Firstly, it's obvious I love to write and please please please trust me, I'm elated your eyeballs are here. Some of the individuals that did not get indigestion after reading a blog or two suggested "Put all your blogs together, write a book." I'm good, but thank you! Since we, as a land, are in desperate need for bipartisanship, the ability to get the hell along without fear of lock and load, I'll meet you halfway. A Cliffs Note version.
Before we get too far, I just looked up Cliffs Notes to be sure I spelled it correctly. Did. I ask though, how come they ain't gotta apostrophe between the F and the S? Don't Cliff own the notes as in possessive? Oh well.
An Autobiography, Cliffturd-style.......
I was born (not hatched, contrary to what some will say) in St. Louis in 1952. Awhile back I was redfacedly in a luke warm political discussion on Facebook. OK, it was hot as hell actually. I got a tad carried away, which is fancy for "It's Bud Light's fault" and said one of the spokelady's for the President (those that know me will know which one, doesn't matter.) Anyways, I said "She needs to get laid." Katy bar the comments.
One feller.. he hollered out "YOU MISOGYNIST YOU!" Before I could get all offended, I had to look the damn word up on Google. "A person who dislikes, despises, or is strongly prejudiced against women." WELL. I was offended, but, I was one my second can of Bud Light so I reminded myself to sleep on that. I did.
Woke up, fell outta bed, dragged a comb across my head. (Minus the fell outta bed, embellishment it was.) Sidebar, what does your hair look like in the mirror in the morning? Me? Scary. I sleep on my right side so it looks like I've got a slope from the top of my head to my right ear. Oh yeah, eyebrows. Since the right half of my right eyebrow rubs up agin the mattress all night, it kinda makes a half inch point right in the middle so it stares at me. By golly I TOLDYA I was gonna live life smiling, and by golly if that mug in the mirror doesn't make ya wanna laugh, nothing will. The hell was I?
Oh yeah, the quest to defend myself cause I ain't a misogy.. whatever he called me. I love women! Always have! A great portion of my best friends are women, always have been. I played catch with MOM, dad traveled in sales. I coached WOMEN. My bestest boss ever, a woman. On and on and on. So I blogged about all that stuff, defending myself, and I finished it with "In 1952, I was even delivered BY A FEMALE DOCTOR!"
Then, just then, it donned on me. Before I go there, my college journalism teacher just spoke in my head, "Victor, did you mean it dawned on you?" (brb, Googling).
Yes, it dawned on me. You see, 'donned' means to put on clothes. So that ain't it. 'Dawned' means 'to appear or become visual'. Then, just then, it DAWNED on me, maybe that 'misyogn...' (something) guy is on to something, as.... wouldn't that lady have then circumcised me too?
YOU SEE? THIS is why I can't write a damn book. I'm doing an autobiography, Cliff Note version btw, and I've written NINE paragraphs and I ain't even been born yet!
So, I was borned. Five years prior, same lady doc delivered my sister. I don't remember a lot about that first year. Fast forward the next 8, 9 years or so, St. Louis, Colorado Springs. St. Charles, Jefferson City, Liberty, Jefferson City, then Liberty.
My first recollection of any of those places was Colorado Springs. I remember ice skating at a joint where the Olympic athletes train, The Broadmoor. I was maybe three. I guess it was hoped by my parents that I'd be the next Dick Button. For those not in the know, I'm not referring to my recuperating circumcision bandages when I write Dick Button. Dick Button was a famous Olympic Ice Skating Champ from our fine country in the 50's. My skates had TWO blades on each one. Years later I would try the regular ole regular single blade skates. Huh uh. That, and water skiing, not my thing. (Fun word, skiiing. I'm a crossword puzzle addict, and I often have I I show up in order. Rare is it though that the clue is about skating, so, I musta messed up. Happens. Often. Sadly I do it in pen. Oh well.)
St. Charles about all I remember is that we rented a big ole house that was probably haunted. Other that that, and it being on a big ole hill. the only other thing I remember was helping my father shovel coal into the coal cellar. I understand coal furnaces were prominent back then, but pretty much gone by the 70's.
Moving. I have ALWAYS been fidgety. I cannot sit still and if you watch closely, I'm ALWAYS rubbing my thumb and forefinger together. (SEE? YOU ASKED FOR A DAMN BOOK! I TOLDYA I SHOULDA SAID NO! Isn't that interesting to learn, DUH!).. Moving. The second time we moved to Liberty I was 8 or 9 (I think) and it was the NINETEENTH house I'd lived in in my life. (Kinda weird like the double-I word skiing, using 'in in' in a sentence looks kinda funny too. Damn, that's THREE 'in's in a row.)
My father, whom I loved, moved us virtually every time the wind blew the other way, or, he'd get a better paying job elsewhere, whichever came first. DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO MOVE FROM SCHOOL TO SCHOOL BEING THE NEW KID, THE REDHEADED FRECKLE FACED BRYLCREMED KID? It's a wonder I ever was able to talk. No damn wonder I have circulatory problems. It's no wonder I'm fidgety. (I ain't no misogy...however you spell, though)
LEROY PETERS. God Bless Leroy Peters. Being this new, REDHEADED FRECKLE FACED BRYLCREMED hair kid in school, I don't think anyone sat by me at lunch, or if they did, they didn't say much. I know I didn't. One day, long about my third day at Franklin Elementary, on the play ground, LEROY PETERS befriended me and gave me a piece of blue chewing gum. Hey, maybe I will like this place Liberty. I will never forget that, and it started a lifelong love for the town I live in.
The best. Childhood in Liberty was literally the best. I loved my family, I loved our ole house, next door was a family with NINE, count 'em NINE children. (5 boys, that's a lotta Dick Buttons... sorry, kinda.) Every kinda game possible we played. Mainly whiffleball. Backing up a tad:
THE WALL. We had a detached garage in back (not to mention the mulberry tree, YUM).. on one side of the driveway was a three foot tall, eighteen foot long, wall. While it was already ciphered ice skating wasn't for me, I needed me a new sport - so... I didn't own a ballglove. So.. I got a very flexible plastic bowl from the kitchen, a found tennis ball - and I literally spent hours and hours and hours throwing that ball against the wall and catching grounders, pop flys, line drives with the bowl that served as my glove. One time, my sister messed the wall up.
Homecoming, 1962. My sister was a sophomore. "Dad, can we build our class float out back by the garage?" My sister was beautiful. Sure, I'm biased, but she was. She had these long eye lashes, BEEAUUTIFUL blue eyes, and she batted the lashes, smiled at my pa when she asked. My father ADORED my sister. (Me too). "Sure."
My folks logic was.. "if it didn't cost too much, it was moral, and if it didn't hurt you or anyone else, sure." (I've told you this before, but they also said "Finish everything you start, except sex.") I was eight, i had no concept of what that was.
So, for what seemed like two months, 16 year old snotnoses who were just learning to drive, sped up and down our alley, NARROWLY missing our car parked under the walnut tree (several times.).. they blared loud music.. sang, stuffed Bluejay colored napkins in chicken wire, laughed, yelled, undoubtedly disturbed the neighbors (we had wonderful, understanding neighbors though). On the final day, as they moved the float to position it for the actual Homecoming Parade, my sister, same batting blue eyes, same smile, told my dad "Dad, I'm sorry we were so noisy throughout all this.." "Oh honey, it's ok, we have great neighbors and there was really no destruction."
And then.
After the parade. After the football game. That Saturday. I took my glove (my plastic bowl) and my dirty ole tennis ball out to THE WALL. Holy Guacamole. There in HUGE, I'm talking HUGE, eighteen foot long, Bluejay colored spray paint "SOPHOMORES 1962!!!!" I think she was gonna get in trouble, then the eyelash batting, smile happened, so she didn't. (This paint job would stay there for quite some time, until YEARS later I when I needed a buck or two, dad handed me paintbrush and a can of white paint, said "Here, 5 bucks, you can paint the wall.")
HEY YOU! YOU THERE! YEAH YOU, the one laying in bed asleep with your laptop. Ya better turn it off as I know you'll run your battery down!
See.. my book. My Cliff Notes. My life. All, kinda boring. i've put you fast asleep.
To be continued. Maybe.
By Henry Gibson. Forward by Mrs. Eldridge, my 2nd grade teacher.
Love, Victurd
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