This is more for me than for you. If I ever develop Alzheimer’s, I want there to be something I (or my Dr.) can use to restart the engine (so to speak). Alzheimer’s is not my motivation for documenting this, it is part mental exercise, and part therapy. There will be lots of things here nobody knows, mainly because it is meaningless to anyone but me. If you endure this from beginning to end, you will know more about me then my wife or momma.
This post assumes that the internet will be around in something like this current form 40-50 years from now, if not, well then phooey on the internet, you sucked anyway.
This is also an attempt to not forget anything, I have read that that the key to long term memory is refreshing (reviewing) what you learned when you are just about to forget it, well DUH, doesn’t that make complete sense? Where have you been? Oh, you were in the lab, doing the obvious.
If you know me. I’d Love for you to share things that you remember, either about me or not.
I remember:
Playing 45’s in my room, singing “rhinestone cowboy” while jumping on my bed – Sharing a bedroom with my sister – My room being scary at times once my sister was no longer a roommate – Listening to WAMO’s Quiet Storm on a small hand held radio as I would try to go to sleep – creeping to the light source under the bedroom door to listen to what mom and dad were talking about, and then racing back to bed in fear of being discovered – The precise placement of all the floorboard creaks in the house I grew up in, I could not take 3 steps out my bedroom door without announcing to the entire house I was out and trying to get something out of the refrigerator – Never hearing my parents fool around in their bedroom (next to mine), the only affection I recall witnessing was my mothers continual advances on my father, and his consistent disregard for returning the same affection – Mom, reaching out to kiss and hug my father one time during a 4th of July BBQ, and his reaction, as if she was humiliating him in public, when we were among family –
I remember making prank calls in the basement/playroom (before it became my bedroom) – Taking a tape recorder and experimenting with recording phone calls, until the others on the phone realized that I could not hold a conversation, because I would speak and then quickly hold the earpiece to the mic in the tape recorder, only to return to the conversation with a “pardon?” because I never heard what they said – Taking some book on Japan and it’s culture to school and show-n-tellin people I was the authority on all things Japanese, when I had done nothing but look at the pretty photos in the book – Sticking a couple wires salvaged from an old power cord in the + and – of an electrical outlet in my basement playroom, and my first taste of 120v – Lifting weights downstairs, listening to Ozzy’s Crazy-Train, (introduced to Ozzy by my cousin Ann, who also introduced me to Michael Jackson and my 1st RAP record, Blondie’s “Rapture”) making my 1st connection between my emotional state-of-mind and music, that song (at the time) got me amped to lift weights, Rock music gave way to Prince, Prince gave way to R&B-Hip Hop, Hip Hop opened the door to more music than I can swallow –
I remember my father being laid-off from the steel mill – My father, keeping busy (for not having a job), made our home his job, revamping the basement into a livable area, somehow with seemingly only my mothers income – Back-seat motorcycle rides on my dad’s Kawasaki 1100 GPZ, learning to lean into the turns WITH the driver, no matter how scarred I was of gravity’s pull – Leaning the lay of the land from those motorcycle rides, my father always found his way home, his internal GPS was better then mine ever was – Learning to ride my bike, I don’t ever recall having training wheels, I DO remember having a purple banana-seat attached to a bitch-bar on my fist bike (which was a girls bike, from where I don’t know) - having free reign to ride just about anywhere, I took my (now) wannabe BMX (Black with Yellow 5 point mag-rims) just about everywhere within 5 mile of my house – Riding down from the top of Dunn Road with my sister, the 1st 100 yards was at about a 50 degree slope, which made for quick acceleration, I could ride the loose asphalt with no hands, and tried to throw a rock at my sister, doing so threw my balance off, causing a 50-degree wreck and imbedding loose asphalt in my elbow and knee, forcing my mother (a nurse anesthetist) to do the mandatory hospital 2-step on my recent injury (step 1. scrub the heck out of the abrasion with soap and a fingernail brush, step 2. pour every possible anti-everything solution on the injury so that any living tissue I once had is no more, reducing the chance of infection) – Making ramps with Mike Bock out of scrap plywood, big rocks, and any other unstable material we could get our hands on, and since my driveway sloped down from the road and parking lot of the neighboring American Legion, it made for the perfect angle of attack on those jackass-style ramps, resulting in some great moments in sports history, but you never seen it – Fishing in Lake Samary, behind my house, with friends, (mostly with Mike Bock, I think he caught the only Bass in that entire lake) and skipping rocks over the water – Sitting on the small bridge that covered the creek that fed the lake, watching the waves move by, pulling my focus back just enough to give the sensation that I was actually moving against the waves – Blowing up Blue-Gil with firecrackers –
I remember taking my dad’s Salem brand Cigarettes and smoking out in the woods, out at the lake, where ever I could hide and stay out long enough to get the smell off me – One winter, I caught my sister smoking in the bathroom, with the ceiling fan on, in an attempt to outsmart my father, who was tossing a few back at the Legion, and I took the opportunity to tell on her and get her in so much trouble – Fighting with my sister, over just about anything, for any reason – Feeling detached in my relationship with my sister (at this time – its been 20 years since I lived at home) – My wife is 10 years older than her brother and they are closer than my sister and I will ever be – I don’t think I ever said I’m sorry for any hurt I may have caused to contribute to our lack of closeness, it may be the remaining strings of catholic in me that makes me feel guilty for things that may not even me my fault – Being an Alter Boy at St. Aloysius church in East Liverpool, Ohio (where I was reared) for at least 3 or 4 years, participating in our church’s’ youth ministry – Asking questions during youth ministry about the importance of catholic tradition in relation to my salvation, and not liking the dismissive answers that were thrown back at me - Serving as President of my church’s youth ministry, I think of my church life (back then) like I was leading a double-life, the good lil’ catholic church-boy that made mom proud, and the heathen, which filled most of my other waking hours, both were genuinely me –
I remember NEVER being molested, touched in any inappropriate way, or made to feel uncomfortable by any member of my childhood catholic church, my college life was a different story – I had a (at the time) Monsignor as a Philosophy professor, who made several crystal clear gestures (at the end of our educational relationship) that he was interested in a relationship beyond the student-teacher one we had for several years – Monsignor was a patient tutor, he helped me understand Logic, which solved many great mysteries in my head, provided access to the same books that your teachers were using to learn how to teach you, as they were teaching you! – Tutoring sessions, after class would constantly turn into theological discussions over Marlboro lights and a 5th floor open window into the city of Pittsburgh –
I remember Pam Durant (in the 4th grade) was my 1st crush, although many others strove for her attention (attention = affection back then) I know she really liked me because we spent almost every night talking for hours on the phone – I remember Pam’s phone number was something like 424-4667, or something really easy to dial – I remember mine at the time was 385-2245 – Pam moved to Texas, I gave her a charm bracelet that my mom helped pick out – In 5th grade I tried to buy the affection of the girl who sat behind me with Pac-man stickers and trading cards, until Paula Crooms told on me and my punishment was to stand between the 2 classrooms and repeat something humiliating while the classes changed for the 2nd half of the day – Ironically, Paula became the love of my late high school life, I had forgotten all about 5th grade until she was gone from my life again, funny how that works –
I remember all the really good people in both High school band and Art class – If I could ever have a comedy TV or Radio show, I could not do it without Jason Brinker, hands down one of the funniest people I have ever met in my entire life, the guy has such quick wit, it was hard for me to hold down any liquids when he was in my presence – Jason and I would pass one another in crowded halls between class and call each other CUNT, so incredibly loud, that it sounded like we were simply making a loud, truck-horn sound, we would put a big plug of Levi-Garrett chewing tobacco in our mouths before picking up our Contras (tubas that you carry on your shoulder) for band practice, then as we were in marching formation, empty out the spit-valves onto the lawn with a shower of golden-brown salvia, disgusting but funny as hell to us at the time –
I remember I tried to stand out from all the hicks in my high school – Mark Phillips was the one who gave me the encouragement to change my attitude towards those who did not like me – I don’t even think he knows that, I used to cry on the bus on the way to school because some of the rougher kids would pick on me for whatever reason, one day mark came to my defense and told me (in so many words) why do you care what they think? Why do you care what anyone thinks? I don’t know if he was saying it to me out of disgust that I never defended my self, or if he knew the mean kids on our bus were the epitome of white-trash, either way, it changed me, I became more bold over time, and began to let criticism roll off my back, to the point where I could express my own identity, through the way I looked, my artwork and my friends, it is one of things I think back and wonder, “would I have ever-been motivated enough to get out of my hometown?” because many were not, even those that inspired me, never made it out –
I remember being unfairly judgmental of others in high school, people who, when I reflect back on, I could have spent more time and nurtured friendships with, I feel I could have encouraged others in my “sphere of influence” but I was selfishly caught up in appealing to people who never really added anything to my life –
End of Volume I
