As you might have noticed, I was a fairly unusual child from the time I was born to when I was 12 years old. However, everything that made me a good little boy vanished during the early part of my teenage years.
When I was forced to spend time with my family, I was in a bad mood. I didn't want to be around them. If they were watching TV, I would go to my room to watch, even though it was on a 13" black and white set. I would do this even though I was watching the same thing that was on the TV downstairs. I spent a lot of time in my room doing homework, watching TV and listening to music.
It was even worse when we went to see the extended family. I just didn't want to go anywhere or see anybody. When greeting relatives, including my grandparents, I would quickly hug them, grumble and be on my way from everyone. Mom would get really upset at me and scold me for acting that way. My Grandma Bend didn't really seem to mind. She would say it was okay.
I guess because I didn't act like a typical kid, it probably took my parents by surprise that I was starting to act like a typical teenager. Mom would just give me lectures about how I needed to behave better when I was around relatives. It didn't help that I couldn't explain why I was acting that way.
I should add that I didn't act like this with my friends, teachers or anybody else. It was all directed at people I was related to. I guess I preferred being at school because no one from my family was there. I didn't realize until I graduated from college what was wrong with me.
And really, there was nothing wrong with me. It was normal teenager behavior. But the way Mom acted, there was no excuse for treating everyone like that. While I agree, it was hard for me to really consider other people's feelings when it seemed like they didn't really even consider mine. And probably also the Asperger thing had a lot to do with it. Who knows?
I guess my Mom couldn't really identify because she probably wasn't able to go through that phase herself. As I have mentioned before, her father died when she was 12 and that completely devastated the family. They were uprooted from the home they'd known for years and plopped down in the middle of nowhere. It was their extended family that helped them out, so my mother was always grateful to be around them whenever possible.
Yes, this is like that episode of "Home Improvement" in which Tim's middle son is being disrespectful. When talking with Wilson, Tim said he never treated his father that way. However, Wilson points out Tim's father died when he was 12, so he never got a chance to rebel against him as a teenager. I actually didn't figure out my Mom's issue with my adolescence until I saw that episode.
And again, it was my Mom who had the problem with me. My father never said anything, either to me or my Mom. As I've mentioned before, Dad just seemed content to go with the flow to see what I would do next.
Sometimes, I feel like if I had just acted like this to everyone all the time, I probably wouldn't have been regarded as such a loser. That's only because nobody would ever get a chance to really know me.
Friday, November 29, 2013
What to do the day after Thanksgiving
I can't imagine doing this when the store is full of people.
I used to work for Walmart and did five Black Friday events. Then, when I worked at the radio station, I would show up at those Black Friday lines and interview people during the next four years.
I used to work for Walmart and did five Black Friday events. Then, when I worked at the radio station, I would show up at those Black Friday lines and interview people during the next four years.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
The Kiddie Table
Since this post is appearing on Thanksgiving, I thought I would take this opportunity to talk about a problem that plagued me from my childhood all the way up into my early adulthood. This was not something that only took place during Thanksgiving, but on a regular basis on Christmas and Easter as well.
Almost every holiday, my family would travel someplace, like Grandma Bend's house. There would be a lot of other relatives there, enjoying the fellowship of family. There would be one long table set up and a smaller table for the kids. After Grace was said and done, the parents would fill the plates for the kids and let them have at it at their table while the adults would enjoy their meal at the main table.
This was fine up until I turned 13 years old. It started getting irritating with the other cousins who seemed to prefer playing with their food instead of eating it, and then picking food off my plate and throwing it to the ground. I thought that would all end by the time I got to college, but I was wrong.
In 1984, my cousin Grid, who was a year older than me, had gotten married during the summer. That Thanksgiving, he and his wife came to my parents' house, along with Aunt Pand and the rest of her family. They all got to eat at the main table. Even though I was 20 years old at the time, I still had to eat at the kiddie table. (Also note that Loyd had to eat there too, but he was a senior in high school.)
I mentioned early in this blog about the culture in which my parents were raised. They were not considered adults until they got married. I had already reached the age my father was when he married my mother. In their eyes, I was not a grown-up because I did not have a wife. I felt like the kiddie table was punishment for not being on the path to providing them with grandchildren. (As if spending time with a bunch of kids was going to create any kind of incentive for me!)
I did not get to sit at the grown-up table until I was 35 years old. It was Christmas of 1999 and I was at my Aunt Cind's house for Christmas. They actually had enough room for me. However, they wound up having Loyd sit at the kiddie table. He was 32 at the time. After the seating arrangements had been set, it was determined that there had been enough room for Loyd if they had thought it out ahead of time. I felt like it was a step up for me, even though I still was nowhere close to getting married and wouldn't be for another six years.
Almost every holiday, my family would travel someplace, like Grandma Bend's house. There would be a lot of other relatives there, enjoying the fellowship of family. There would be one long table set up and a smaller table for the kids. After Grace was said and done, the parents would fill the plates for the kids and let them have at it at their table while the adults would enjoy their meal at the main table.
This was fine up until I turned 13 years old. It started getting irritating with the other cousins who seemed to prefer playing with their food instead of eating it, and then picking food off my plate and throwing it to the ground. I thought that would all end by the time I got to college, but I was wrong.
In 1984, my cousin Grid, who was a year older than me, had gotten married during the summer. That Thanksgiving, he and his wife came to my parents' house, along with Aunt Pand and the rest of her family. They all got to eat at the main table. Even though I was 20 years old at the time, I still had to eat at the kiddie table. (Also note that Loyd had to eat there too, but he was a senior in high school.)
I mentioned early in this blog about the culture in which my parents were raised. They were not considered adults until they got married. I had already reached the age my father was when he married my mother. In their eyes, I was not a grown-up because I did not have a wife. I felt like the kiddie table was punishment for not being on the path to providing them with grandchildren. (As if spending time with a bunch of kids was going to create any kind of incentive for me!)
I did not get to sit at the grown-up table until I was 35 years old. It was Christmas of 1999 and I was at my Aunt Cind's house for Christmas. They actually had enough room for me. However, they wound up having Loyd sit at the kiddie table. He was 32 at the time. After the seating arrangements had been set, it was determined that there had been enough room for Loyd if they had thought it out ahead of time. I felt like it was a step up for me, even though I still was nowhere close to getting married and wouldn't be for another six years.
Riding the (a)bus(e) to school
Seventh grade was over and done with. On to the eighth grade. I started going to Park Junior High School, which would cover both eighth and ninth grades. I mentioned Abo Elementary and its fallout shelter in an earlier post. Park was also built to serve as a fallout shelter, but only half of the school was underground.
For as long as I could remember, my mother taught typing to ninth graders at Park. However, in 1978, she was promoted to being an English teacher at the high school. This was both good and bad. It was good because it meant I wasn't going to need to deal with her at school for two more years. I'd actually gotten used to not having either of my parents in the same building as me seven hours a day. The bad was that I was going to have to find some other way to get to school because she wasn't going to be able to drive me. I used to ride my bicycle to Zia, but Park was a lot further away and I really didn't want to ride my bike that far and back every day.
I decided to take the bus, the regular school bus. I just had to walk to Central Elementary, take the bus from there and I would arrive at Park in plenty of time.
The first couple of weeks, there was no problem getting on the bus. There were issues with some of the other students who just seemed to enjoy hassling everyone every day. (This is something I don't get about bullying: Many bullies appear to take delight in tormenting the same victims over and over again in pretty much the same manner. Does this not get old? Even when finding new victims, they will continue to provide the old ones with anguish on a regular basis.)
In the days that followed, more and more students started riding the bus. So much so that the bus driver started stranding students at the elementary school when the bus was full. Those students were not completely out of luck. There was another bus that came along a half hour later to take students to Park. However, I was told that bus frequently ran late and the school would not excuse any tardies for students who happened to be riding that bus. I guess the school's reasoning was that it was the students who were causing the bus to be late and if they started getting punished for their shenanigans, everyone would adjust their behavior accordingly. This was why the early bus started getting full.
One day, I was one of the students who was stranded. I knew I could not wait for the late bus. With the exception of my orthodontist visits, I had a spotless record. I quickly ran home, got on my bike and rode it all the way to school. I got there on time.
I would ride my bike to school every day after that, except when the weather got too cold and my Dad would drive me. I was always able to ride the bus home from school on those days because Park Junior High was the start point in the afternoon, so I didn't have to worry about getting stranded. Even though it's supposedly not cool to ride in the front, that was where I sat in order to avoid the twerps in the back.
The odd thing was that one of those twerps actually turned out to be a pretty nice guy a few years later and I was friendly with him. He later became a preacher. Not all bullies are doomed to paths of self-destruction.
For as long as I could remember, my mother taught typing to ninth graders at Park. However, in 1978, she was promoted to being an English teacher at the high school. This was both good and bad. It was good because it meant I wasn't going to need to deal with her at school for two more years. I'd actually gotten used to not having either of my parents in the same building as me seven hours a day. The bad was that I was going to have to find some other way to get to school because she wasn't going to be able to drive me. I used to ride my bicycle to Zia, but Park was a lot further away and I really didn't want to ride my bike that far and back every day.
I decided to take the bus, the regular school bus. I just had to walk to Central Elementary, take the bus from there and I would arrive at Park in plenty of time.
The first couple of weeks, there was no problem getting on the bus. There were issues with some of the other students who just seemed to enjoy hassling everyone every day. (This is something I don't get about bullying: Many bullies appear to take delight in tormenting the same victims over and over again in pretty much the same manner. Does this not get old? Even when finding new victims, they will continue to provide the old ones with anguish on a regular basis.)
In the days that followed, more and more students started riding the bus. So much so that the bus driver started stranding students at the elementary school when the bus was full. Those students were not completely out of luck. There was another bus that came along a half hour later to take students to Park. However, I was told that bus frequently ran late and the school would not excuse any tardies for students who happened to be riding that bus. I guess the school's reasoning was that it was the students who were causing the bus to be late and if they started getting punished for their shenanigans, everyone would adjust their behavior accordingly. This was why the early bus started getting full.
One day, I was one of the students who was stranded. I knew I could not wait for the late bus. With the exception of my orthodontist visits, I had a spotless record. I quickly ran home, got on my bike and rode it all the way to school. I got there on time.
I would ride my bike to school every day after that, except when the weather got too cold and my Dad would drive me. I was always able to ride the bus home from school on those days because Park Junior High was the start point in the afternoon, so I didn't have to worry about getting stranded. Even though it's supposedly not cool to ride in the front, that was where I sat in order to avoid the twerps in the back.
The odd thing was that one of those twerps actually turned out to be a pretty nice guy a few years later and I was friendly with him. He later became a preacher. Not all bullies are doomed to paths of self-destruction.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
An old crush that somehow rose to the surface
This was an entry I wasn't expecting to make. It will be one of the few (outside of my YouTube postings) that will get published soon after I have written it. Friday's article about me learning how to square dance suprisingly brought back a lot of memories regarding one particular girl. This would be one of the girls who didn't want to dance with me. This was another crush with unusual circumstances surrounding her, as I will explain.
I'm not going to play the name game with her because I don't want anyone to think her name is one thing and it's actually another. She was a year younger than me. She had long dark hair and was very cute. I should explain that my family had to drive 20 miles to this small community to get to the square dance lessons. This girl was there every week, and I just assumed that she went to school in that small community.
I found out I was wrong when I saw her around Zia Intermediate school. We had been going to the same school for a couple of months and I had never noticed her before the square dancing lessons. One other thing I do know about her is that she was very smart as I always saw her name on the honor roll. Since the sixth and seventh graders were in mostly separate parts of the school, it was conceivable that I would not run into her very often.
I guess she somehow knew that I was into her. I know she had caught me looking at her several times. The only time during the lessons that we wound up together was during a partner switch. One move forced us to slightly hold hands. She scrunched and twisted my fingers and laughed about it a little. I said, "Ow!" but I was really enjoying the delicate torture.
After the square dance lessons were over, I rarely saw her at school. One day, my Mom's friend (the one from the Bible Stories and Radio Christmas story), who was also Zia's guidance counselor was telling her about this one girl at school she was working with. She didn't mention her name, but it was apparent to me who she was talking about when she said that she was one of the top students in the sixth grade. She said something to the effect that she had a messed-up family life at home and was really struggling to deal with both school and family.
I didn't know what to think of this. I remember her father was at all the square dance lessons, and he seemed like a normal person to me. I guess he worked at the refinery. I also think that her younger brother was at the lessons. I don't remember seeing the mother. Since the father brought his daughter and son to this kind of social setting, I never would have thought that there were problems at her home. At least, nothing any worse than what I was going through with my family.
I knew that I would not be seeing her the next year as I went to Park Junior High School, but I knew she would coming to the eighth grade there and I looked forward to seeing her again. In the summer of 1978 (before the ninth grade), I was riding my bicycle near Yucca Elementary. I thought I saw her outside one of the houses across the street from the school. I don't know if it was her, or even where she lived. It just looked like her.
Anyway, the start of the school year arrived and she wasn't there. I don't know what happened to her. I have not thought about her in more than 35 years. I have to wonder if she was able to get away from her home situation and make a success of her life. I'd certainly hate to think that she might have fallen into the Get Pregnant-Get Married Trap that a lot of girls in that situation were prone to.
I don't expect anyone who reads this blog to have the answer and I doubt I will ever find out. But the idea of wondering what happened to someone who actually had so little impact on my life will stay with me while she has likely completely forgotten about me.
I'm not going to play the name game with her because I don't want anyone to think her name is one thing and it's actually another. She was a year younger than me. She had long dark hair and was very cute. I should explain that my family had to drive 20 miles to this small community to get to the square dance lessons. This girl was there every week, and I just assumed that she went to school in that small community.
I found out I was wrong when I saw her around Zia Intermediate school. We had been going to the same school for a couple of months and I had never noticed her before the square dancing lessons. One other thing I do know about her is that she was very smart as I always saw her name on the honor roll. Since the sixth and seventh graders were in mostly separate parts of the school, it was conceivable that I would not run into her very often.
I guess she somehow knew that I was into her. I know she had caught me looking at her several times. The only time during the lessons that we wound up together was during a partner switch. One move forced us to slightly hold hands. She scrunched and twisted my fingers and laughed about it a little. I said, "Ow!" but I was really enjoying the delicate torture.
After the square dance lessons were over, I rarely saw her at school. One day, my Mom's friend (the one from the Bible Stories and Radio Christmas story), who was also Zia's guidance counselor was telling her about this one girl at school she was working with. She didn't mention her name, but it was apparent to me who she was talking about when she said that she was one of the top students in the sixth grade. She said something to the effect that she had a messed-up family life at home and was really struggling to deal with both school and family.
I didn't know what to think of this. I remember her father was at all the square dance lessons, and he seemed like a normal person to me. I guess he worked at the refinery. I also think that her younger brother was at the lessons. I don't remember seeing the mother. Since the father brought his daughter and son to this kind of social setting, I never would have thought that there were problems at her home. At least, nothing any worse than what I was going through with my family.
I knew that I would not be seeing her the next year as I went to Park Junior High School, but I knew she would coming to the eighth grade there and I looked forward to seeing her again. In the summer of 1978 (before the ninth grade), I was riding my bicycle near Yucca Elementary. I thought I saw her outside one of the houses across the street from the school. I don't know if it was her, or even where she lived. It just looked like her.
Anyway, the start of the school year arrived and she wasn't there. I don't know what happened to her. I have not thought about her in more than 35 years. I have to wonder if she was able to get away from her home situation and make a success of her life. I'd certainly hate to think that she might have fallen into the Get Pregnant-Get Married Trap that a lot of girls in that situation were prone to.
I don't expect anyone who reads this blog to have the answer and I doubt I will ever find out. But the idea of wondering what happened to someone who actually had so little impact on my life will stay with me while she has likely completely forgotten about me.
I see Aspie people
It seems like I see people with neurological disorders on TV all the time.
I should add that one of the best portrayals of Aspeger's that is currently on TV is on the show "Parenthood." The way that boy's character is written and portrayed is very similar to my own experience, without realizing what was going on.
I should add that one of the best portrayals of Aspeger's that is currently on TV is on the show "Parenthood." The way that boy's character is written and portrayed is very similar to my own experience, without realizing what was going on.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Infected by the acting bug
I managed to skip over a minor event in this blog that took place in the sixth grade. It actually had a major impact on my life. I got to take part in a school musical production. However, since I did it again in the seventh grade, I'll just let it count for this year as well.
In the sixth grade, the choir teacher (the one from the fire drill story) announced that since it was the Bicentennial (this was 1976), we were going to do a musical about the Boston Tea Party called "The Party that Shook the World" or something like that.
I had mentioned earlier how I got mad at seeing other kids my age on TV and wondered why I wasn't on TV. However, I was aware I was plain scared of getting up in front of an audience. The teacher said that she needed volunteers for the backstage crew. I volunteered. A few days later, she cast the show with two (almost) separate casts and needed to fill a few spots. There were some bit parts with one or two lines and she asked me to be one of them. It was like "Second Patriot." I thought I could handle this.
Then about a week later, the student she had cast as the lead character's son was unable to take part and she asked me to do the part. It was considerably larger, but I decided I thought I could handle it. However, I about freaked when the script called for me to sing a solo number. But then I got ticked off because the teacher turned it into an ensemble piece. I was actually was looking forward to doing that solo.
We performed the show for a few classes at the school in the cafeteria. While there were times that the other cast performed for the classes, our cast was the one selected to perform the production before a local civic group. The fun part was the actual Tea Party scene. We had a limited number of boxes that we could work with, so instead of bursting open the boxes and throwing them overboard like it was really done, we sort of played volleyball with them. When I was sitting in the audience watching the other cast, it only looked like they were throwing the boxes back and forth.
The next year, the teacher decided to do a musical called "The Saga of Dead Dog Gulch." It took place in the old west and was about a small town that was being taken over and re-designed by the women. They get scared at the end after they see a bunch of guys in their underwear. I got chosen for the largest role, which was the narrator. But I didn't really get to do much except recite my lines and sit on the stage most of the time watching everyone else do stuff. But it's not like the play had guys kissing girls or anything, so I wasn't really missing out on much. I still did not get to sing a solo. Dang it! I had a great voice, too.
However, this was a major production compared to what we had done the year before. We got to perform at the high school auditorium and had the setting painted on this huge backdrop. We felt like we had made the big time. However, it meant we had to yell all our lines in order to be heard. The choir teacher didn't know how to teach us to properly project.
So this is how I got started being interested in live theatre. I would do more once I got to high school and I eventually took Theatre as my second major when I was in college. However, I have never been able to make any kind of real living at it. I'll be tell you more about my exploits in theatre in upcoming blog posts.
Interestingly enough, when Loyd was in the seventh grade in 1980, his choir teacher (a different teacher) also decided to do "Dead Dog Gulch" and he wound up playing the same part I did. (The funny thing is that his class used the same backdrop we did because no one painted over it.) He did not get as bitten by the acting bug as I did, but that's because the high school completely did away with the drama department by the time he got there.
In the sixth grade, the choir teacher (the one from the fire drill story) announced that since it was the Bicentennial (this was 1976), we were going to do a musical about the Boston Tea Party called "The Party that Shook the World" or something like that.
I had mentioned earlier how I got mad at seeing other kids my age on TV and wondered why I wasn't on TV. However, I was aware I was plain scared of getting up in front of an audience. The teacher said that she needed volunteers for the backstage crew. I volunteered. A few days later, she cast the show with two (almost) separate casts and needed to fill a few spots. There were some bit parts with one or two lines and she asked me to be one of them. It was like "Second Patriot." I thought I could handle this.
Then about a week later, the student she had cast as the lead character's son was unable to take part and she asked me to do the part. It was considerably larger, but I decided I thought I could handle it. However, I about freaked when the script called for me to sing a solo number. But then I got ticked off because the teacher turned it into an ensemble piece. I was actually was looking forward to doing that solo.
We performed the show for a few classes at the school in the cafeteria. While there were times that the other cast performed for the classes, our cast was the one selected to perform the production before a local civic group. The fun part was the actual Tea Party scene. We had a limited number of boxes that we could work with, so instead of bursting open the boxes and throwing them overboard like it was really done, we sort of played volleyball with them. When I was sitting in the audience watching the other cast, it only looked like they were throwing the boxes back and forth.
The next year, the teacher decided to do a musical called "The Saga of Dead Dog Gulch." It took place in the old west and was about a small town that was being taken over and re-designed by the women. They get scared at the end after they see a bunch of guys in their underwear. I got chosen for the largest role, which was the narrator. But I didn't really get to do much except recite my lines and sit on the stage most of the time watching everyone else do stuff. But it's not like the play had guys kissing girls or anything, so I wasn't really missing out on much. I still did not get to sing a solo. Dang it! I had a great voice, too.
However, this was a major production compared to what we had done the year before. We got to perform at the high school auditorium and had the setting painted on this huge backdrop. We felt like we had made the big time. However, it meant we had to yell all our lines in order to be heard. The choir teacher didn't know how to teach us to properly project.
So this is how I got started being interested in live theatre. I would do more once I got to high school and I eventually took Theatre as my second major when I was in college. However, I have never been able to make any kind of real living at it. I'll be tell you more about my exploits in theatre in upcoming blog posts.
Interestingly enough, when Loyd was in the seventh grade in 1980, his choir teacher (a different teacher) also decided to do "Dead Dog Gulch" and he wound up playing the same part I did. (The funny thing is that his class used the same backdrop we did because no one painted over it.) He did not get as bitten by the acting bug as I did, but that's because the high school completely did away with the drama department by the time he got there.
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