1959 0 Kennebunkport, Maine - no emotions - no movement - light coming through a window, reflecting off of white, peaked, ceiling walls - small flowers in the wallpaper on the short wall nearby - I've been told it is not possible to have memory of my second floor attic bedroom from this year. I do.
1961 2 Danvers, Massachusetts - a tin toy car garage/gas station with movable lift is presented to me by my dad while playing in the backyard - bright warm sunlight in my eyes - soft green grass under me. Happy.
Danvers, Massachusetts - a spider the size of my hand crawls out from under the bed next to me - I place a shoebox lid over it - mom panics - it is no longer under the box lid when we return to my bedroom - my mother is angry - I am afraid - it could be anywhere.
1962 3 Peabody, Massachusetts - my favorite birthday present from Nana and Papa is a disassemblable wind-up plastic robot that "swings his arms" when he "walks" - I take it apart and put it back together more than I wind it up and watch it roll around and "squawk". Interest. Curiosity.
Peabody, Massachuestts - mighty mouse has gone to commercial - with my blanket tied around my neck I zoom around the living room one fist out, the other clasped to my chest - I run into Papa coming around the corner to the kitchen - my fist strikes him low - he spanks me - hard. Surprise. Sore.
1963 4 Peabody, Massachusetts - Dr. December says big boys don't suck their fingers or keep a blanket - he says it's OK for a four year old but not five year olds - (with family reminders) I throw away my blanket and stop sucking my fingers the day before my birthday - Nana and Papa and Mom are all so happy - I am a big boy now. Independent.
Peabody, Massachusetts - I can't even get out of bed when they change the sheets draped around - the varnish on my headboard is soft because of the constant vaporizer - I'm very scared when they leave me alone in the huge everything-smells-funny hospital - even though it hurts my throat when I do, I cry a lot - every time a new person in white asks what kind of ice cream I want tomorrow after I wake up, I whisper 'vanilla'. Sick. Alone.
1964 5 Peabody, Massachusetts - First grade - Santa actually brought me what I asked him for when I sat on his lap at Marshall Fields: a Big Bruiser tow truck - shock and excitement crash into my chest and I cry my first happy tears. Elation.
Peabody, Massachusetts - First grade - not much school attendance this year - a few weeks after getting scolded for over two weeks to stop scratching my chicken pox, I come down with Mumps - A month later, Croup keeps me bedridden in a "croup tent" - Back at school, I catch Whooping Cough. Dismal. Dreary. Miserable.
1965 6 Peabody, Massachusetts - Second grade - a boyfriend of Mom's takes us to a carnival - 'pick a girls's name,' he says - Linda (my first crush and the teacher's pet) - he rolls a ball and it stops on Linda - 'pick any prize,' so I pick a plastic doll in a wedding dress (against his and Mom's and the barker's attempts to dissuade) - later, my sister "wins" and "chooses a pop-gun" - days and weeks later, every adult I know tells me the doll is hers and the gun mine - eventually I stop restisting. Confusion.
Peabody, Massachusetts - Second grade - Mrs Creane (whom we call Crayon) repeatedly strikes both sides of both my hands with a ruler after I slide Ronnie's chair back when he stood to read Fun with Dick and Jane - he sat, hard - his glasses bounced off his face - I stood in the hall for a while after "getting the ruler". Shame.
1966 7 Peabody, Massachusetts - Third Grade - day camp is oppressively jammed with unnecessarily loud, squealing, pushing, and bullying bigger kids - they all travel in groups except me - I sit quietly and do the crafts suggested by the staff - afternoons we walk to the lake - I have to stay on the beach or wade - a lifeguard shows me, every day, how to float; how to kick; how to breathe under my armpit - by the end I can swim - I swim out and jump off the raft. Pride. Accomplishment.
Peabody, Massachusetts - Third grade - my fort is next to the driveway where the snow is piled deepest - afternoon sun low behind me, I see Papa's car coming - gleefully, I make a snowball - as he parks, I spin and throw! - for some reason he rolled down his window - it hit him in the ear - upside down, I am crashed headfirst and buried in my fort - I struggle to get out - tears of 'didn't mean to' and 'window was up' fall on angry ears. Misunderstood. Unfairly punished.
1967 8 Fort Wayne, Indiana - Fourth grade - this house has more rooms than we have furniture - too hot to play outside - Mom and Step-dad's TV restrictions are loosened - I lie on the cool tiled basement floor - curtains drawn - watch Death Valley Days, Lost in Space, Star Trek, Batman, The Man From UNCLE, Mission Impossible, The Fugitive and Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea - the only thing with me in this huge room is the smokey smell of long gone fires in the empty flagstone fireplace. Comfortable. Entertained.
New Haven, Indiana - Fourth grade - talking is only permitted after raising one's hand and being recognized - getting up to use the restroom (located at the back) is only allowed with permission - my hand has been in the air forever - throat clearing doesn't work - I ask outright several times - no response - I can not hold it anymore - I get up without permission - the boys-room door is locked - I knock - someone's been in there longer than forever! - I pace - can't hold it - as I pee my pants, I race across and enter the girls restroom. Extreme embarrassment. Victim of unjust ridicule.
1968 9 New Haven, Indiana - Fifth grade - my mother bends her "no two-wheel bicycle riding until ten years-old" rule - they gift me with a red, Huffy Cheater Slick bike with black and white banana seat and highrise handle bars. Ecstatic. Blessed.
Nashport, Ohio - Fifth grade - playing in the woods with a boy who is visiting our neighbors for the summer - chasing - splashing in the creek - friendly jokes - playing with sticks - swinging on grape vines - climbing rocks and trees - out-of-nowhere he unfolds a pocket knife and brandishes it - "How'd ya like it if I stabbed you? I could stab you to death." - running - being chased. Fearful of unexpected crazy, of not escaping, of receiving pain. Home brings relief.
1969 10 Nashport, Ohio - Sixth grade - at the end of a classmates birthday party, the popular kids are playing spin the bottle - I gradually realize my presence is unwanted and clumsily bow out (unkissed) - waiting for my ride, I discover Janice near the backdoor - she is uninterested in playing with the others - we talk - we giggle - I give her my candy bar. Glowy. Warm. Infatuated.
Nashport, Ohio - Sixth grade - playing in the woods with a large group of boys from my neighborhood - someone lights a fire - many begin to smoke stalks of straw - home so early? without your friends? - naïvely, I confide the reason for my discomfort - disregarding all protests, Mom calls all their parents. Untrustworthy. Ostracized. Sad. A tipping point...I never confide again.
1970 11 Nashport, Ohio - Seventh grade - my assigned seat on an overfull school bus is in front of a fourteen year old bully - he knuckles my head morning and afternoon - never hard enough to raise a welt - a complaint to the driver results in 'get back in your seat or be expelled from the bus' - for months I duck and shirk his sneak attacks. Put upon. Victimized. Nowhere to turn. Helpless.
Nashport, Ohio - Seventh grade - a cool windy afternoon - Bully whacks the back of my head as the entire neighborhood is disembarking from the bus - Keith (a smoking-straw boy who hasn't spoken to me in months) shouts 'leave him alone' - Bully threatens Keith - after the crowd thins, Keith jumps on Bully, sits on his chest, pins his arms, and pounds his face - blood spatters from Bully's eyes, nose, and lips - dozens of blows - I cheer the entire time. Schadenfreude. Glee. Comeuppance.
1971 12 Peru, Indiana - Eighth grade - up until now all bedtimes were chiseled in stone - Friday nights I no longer have one - after everyone goes to bed, I get to stay up and watch Sammy Terry's Nightmare Theater. Privileged. Spooked. Enthralled. Grown up.
Peru, Indiana - Eighth grade - all motorized two-wheel vehicles are off-limits and forbidden - I ride a fellow-Boyscout's minibike, one afternoon, in a different county - two months later, my sister Nanett learns about it - after school one day she proudly "tells" and reacts gleefully as Mom grounds me. Betrayed. Unhappy. Adamant that some form of statute of limitations must have lapsed. Sullen.
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