|
Welcome to my world. Your life must really suck,
if you're taking the time to read about mine.
I was born in Natick, Ma in 1964. I'm just really happy my parents
decided to do it on that cold Thanksgiving night in 1963. I'll bet not many other people know the night they were conceived.
Lucky me!
My mother is from Natick, and my father grew up in Washington DC. They met at Roanoke College in Virginia.
Thus the saga of Ted & Nancy, the beatniks, began. I've seen pictures. They thought they were so cool with their black sunglasses
and their lit Marlboros dangling from their lips.
Ted pursued his masters degree in history, at The University of
Delaware, so my first memories are of a place called Monroe Park, in Wilmington, DE.
When I was two, I walked behind
a bush. When I came back around, blood was gushing from my forehead. Apparently, I headbutted a big metal pipe. Luckily,
it was only a head injury, so there were no long term side effects. . . or maybe there were. I heard it didn't even phase
me, but Nancy panicked. This was well before her career in the medical field, so the sight of blood on her toddler sent her
into somewhat of a frenzy. She brought me to a hospital, and I got my first stitches. Just ask, and I'll show you the scar.
I was three when we adopted my sister. The thing I remember most about that day, is that I was treated like gold. I was
given all the tootsie pops I could handle. I didn't really know what was going on. It seemed like my parents went to a store
and came back with a six-month old baby. I think I asked something like, "How long do we get to keep her?", or "When do we
have to give her back?" Welcome Jessica!!! She is full-blooded Native American, half Apache and half Navajo.
After
graduate school, Ted got a job at Old Sturbridge Village, in the research department, so we packed up and headed north to
Massachusetts. It was a lot closer to my mother's family. I was four years old. We settled in a little town called Fiskdale.
Really, Fiskdale, Massachusetts. It does exist. It's a township of Sturbridge, so I always say I'm from Sturbridge, because
no one ever heard of Fiskdale. You might even drive through it and not realize.
Ted and Nancy became hippies. That's
right, I was raised by hippies. I was the only boy in kindergarten in 1969, with long hair. People always thought I was
a girl. My parents used to throw insane parties. I liked to come down in the morning and spill milk, from my cereal bowl,
into the faces of the people passed out on the floor. Two memories come to mind of when I was four. My fifteen year old
uncle got me stoned and I told my mother that Jimi Hendrix was my favorite guitarist. The Grateful Dead is still my favorite
band. I'm lucky to be the completely sane person I am today.
My grandparents owned a house on Martha's Vineyard,
so I spent every summer down there. Alas, the hardship. I used to make money, coin diving. We would swim up to the ferries
with a mask and fins and yell, "How 'bout a coin!" Tourists would throw their spare change into the water, and we'd retrieve
it. Between nine and twelve years old, I had ten dollars a day for; pinball, pizza, movies and whatever the hell else a kid
blows money on. That's when I began working for spare change. Some things never change.
My school years were fairly
uneventful. I was a dorky, virgin, late bloomer, who sucked at sports. I was on the junior varsity soccer team, my senior
year. I grew five inches after high school. I still don't have to shave every day.
Then came UMASS, Amherst. I
flunked out after one year, but what a WILD year. They didn't take attendance. You could buy the notes for classes. There
was someone to get wasted with every night. I couldn't be bothered with waking up to go to school. I washed pots and pans
at the cafeteria, for booze and weed money. I finally got laid. I guess my parents thought it was too expensive to send
me there to party.
To be continued when I get the time.
|
