't the fancy brand, but it did all the things that the other one did, and it even had a few features that the cool one didn't. I could see on his face that he wished that he could afford the fancy name brand. I could feel inside that I really wanted the fancy name brand. However this was far more important than some stupid cassette player. My pea brained 14 year old self realized that too. I told him it was just about the coolest thing I could ask for. I immediately ran into my room and found a cassette (AC/DC) and started playing it. The smile on my dad's face was a great as if I would have received a brand new car.

The hard part was bringing the player to school the following monday. I knew that there would be other kids with new Sony Walkman's and mine was just not cool. I didn't care that much and was determined to bring it and in fact use it at school. I got to my first break of the day and pulled out the player and sure enough there was a couple of other kids with the cool name brand, BUT there were also a couple kids looking at me carrying the same player that I had. Relief washed over me in a matter of seconds. I was at ease and those kids and I had formed an unspoken bond right then and there. We ended up seeing each other at lunch and talking about what kinds of music we liked. I made 3 new friends that day. We aren't the best of friends now, but we still see each other from time to time and still talk.

I find myself at my fathers junction now. My kids wanted a certain game and I just think it's a bit expensive and they are still pretty young. So I bought them a knock off version of it. I got it for them for no occassion other than I wanted to get it for them. In many ways I'm still a kid at heart and this is one of those little pockets of proof that I'm not grown up yet.

My kids saw the game and realized immediately that it wasn't the one they wanted. They didn't bat an eye though, they were all smiles and managed at least 5 or 6 thank you's as we opened the box and got all the wires plug into their appropriate places. Now granted the games are a lower quality than the real thing, and the selection is a bit less, but for the money it's a pretty good deal.

I overheard my middle son talking to his friend on the phone. He was explaining that they had a new game at home, that dad picked up for them. I heard him tell his friend "We don't need the other one, this thing is cool, and besides dad likes it so it's probably better anyway." My son gave me that same smile that I gave my dad all those years ago. I don't know if he said that cause he knew I was listening or not, but it doesn't even matter. Either he really believes that what I like is good enough to be awesome, or he believes that my feelings are enough to be saved with a little white lie. I think my parenting is coming full circle with my childhood and it's a pretty good feeling....