Why is this boy smiling?
Long, Long Ago...
It would be so easy to just tell a bunch of stories that others would be excited to hear about, but I am not going to be that easy on myself (or my audience). I know that everyone in this life has had trauma during their childhood years. Since I am not going to get another chance to recount any of this directly to anyone, I am choosing to share it here (I promise that future entries will be more fun and uplifting...I just need to get this out of my system).
As I stated in my first entry, I was born in San Jose, CA to a two-parent household.
My earliest memories involve Grimbsby Dr and being put down to take naps at 12:30p so that my mom could watch "As The World Turns". Life was simple until I realized one morning that I was in Oakland with just my mom...this didn't last for too long.
When my mom & I returned to live with my dad, we had moved to Bay St., and we would all soon be greeted by a younger, smaller human named Edward. [note: Out of respect, fear of getting things wrong, and just because they aren't my stories to tell, I am not going tell many stories about Edward from our childhoods...I love him too much to do that]
Soon after Edward's arrival, I got to fly on my first plane (on PSA (!)) to a strange city called "Anaheim".
Yes, this was my first trip to Disneyland, and it would have a profound influence on many of the positives from my life. I remember the ticket books, It's A Small World, The Carousel Of Progress, and getting to meet (and hug) Mickey Mouse for the first time (among many other wonders).
Upon returning from The (original) Magic Kingdom, life turned into what appeared to me to be our routine - my mom & dad took me to church every Sunday, elementary school started infringing upon my play & creative time, and we went to many functions of the local PCA - Porsche Club of America (since my dad owned a 1961 Porsche 356b...still does (!)) on Saturdays.
As I grew a little older, my dad started a new Cub Scout Pack where he served as the initial Pack Leader, while my mom served as Den Mother for myself and several other neighborhood kids. My car won the Pinewood Derby all three years that I was a Scout (although I can't take much of any credit for this - my dad built all the cars with very little input from me...I did paint them).
The Night Everything Changed
As a special treat one night, my dad took me to a San Jose Bees minor league baseball game. We had a good time, I actually caught a foul ball, and on the way home we stopped to put gas in the car. After the car was filled, the attendant gave us double (!) Blue Chip Stamps.
We drove home, I opened the garage door so that my dad could park the car, and I entered the house first to relay to my mom all of the excitement from the evening's game (plus extra stamps).
I discovered my mom on the family room couch with her wrists slashed, blood all over the place, and an empty bottle of gin lying next to her. Needless to say, I wasn't very coherent after seeing this.
My dad came in, realized what had happened, and sent me to my room. He rushed next door to get our neighbor, who helped him get her to our car, and they rushed her to the hospital. This neighbor's wife came into my room to attempt to settle me down. This wasn't very possible...I was only 9 at the time...
My mom's attempt was not successful that night. She "recovered", and my mom & dad tried to portray us as a "normal family" again afterward (with limited success).
I realize now that this event changed me forever. I was a different creature after it happened. It was one hell of a way to be introduced to the fact that my parents were human and not "perfect". I don't think I have ever felt truly "safe" again (even in my adult life).
My parents divorced a little over a year later, with Edward going to live with my mom, and me staying with my dad (plus I had the extra fun of being berated by my mom for my not wanting to go with her too - on the day we were informed of their divorce...and on many other occasions over the years).
Life after that with just my dad was no picnic - he dated a lot, didn't show much interest in "raising" me, and I started acting out - cutting school, stealing, staying up for days, etc. Were these the first instances of my Bipolar having an influence on my behavior, or was it just me being a jerk??? Doesn't matter - I still behaved very poorly.
I am (probably) going to skip telling a lot of stories about my teenage years...These years (mostly) sucked for me (like they did for many others). The most surprising thing to me is that I still have friends who will claim me that I knew during my teenage years...Hi folks! Thanks for hanging in there with me!!!
Story of the photo
This photo is of me starting to pack my backpack for a week's stay at Redwood Glen - a nature camp that was located in the Santa Cruz mountains that elementary school students in our school district were sent to for a week of hiking & nature study. All that I really remember from that week, other than the penitentiary quality food, was that it rained almost the entire time we were there, and that the delinquents I had the displeasure of sharing a room with punched a small hole in one of the adjoining bedroom doors where the teenage female cabin counselor was staying. They got caught peering through the hole to watch her change...I got in trouble just like they did even though I didn't have anything to do with it...