Living in San Pedro there wasn’t a lot of places to play. We played in an old cemetery and construction sites. It was the 70’s and there wasn’t a whole lot of security at the sites. Once the crew was done for the day, we would invade. We would run around the half built structures and play Hide and Seek.
When I was five we had our choice of two sites to play on. The first one was on 24th street. Every kid in the neighbor hood knew that was our site. No one else could play there but us. The other was on some street that intersected 23rd and 24th. We didn’t play there much, a bunch of teenagers hung out at that one.
We decided we wanted to claim it as our own. We walked up to the teenagers and told them we were going to play there. “Fuck you babies” was the response. They said they will beat us up if we stayed. We turned and ran.
WHAM! Something smacked the back of my head. I fell face first in the street.
“Shit man you hit him!”
“Let’s get the fuck out of here before he tells on us.”
Hal and Joey G. (The same Joey G. from the Noel incident) picked me up. My back was all wet. I put my hand on the back of my head. I looked at my hand. It was covered in matted hair and blood. There was a broken beer bottle next to my feet. The bastard threw a beer bottle at a five year old kid. Hal yelled out to the teenagers that we are going to kill them. I started crying. Hal and Joey G. walked me home. My mom threw me in the back seat and we drove to the emergency room. The nurse shaved the back of my head and comforted me. The Dr. came in and cleaned the cut out. He kept squirting water into and spreading it open looking for glass. It hurt like hell. He stitched me up and I was on my way home. I got sit in the library for recess for the next couple days.
We never told anyone who actually hit me. As far as the parents know, clutzy old Verne fell down and sliced his head open.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Deborah Ann
Age nine and ten I had to share a bed with my mom. We were living with another family. My sister got her own bed. I wasn’t allowed to sleep on the floor. I had to sleep with her. She didn’t molest me or anything; she would just cuddle up next to me. I didn’t like it. I wanted my own bed. I wanted to sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor. She would play the radio and sing when we were in bed. She would sing the songs that would come on. She made me go to bed at the same time as her. I would lie next to her and she would read and drink her wine sometimes rubbing my head. My dad was gone by that point and I guess she just wanted to have somebody next to her.
We moved out to our own place and I had my own room. She would get drunk and sing sad country songs and call out my dads’ name. Sometimes when she was drunk she would come into my room and get in bed with me. Breathing her horrible wine breath in my face as she tried to make he hold her. I would push away and that would piss her off. “Fine then no one loves me I guess.”
That room became my prison. I was not allowed out of my room unless I had to use the bathroom. All my meals were eaten in the room. I could go to school, but after school I had to back in my room. I would read and listen to music. They became my salvation.
As I got older she got worse. She would walk into my room and tell me things like if I ever had a girlfriend I would be going to hell because it was a sin to touch girls. She told me she knew everything I did because she had microphones hidden around the house.
I had to keep my door so I wouldn’t beat off like my father.
After awhile the yelling and paranoia weren’t enough. She started hitting me. First it was just a slap then a wooden spoon, it moved on to fist and kicking. Hell, she even hit me with a blender once.
She would tell me to get out, that she couldn’t afford to feed me anymore. I’d leave and walk around and be picked up by the police after a few hours. She would call them and say that I had run away.
The worst was in ninth grade. I had gotten a D in some class. I had a ten gallon aquarium with two newts. When she got the report card she stormed in my room picked up the tank and threw it at me. It missed my head and shattered against the wall. Glass, rocks, water and the two dead newts were on my bed. “Clean up your fucking mess you god damned dummy!” was all she said.
The next day it was like nothing happened. She asked where the aquarium went.
We moved out to our own place and I had my own room. She would get drunk and sing sad country songs and call out my dads’ name. Sometimes when she was drunk she would come into my room and get in bed with me. Breathing her horrible wine breath in my face as she tried to make he hold her. I would push away and that would piss her off. “Fine then no one loves me I guess.”
That room became my prison. I was not allowed out of my room unless I had to use the bathroom. All my meals were eaten in the room. I could go to school, but after school I had to back in my room. I would read and listen to music. They became my salvation.
As I got older she got worse. She would walk into my room and tell me things like if I ever had a girlfriend I would be going to hell because it was a sin to touch girls. She told me she knew everything I did because she had microphones hidden around the house.
I had to keep my door so I wouldn’t beat off like my father.
After awhile the yelling and paranoia weren’t enough. She started hitting me. First it was just a slap then a wooden spoon, it moved on to fist and kicking. Hell, she even hit me with a blender once.
She would tell me to get out, that she couldn’t afford to feed me anymore. I’d leave and walk around and be picked up by the police after a few hours. She would call them and say that I had run away.
The worst was in ninth grade. I had gotten a D in some class. I had a ten gallon aquarium with two newts. When she got the report card she stormed in my room picked up the tank and threw it at me. It missed my head and shattered against the wall. Glass, rocks, water and the two dead newts were on my bed. “Clean up your fucking mess you god damned dummy!” was all she said.
The next day it was like nothing happened. She asked where the aquarium went.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Stacy, Jennifer, The Fonz and me.
I woke up this morning in a sad mood. It’s been awhile since that has happened. I had a really cool and awkward phone call last night. When we said goodbye it was a little weird like both of us were waiting for the other person to say something else. Very ninth grade.
When I went to bed I just started thinking about everything that’s going on in my life and wondering how to make it right. My mind was going a million miles an hour. I couldn’t turn it off. I turned on the radio. I tried to concentrate on the news and turn my mind off.
When I got up I was overcome with sadness. I keep telling myself that I’m getting over this, but every once in a while I’ll see something or hear something that reminds me of her. A song on the radio, A place we used to eat at. Trying to remember every little detail of our life together.
In an unrelated note..
My parents thought I was gay when I was little. Most of my friends were girls. I would hang out and play with them. We would put on plays and do little shows in one of our garages. My dad would say that no straight boy would do that. It didn’t help that there weren’t very many boys on our block. One of the boys would always ask to sleep over and would try to climb in bed with me. Once he asked me if I had any hair down there yet and would I show him. I tried to stay away from him. My parents thought the other boy on the block was a bad kid and wouldn’t let me play with him. So hell, who was I supposed to play with?
Sometimes we would play Happy Days. I got to be Fonzie. Jennifer and Stacy would random 50’s sounding girls names and be my girlfriends. They stood around and cheered and I rode my bike up and down the street. I had stupid little second grade crushes on either them at one time or the other. So I was happy when they held my arm and called themselves my girlfriend. In my mind I was one cool little mother fucker.
Once for Christmas or my birthday, I can’t remember which it was. I asked for a sewing machine. That did not help the “my son might be gay” situation at all.
When I went to bed I just started thinking about everything that’s going on in my life and wondering how to make it right. My mind was going a million miles an hour. I couldn’t turn it off. I turned on the radio. I tried to concentrate on the news and turn my mind off.
When I got up I was overcome with sadness. I keep telling myself that I’m getting over this, but every once in a while I’ll see something or hear something that reminds me of her. A song on the radio, A place we used to eat at. Trying to remember every little detail of our life together.
In an unrelated note..
My parents thought I was gay when I was little. Most of my friends were girls. I would hang out and play with them. We would put on plays and do little shows in one of our garages. My dad would say that no straight boy would do that. It didn’t help that there weren’t very many boys on our block. One of the boys would always ask to sleep over and would try to climb in bed with me. Once he asked me if I had any hair down there yet and would I show him. I tried to stay away from him. My parents thought the other boy on the block was a bad kid and wouldn’t let me play with him. So hell, who was I supposed to play with?
Sometimes we would play Happy Days. I got to be Fonzie. Jennifer and Stacy would random 50’s sounding girls names and be my girlfriends. They stood around and cheered and I rode my bike up and down the street. I had stupid little second grade crushes on either them at one time or the other. So I was happy when they held my arm and called themselves my girlfriend. In my mind I was one cool little mother fucker.
Once for Christmas or my birthday, I can’t remember which it was. I asked for a sewing machine. That did not help the “my son might be gay” situation at all.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Young Hearts Spark Fire.
In kindergarten Mrs. Wallner would start each day asking if it was anyone’s birthday. At least once a week it would be some ones. They had elevated status for the day. Mrs. Wallner would have them sit up next to her and would sing Happy Birthday to them. At story time they would sit next to her again on a bench while the rest of us sat on the floor. They got to wear a crown made of yellow construction paper. Mrs. Wallner let them choose a cookie form the jar on her desk.
I was born on December twenty first. It was after Christmas vacation started. I would not get my chance to be the birthday king. A few months after we went back to school, I decided I would have my turn. She asked if anyone was having a birthday today. I raised my hand up. She looked at me strangely, but asked me up to the front. Everyone clapped when Mrs. Wallner put the crown on my head and sang to me. I had my cookie. I got the story that was just for me. After class she asked me to stay and talk to her. She asked if it was actually my birthday and that if it wasn’t I should tell her the truth. I said it wasn’t my birthday and begged her not to tell my parents. She swore she wouldn’t.
I got my first girlfriend in kindergarten. Her name was Noel. She used to show me her underwear on the playground. We would sit under the monkey bars and kiss when no one was looking. On my real birthday she came to my house and gave me a brown and white tank top.
First grade started. Noel was in my class again. We sat next to each other and held hands. It was raining one day and we couldn’t go out to play. Mrs. Kanouse played disco records in the class at recess time and told us to dance for some exorcise. I walked up to Noel so we can dance. She said she didn’t like me any more and was in love with Joey G. I sat back down at my desk while Noel and Joey G. danced.
The title of this is a song by the band Japandroids. All blog titles are a song title, sort of a soundtrack.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Territorial Pissings
I was in first grade with a kid named Bryan. When there was a fire drill he would cry. He used to take his pants off to pee at the urinal. He always backed away from the urinal to see how far he could go before he missed and wet the floor. He used to stand up and yell “I have to go number one!” The teacher always let him go.
In second grade I wet my pants. I sat there for an hour or so in pee pants because I was too embarrassed to say anything. Mrs. Lynn said no one goes to the bathroom unless its an emergency. The girl that sat next to me kept looking over at me making this scrunchy nosed face. She knew.
The recess bell rang. I waited till everybody left before I got up. I told Mrs. Lynn what happened. She walked me to the office. I had to call my mom to bring me new clothes. I sat around for another half hour waiting for her to show up. When she did I was relieved that she didn't yell at me. She just handed the nurse some clean underwear and a pair of pants. I changed and went back to class.
I told everyone I slipped in the boys room and landed in a puddle of pee. I don't think they bought it.
One year later, I did the same thing.
In second grade I wet my pants. I sat there for an hour or so in pee pants because I was too embarrassed to say anything. Mrs. Lynn said no one goes to the bathroom unless its an emergency. The girl that sat next to me kept looking over at me making this scrunchy nosed face. She knew.
The recess bell rang. I waited till everybody left before I got up. I told Mrs. Lynn what happened. She walked me to the office. I had to call my mom to bring me new clothes. I sat around for another half hour waiting for her to show up. When she did I was relieved that she didn't yell at me. She just handed the nurse some clean underwear and a pair of pants. I changed and went back to class.
I told everyone I slipped in the boys room and landed in a puddle of pee. I don't think they bought it.
One year later, I did the same thing.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
The day I got my spine back
The day I got my spine back.
Amelia was a bitch. No other way to put it, just a bitch. She was the neighborhood bully. At five years old we were all terrified of her. She would walk up to us and just punch the crap out of you for no reason. The playground at the apartment complex was hers. We had to ask permission to go on the swings or use the slide. She ruled that place.
One day this albino boy moved in. He came out to play and tried to use the slide. Amelia hit him in the head with a rock. He fell over and started shaking. One of the kids ran to tell Amelia’s parents. Her mom said Amelia wouldn’t do that. She’s a good girl.
The albino kid’s parents ran to the playground. Some ones dad wrapped albino boy up in a blanket and raised his feet up. He was taken to the hospital. He came back with six stitches and a broken nose. He never came out to play again.
Amelia threatened all of us. She’ll beat us up if we said anything.
Two days later Amelia socked my in the stomach because I used the swing without asking her first. I had enough. I waited till she was on the slide. I found a piece of 2x4. When she came off the slide I smacked her in the forehead with it. She cried and ran away.
I was scared. My parents were going to beat me for sure. I ran and hid in my frog toy box in the closet. I was in there for about an hour when I heard the doorbell ring. I could hear muffled voices. Something about suing and bills and that I should be arrested.
My father came into my room looking for me. He called out my name but I stayed in the box. He opened up the closet and pulled me out. He told me that Amelia is a brat and I shouldn’t hit girls. He told me he is proud of me for standing up for myself, but next time tell him instead of clobbering some one with a piece of wood.
We shared a common wall with Amelia’s apartment. The bathroom plumbing went out once time and the plumber removed part of the wall between the bathrooms. We could hear everything that happened in their bathroom. I woke up one morning to Amelia asking for her mom to wipe her butt. She was saying she got it all over and needed help.
I went to school and announced that Amelia can’t wipe her own butt.
She never bothered us again.
Amelia was a bitch. No other way to put it, just a bitch. She was the neighborhood bully. At five years old we were all terrified of her. She would walk up to us and just punch the crap out of you for no reason. The playground at the apartment complex was hers. We had to ask permission to go on the swings or use the slide. She ruled that place.
One day this albino boy moved in. He came out to play and tried to use the slide. Amelia hit him in the head with a rock. He fell over and started shaking. One of the kids ran to tell Amelia’s parents. Her mom said Amelia wouldn’t do that. She’s a good girl.
The albino kid’s parents ran to the playground. Some ones dad wrapped albino boy up in a blanket and raised his feet up. He was taken to the hospital. He came back with six stitches and a broken nose. He never came out to play again.
Amelia threatened all of us. She’ll beat us up if we said anything.
Two days later Amelia socked my in the stomach because I used the swing without asking her first. I had enough. I waited till she was on the slide. I found a piece of 2x4. When she came off the slide I smacked her in the forehead with it. She cried and ran away.
I was scared. My parents were going to beat me for sure. I ran and hid in my frog toy box in the closet. I was in there for about an hour when I heard the doorbell ring. I could hear muffled voices. Something about suing and bills and that I should be arrested.
My father came into my room looking for me. He called out my name but I stayed in the box. He opened up the closet and pulled me out. He told me that Amelia is a brat and I shouldn’t hit girls. He told me he is proud of me for standing up for myself, but next time tell him instead of clobbering some one with a piece of wood.
We shared a common wall with Amelia’s apartment. The bathroom plumbing went out once time and the plumber removed part of the wall between the bathrooms. We could hear everything that happened in their bathroom. I woke up one morning to Amelia asking for her mom to wipe her butt. She was saying she got it all over and needed help.
I went to school and announced that Amelia can’t wipe her own butt.
She never bothered us again.
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