My Brothers
My Brothers
My brothers were both considered "good Kids" by societal standards, being law-abiding, and generally speaking, parent-abiding as well. However, blood relationships do not guarantee a likeness of character or form, and so it was with Norm and Todd. They looked nothing alike, facially or otherwise. Norm was muscular, with unstoppable health, while Todd was taller, thin, and prone to allergies. Apart from such obvious dissimilarities their personalities and interests also differed greatly. Such differences rarely evoked conflict, though, because they were on wholly separate planes. Norm and Todd were not incompatible in an obnoxious sense; they merely followed their own dreams. A coincidence of their respected circles of interest occurred mainly through their great love—and respect—for nature; thanks to Dad. They also shared a consuming interest in the chug and maintenance of the woodland trails and bridges on which they would ride. Basically, though, Norm and Todd were as different as apples and oranges. My memories of and love for each of my brothers varied greatly from the other, and changed with the passage of time, for I, as well as they, underwent transitional phases. Thus, as characters were modified and outlooks were altered, relationships, also, transformed through the years.
My fondest memories of Todd, who bested Norm by roughly three years, were those of our early interactions. Todd had a wonderful ability to entertain children. He seemed to sense the exact type of gesture and manner of conversation which enthralled a young audience, and as a result, was rarely able to rest once a child noticed this value. He possessed an unbelievable attention span and tolerance for a child's endless and often irrational demands.
I found Todd to be an inexhaustible source of amusement, as he was quite adept at conjuring up names and personalities for my motley array of stuffed animals. He would then provide an endless flow of nonsensical banter for the animal of my choosing, which delighted and held captive my attention for countless hours on end.
I had two favorites, the first of which was an alligator; Todd would shake the green amphibious creature, emit a gravel-throated roar, and proceed to chase me about the house until I could no longer escape and irreversibly served as the alligator's dinner.
The second was a beloved bear whose eyes were so asymmetrically adhered to its face that it appeared to be immersed in a drunken stupor. Todd christened the bear "Coors Bear" in reference to the beer of the same name, and projected its character as that of a bum in desperate need of another drink. He would make the bear twitch and shake with obvious delirium moaning simultaneously, "Whe'm I?….Whe'm I?" This would continue unless the bear was administered an ample swig of Coors beer from a small bottle; the bear was then content to laze back into a dream-like sleep.
Both of my brothers teased me. It was the inevitable result of being the youngest member of the family and, of course, the least educated and self-sufficient of the entire group. They were not ruthless in their teasing; they never insulted my intelligence, only my ignorance, which was not as serious since ignorance could be reversed in due time. I felt transparent; they seemed to know what would bother me, from my petty insecurities to faulty rationalization.
I well remember the family excursions, in which I generally sat in the back seat between Norm and Todd. Like clock work, they would serenade to me in unison, "Souvenir, bathroom, bottle-of-pop" while we drove past the flat and blistering hot corn fields toward our destination, claiming that these were my three favorite aspects of the summer vacation; I would seethe and boil, but could do nothing, as I fully realized that they were probably right.
They would also grab Coors Bear, and, holding him at an arm's length out of the window while traveling 70 miles per hour, threaten to throw him into the fields. I panicked at the possibility, my eyes fixed on the battered bear as the wind fiercely buffeted its floppy arms and legs. The bear was always hoisted back into the car after an ample display of hostility from me and never suffered the cruel injustice. (Coors bear was eventually disposed of in the garbage can, a more humiliating, but less violent, retirement.)
Norm especially loved to tease and mock my childish idiosyncrasies; he derived immense satisfaction from quizzing me, and because he used words which were far beyond my capacity to understand, smiled uncontrollably at my frustration. He always called me "illiterate," and while I had no conception of the word's meaning, I knew it was something which I did not want to have as a permanent attribute.
Norm also enjoyed pelting me with the arsenal of pillows which the basement couch housed. As he fired away, making direct hits with each pillow I would gather the pillows and try, in vain, to throw one in his general vicinity. I rarely made contact with his body, let alone his head, as I hurled pillow after pillow at my assailant, only to be blasted again in rapid succession after he picked up my futile scattering of pillows from the floor and behind the couch. Finally, I would intentionally spill all of the pillows on the floor in front of me in overt exasperation and yell "The end!" I wanted no further conflict. After several such instances, he decided to mock my ultimate reaction to bombardments and he himself threw all of the pillows on the floor with an accompanying, "The end!" He then looked at me with one raised eyebrow until he received his reward; a screech of anger.
Other conflicts which evolved in the basement's TV room concerned the programs themselves. At 3:30 "Lassie" and "Star Trek" were aired, creating a daily duel between Norm and me. Mom settled the argument, declaring that every other day we would be able to see our preferred show. The system worked well, except for the fact that, on the days in which "Lassie" appeared, Norm would raise his hand in Lassie's dog-like gesture and emit a mewing howl similar to the one which characterized the dog. Liking the show, but rather embarrassed by that fact due to the show's incredibly rosy view of life, the mimicry bothered me. Luckily my taste changed and I soon truly preferred "Star Trek" because of it's science fiction appeal, and thereby eliminated one tender spot through a transformation on my behalf.
Through my early years of life, my memories of Norm surrounded not so much the things we did together, but the way in which I saw his character. Norm seldom actually played with me; that was more Todd's arena. Except when he teased me, I was not conscious of being a child in Norm's company. I felt on equal terms with him more than I did with many other people who constantly maintained a distinction between my age and their own if only through a somewhat laughable change of pitch in their voice or a determinedly more animated style of speaking.
I always had a great love for Norm. He was easy-going and unobtrusive, and his presence was never unwelcome. He avoided unpleasant situations whenever possible and lacked aggression in areas where, for the generally accepted definition of success, that sometimes obnoxious trait was necessary. He rarely sought attention and money was of little consequence.
Norm valued simplicity and serenity; high-scale achievement was not among his priorities. He saw that "success" was a race which never ended, for another conquerable realm always presented itself. The race was everywhere; whether it was the attainment of placing oneself on the honor roll in school, or gaining promotions at work, or prestige and popularity in social circles. People allowed headaches to germinate in their minds simply because the thought of tasting success dominated their values. Why was "good" never "good enough?"
Norm was a virtual dynamo with regard to accomplishing a task. It had to go fast or Norm's patience would dissipate into the air. Whether it was a chore around the house or a dose of homework, he persevered until his work was finished and then retired to the front steps to sit. A job's completion did not always signify a flawless result, however. For instance, compared to Todd's smooth, taut version, Norm's bed was a haven for lumps, with the pillow stashed hurriedly beneath the twisted and rumpled spread. In school, Norm was a solid B student. He did not strive for his grades because perfection, to him, held no rewards. Norm did his work rapidly and fostered no hideous nightmares about tests. A slightly above average mark did not obliterate his happiness.
When under the employ of a firm, Norm was trustworthy and conscientious. Whether delivering newspapers or landscaping a yard, he made certain that the job was done well, from his punctual arrival through the day's end. Doing an honest day's work was less complicated than expending energy to connive a way out of it; he knew that he earned his pay and never had to look over his shoulder in apprehension when the boss strode by.
Norm did not worry about being good enough. He was confident and proud of who he was and what he wanted in life. Average grades or average jobs did not signify average intelligence and he felt no need to apologize for his position in terms of societal importance. It was a refreshing outlook which suited him perfectly.
Norm was very athletic; one could tell by the way he walked. Sports were a source of entertainment, and he succeeded in almost everything he tried. Only two aspects of his personality stood in the way of his being selected as "team material" for many sports. First, he felt that a game was a game; although he did his best, he could not take a game as seriously as did many of the others who became enraged by losing. He wanted it to be fun, and competition was fun only as long as the game remained free of hostilities. Secondly, he disliked sports demanding body contact; he was conscious of his own space and avoided being touched. Norm despised wrestling, but since it was required in physical education, he handled his distaste by promptly pinning his partner and thereby ending the match. Taking notice of his ability, the teacher eagerly teamed him up with the heaviest, sweatiest guys in the class. Sickened by their stench and glassy-eyed fervor, Norm determined to purposely shorten the match; he allowed himself to be pinned.
The sport which fit Norm's ideal was baseball and he served as pitcher for various teams. I recall hazy images of his ball games, especially those during which Mom and I crouched on the bleachers beneath a newspaper to ward off the rain, while she proudly feasted her eyes on the pitcher's mound with an inaudible, "that's MY boy" inscribed on her face. Dad's employment kept him from attending some of the games, but Mom always went, a fan until Norm lost his attraction for the game. Mom savors the memory of Norm being chosen to pitch yearly for the All-Star games.
Todd never went to Norm's games. He didn't have much interest in sports. It's difficult to know whether or not being good at something makes you like it. I happen to know that liking something does not make you good at it, for I love to bowl, but once bowled a 16—amazing by anyone's standards. (I was in high school at the time.) At any rate, Todd preferred to forego physical activity of the competitive nature, electing instead to pursue his penchant for gadgetry, electronics and in general, anything that would spin or balance. When drying the dishes he was not content to simply lay a lid on the table; he first had to give it a hearty whirl on its rim, whereupon the kitchen would ring with a wavering "wong, wong, wong" until the swiftly fluttering lid collapsed onto the table with a final, resolute, "wop." Mom forbid such treatment of glassware and china, of course, or undoubtedly many items would have sustained irreversible damage.
In effect, Todd was the mad scientist of the family, having to take mechanical objects apart to view and study their internal workings, and obtaining chemicals for his experiments which ate holes through his bedspread. He had infinite patience and stuck to an idea until it worked, even if it took all night. Todd was a licensed ham radio operator and collected all the necessary equipment to seek and find countless stations as well as other operators. Much of his spare time was spent behind the "rig," although he found equal enjoyment in playing with or annoying the huge spiders in our garage. It was Todd who tried to power his bicycle with an electric motor, and gathered scum and algae from the ponds to gaze upon through his microscope. He was also the only person in the family who could start a particularly cantankerous lawn mower.
Todd loved the extraordinary and took time to notice the small things. One night, he took a walk down in the woods and found some fungi which glowed in a luminous shade of green. He returned to the house to report the strange phenomenon and together we threaded our way back down the dark trail to the uncanny sight. Sure enough, delicate points of light embellished the damp, rotting logs on the woodland floor, transforming decay into a hauntingly magical scene.
With all of his patience in creative and mechanical fields of interest, one might have thought Todd was unruffled and carefree. Despite his slow and deliberate reasoning, however, his demeanor could rapidly transform into reckless belligerence if tormented. While Norm hurried through his homework to pursue more pleasing objectives, Todd sat behind his books in angry defiance, as if the homework which he declared "unreasonable busy work" would somehow shrink before his abomination. As the night peeled away, he wasted in vengeance hours which might have been spent behind his radio. Though he was an achiever, he wanted to go about it in his own way.
Graduating from high school in the 60's greatly affected Todd's outlook and he adopted the prevalent anti-establishmentarianism attitudes with intense vigor. He also embraced the ecology movement as a worthy cause and between the two modes of thought, plus the fact that he had attained the classic age of rebellion, nurtured a rigid hatred of cars which, eventually, blossomed into anything but a delicate flower. Fuming internally about the inherent necessity for cars, despite their polluting effects on our society, Todd would actually vent his disgust upon the automobiles themselves (which produced simultaneous protectiveness and anger from Dad, who was uncertain of the safety of his car in Todd's hands). Ironically Norm bought a car which Todd sometimes used that was incredibly pollutive, yet Todd would angrily flop into the car and rumble out of the driveway, its muffler belching a toxic cloud of gray carbon into the air that followed him up the street as he drove to his ecology meetings.
Sometimes I felt as if Todd was like a spring aching to be sprung. In driving, it was obvious that Todd released frustrations behind the wheel. This trait, however, was not directly related to his anti-establishment/pro-ecology stance; other pressures, whether conscious or unconscious, were to blame for that. Moreover, Mom recalls that as a youngster Todd would ride his tricycle precariously down the hill behind our house, balancing on two wheels and cackling with enjoyment throughout the wild trip. Despite his history, one generally persisted to assume that Norm, sports-oriented and having little patience for the fine-honed arts, would have been the terror in the driver's seat. The fact was, however, that Todd was the reckless one, using cars in a hard, decisive way which demanded their utmost performance. I might add that his safety depended on such performance, for if brakes failed, or mechanical workings malfunctioned, results could have been disastrous. The rampaging tornado, however, was never involved in "the big crash" and continues to parallel park vehicles with one, exacting maneuver (a feat which, in my eyes, demonstrates brilliant skill). Perhaps I worried too much. Perhaps I still do.
Todd's Illness
"Pain or no pain, I did not wish to go through life with my eyes closed to hardship, for only pure ignorance was bliss."
Todd's Illness
An individual often lives many years before his memories include any aspects of life other than those which have directly affected his own. My awareness of others improved remarkably in grade school, although it had not reached an acceptable level. I remembered the hurts and injustices of those around me, yet the memories of my pain still over-shadowed and dominated those which I viewed in other lives.
Within the home, I knew very little of the harshness of life. No serious injury had befallen me either physically or emotionally and I had every reason to be happy. It seemed that a protective shell surrounded my world, through which no discontentment could pierce.
I missed Todd when he left home to attend the university; phone calls bridged the miles to a certain extent, but within these I sensed a melancholic note which bespoke loneliness and homesickness and involuntary tears would cascade down my cheeks as I hung up the phone. Letters, however, had a way of concealing emotion better than conversation, and the proclamation "I'm fine" was easier to believe in the written form. It was obvious to me that Todd's cheerful remarks were sometimes the work of mechanical, socially expected responses, but I had no idea that they had eventually grown into outright lies with regard to his health.
A visit to the university clinic provided sufficient evidence to support the fact that Todd was a very ill student and he was told to return home for more adequate testing in a hospital situation. Relying on valium to ease and relax his malfunctioning system, he took a bus from the university, insisting to Mom and Dad that he would be all right. During the several hours which spanned his two bus connections, he stretched out in a vacant lot to rest, as the terminal itself frowned on "loiterers" and therefore had no benches of adequate proportions for Todd's needs. When Mom was told the above incident, she immediately envisioned tall grass, dandelion heads and broken whiskey bottles, which might not have been far from the mark, and exclaimed "But you could've been arrested…or…mugged!" Todd, indeed, had true grit.
After approximately three weeks in the hospital, Todd's health returned. A hypothesis was drawn in which nephritis, a kidney ailment, and rheumatic fever were determined as the culprits behind his problem, and drugs were administered which appeared to relieve his symptoms. During this time, Mom was taking final exams and Norm was graduating from high school, which altogether spelled chaos for the family. At eight, however, I did not gather the magnitude of worry which encircled Todd since I was rather unexposed to his sickness. I was too young to visit him at the hospital and life, for me, went on fairly well.
That winter the doctor decided to take Todd off the steroid. If his kidney could function normally, it would be better to avoid extensive use of the drug. Once he returned to school, it soon became evident that his health, again, was on the decline. My parents picked him up at the university, and he came home so weak that he rested on the main floor instead of in his usual upstairs room. The doctor was alerted concerning his condition, but a decision was made for Todd to remain at home through the weekend. However, Todd's state grew increasingly worse, and the doctor was phoned in desperation whereupon he immediately made plans for Todd to journey to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. The drive lasted an exhausting eight hours, but it saved Todd's life.
In a matter of several hours, the test results had been analyzed and a name was given to Todd's symptoms which could widen the most apathetic eyes: Wegener's Granulomatosis. Simply stated, Todd's disease was one in which his own immune system radically over-reacted and actually became allergic to, and would have killed, himself. Due to acute kidney failure, his body had neared its saturation point regarding its tolerance of impurities, beyond which no endurance could have impeded death. If not for prednisone and Imuran his survival would have been impossible.
As near as he came to death, I remembered nothing of his stay at the public hospital or the weekend during which his life slowly dwindled before our eyes. Perhaps it was a lack of awareness on my part combined with a degree of exclusion, due to my young age, from the facts and seriousness of the affair that I suffered from such a dearth of recollection; at any rate, my consciousness was jarred into reality only after Todd had reached Mayo Clinic and a noon-hour phone call from Dad to my mom caused me to comprehend the grave plight in which my brother was stranded. As Mom hung up the phone, I gasped, "Todd's not going to die, is he?" This, finally, was reality; among the dish of peaches, carton of milk and loaf of bread that decorated the kitchen table, it stuck in my throat like peanut butter.
I never forgot that lunch, nor the ignorant bliss which departed when reality caught up with me. A selfish person suffers insignificant wounds, for his shallow love is generated only toward himself; however, when one is able to extend his love and concern beyond himself, the pain is much deeper. I learned that the world did not revolve around me; I controlled nothing. Just as I had been virtually oblivious to my brother's failing health, so was the world oblivious to me. Life became larger than it had been as my eyes gradually opened, widening the scope through which I gained my image of existence. Pain or no pain, I did not wish to go through life with my eyes closed to hardship, for only pure ignorance was bliss. It seemed that change was the only certainty in life. If I could instill that thought in my mind, growing up would prove to be less of a battle.
Todd recovered slowly and after regaining his strength returned to the university at the beginning of the next semester. Complications caused by ill health no longer wreaked havoc upon his plans, and under the protective wing of medication he successfully completed his education without further set-backs.
The following summer, Todd traveled to Mayo Clinic once again for restorative surgery on his nose. His illness caused the cartilage to dissolve completely, making a noticeable recess. The surgery was the last of the weightier consequences of Todd's disease though, it too, possessed few endearing qualities.
Todd would never be free of the drugs, for they alone allowed him to survive. It did not appear that my brother's life would ever again be "normal," but that, I later found, depended on one's definition of the word.
Fifth Grade
"To maintain a friendship, one must have unrelenting endurance, yet should never need the companionship of another so desperately as to justify the acceptance of a flagrantly inconsistent personality."
Fifth Grade
During the latter half of fifth grade, I decided to keep a diary. Entries were, at best, sparse and infrequent throughout the school year. Upon the arrival of summer, they subsided altogether. While the entries persisted, however, the content consisted merely of the days events, amassed in broken sentences and one word implications. I also made certain that major events did not pass without notice.
Jan. 19, 1973… Gerbil's tail fell off today. He was going out on the carpet and so I grabbed onto his tail. Guess what? This much (one inch) of his tail fell off. It's in a bag.
Yes, I even saved the tail.
Jan. 20, 1973… Made a bet with Dad about snow. Church, Rainy, wet day outside. Popcorn at night. 2 bottles of pop. Got the hiccups. Played with gerbil.
I was painfully concise.
Mar. 13, 1973… I stayed home and am sick. I barfed in the sink and then watched T.V.
My diary also reminded me of the double standard that exists between parents and their children. Many battles ensue due to the fact that parents can do that which a child is not permitted to do; initially, this would include such privileges as touching objects in stores and staying up after 10:00 p.m. Arguments increase as the child seeks maturity. My exposure to the double standard involved not so much the things I could not do, but rather, the things which Mom had never done, yet forced me to do. Admittedly, I would never have ventured from the house had it not been for Mom's insistent prodding, for I liked it there. Through her dictation, I attended swimming lessons, piano lessons, and Girl Scouts. By this age, I liked swimming a great deal, and it was no longer a source of resentment. Piano lessons required that I practice a half-hour each day; after walking stiff-legged to the piano and playing several notes, I relaxed my limbs and, on good days, tried to conceal my musical enjoyment from Mom. Girl Scouts, however, was a continual menace. Through my affiliation with the organization, I had to wear an ill-fitting green dress to school on the day of the meeting. Each year I bore the humiliation of refusal which came with selling Girl Scout cookies. On one of our field trips to a local beauty school, I was placed under the hair drier (which was on "high") and promptly forgotten.
It was no surprise, then, that when the Girl Scouts offered roller skating lessons, Mom applauded the idea. I cringed, knowing that a protest would have been futile despite her history of roller-rink nervousness. (Her arms hurt from thrashing.) At any rate, the lessons began and I learned that I was not meant to travel on wheels. It was completely different from ice skating. Being confined to the rink created the probability of multiple pile-ups. Already feeling hopelessly out of control, I was horrified at the thought of turning by lifting one skate over the other; skating was hard enough with both skates planted on the floor. Stopping consisted of rolling around in circles until I lost momentum, or slammed into a wall. Performing figure eights and skating backward were feats which bordered suicidal nightmares.
After the lessons ceased, I was quite relieved and, for the most part, as much an amateur at roller skating as I had been at the beginning. However, I had relinquished the wall for the rubber "brakes" and no longer became traumatized when the announcement to "change directions" resounded through the skating rink. I had not failed utterly and completely.
Popularity is, indeed, a curiosity. I noted that the means toward popularity changed in various age groups and social situations. For instance, during the initial years of grade school, one could attain a certain degree of popularity through excelling academically. Since I was naturally an achiever, I received a fair amount of friendly attention through these years. With my fellow achievers I competed for the high score which would bring exaltation and admiration from one's peers and teachers, and had little difficulty holding my position as undefinably determined by the class.
As years passed, the more outgoing personalities reached the pillar of esteem and without trauma, I settled back into a station more agreeable with my character. If I was not asked to a party or special event, I felt undeniably relieved; I then would not be obliged to listen to the inevitable cutting gossip which always seemed to accompany closed parties and the like. In a sense, I could have been described as "everybody's friend and mediator," as I never chose to involve myself on any particular side of a dispute, especially when the two sides seemed equally at fault. When two friends were not on speaking terms they would both speak to me; I took care to avoid asserting my views, electing instead to mechanically nod my head in silence.
Aside from Mary and a handful of others, I believe that I enjoyed the company of boys over girls, possibly because their personality was more consistent. In most cases, a friend on Monday would still be a friend on Tuesday. Moreover, boys liked tromping through the woods and were usually not squeamish; I had little tolerance for those who panicked at the sight of an insect. (I feared only spiders, for they had a nasty habit of biting me at night while sleeping.) I enjoyed their coarser sense of humor (after all, gas is funny)! I also had a high regard for bravery in the face of bodily injury; chronic whiners and screamers won no points with me.
Although the rowdiness of certain boys initially caused a degree of alarm, I was soon able to relax and enjoy the companionship afforded by their more self-assured personalities. The boys which I encountered seemed more eager to accept people, whereas girls were prone toward competition with their own sex and, consequently, more apt to foster petty jealousies and complaints. Moreover, because of their inability to inflict any serious injury other than the emotional type, many girls gained mastery over painfully judgmental tongues and appeared to relish the mental pandemonium to which one was subjected upon the most trivial misunderstanding.
To maintain a friendship, one must have unrelenting endurance, yet should never need the companionship of another so desperately as to justify the acceptance of a flagrantly inconsistent personality. If one is unwilling to firmly entrench his feelings toward another, the resulting friendship is grossly mismatched.
I quickly grew weary of "friends" who would, for no better reason than the excitement begotten of such behavior, decide to ostracize one member of the "group" for an undetermined length of time, during which the hapless individual would endure a prickly barrier of silence, piqued by icy stares and inaudible gossip. Some of the victims would beg or cry to be forgiven for the guiltless crime that evoked the group's sudden disfavor. Generally, I was completely baffled and rather amused when the disfavor fell upon me, and, knowing that nothing would hasten my reacceptance into the group, would calmly go about my business until they decided that I once again merited good treatment.
One of the most revolting instances that I remember pertaining to the above dissertation was eating at a "friend's" house for lunch. Because my mom was working, she thought it would be more to my liking if I would spend lunch hour at the house of a friend or neighbor. A fee was established for this service, yet I was rallied around the area, eventually finding myself at the house of a schoolmate. She usually was one of my school chums, so I rather looked forward to our sharing this additional time together; how wrong my assumptions proved to be!
Soon after I began eating lunch at her house, she somehow decided to hold me in ill regard. She refused to speak to me at the table, and gained the further assistance of her older brother to make my stay twice as uncomfortable. The only conversation I was able to gather was that of her amiable mother, and I was only too glad to know that she understood the hatefulness of my situation. Although I ignored their stupidity as best I could, lunch was not a thing which I looked forward to under those conditions and I once again changed my noontime regimen so as to facilitate a better appetite. No longer having to share her mother on a daily basis, she soon restored her "friendship."
If one can ignore such treatment, the wrath is more rapidly abandoned. Affairs such as these reflect badly on their initiators; it is sad that pointless wars must be waged to win friendship, but perhaps these are an intrinsic facet of early relationships for certain individuals. Personally, if I have to alienate a friend to insure that he would be loyal to me, I would rather bury my head in the sand.
Grade school was the place wherein I experienced my first taste of romance. My initial spark was in second grade; although the boy and I were so shy that we were not on speaking terms, the flame kindled for many months, during which time we would smile at each other sheepishly and flush with embarrassment when, in gym class, we were square dance partners and momentarily held hands. Our romance was sporadic through the years, but its peak was reached in fifth grade. By that time, we actually conversed and spent time in each other's company, which greatly aided our relationship. Soon it became apparent to both of us that our interest had progressed beyond the platonic level.
Jan. 10, 1973… Went to school. Made lunch for myself. Went skating with B. Had a lot of fun skating. Played "go fetch" with ice.
Feb. 15, 1973… After Valentine's Day…B. gave me a really funny valentine (A drawing of a heart).
Mar. 14, 1973… B. brought me a 5-pack (of) bubble gum from T.D. who is leaving school and going to Tenn. I'm still sick.
Mar. 30, 1973… After supper I went outside and played a kick-ball game with S. and B. B gave me a real pretty rock (quartz). Then B. and I played a game and we talked a little until 7:30. (I like B.)
April 10, 1973… School…I had practice for the style show. B. came and watched me!
The climax of our romantic fling was during a field trip to the local arsenal. Our class boarded a school bus, and side by side, B. and I rode to the site of the old artilleries, very much aware of the other and bashfully enamored. We were also somewhat nervous for it had been rumored that B. was going to give me a ring.
Upon our arrival at the Arsenal, we all piled out onto the neatly clipped government lawns and prepared for our tour. The afternoon progressed rapidly, and B. and I were continually surrounded by a mass of fellow classmates throughout our surveyance of guns, cannons, and assorted weapons. I saw no ring, and felt somewhat relieved, being a private person who disliked drawing attention to myself, especially when that attention included my boyfriend.
As the tour drew to a close, we were shown the final points of interest. One was a large tank which each student either climbed upon or gawked at disinterestedly, as per his or her general emotion toward army equipment. I remained on the ground, gazing at the tank as B. scrambled to the top with some other children. suddenly, B. drew THE RING out of a pocket, and, not knowing how to present it, threw it to me from his battle station. I caught the ring and flushed with embarrassment. The rest of the day became a blur. B. also seemed uncertain of the next course of action. I do not even know whether I rode next to my boyfriend on the return trip.
To be truthful, the rest of the school year was another blur following THE RING, and although we liked each other, we seldom spoke at school any more. Sheer embarrassment, I fear, finally killed our romance; happily we remained friends, however, and never entertained bitterness toward each other. Ours had been an innocent, uncomplicated infatuation, evolving in part from a mutually compatible sense of humor which caused our eyes to glisten. We never kissed, and only held hands during school functions in which it was necessary. Neither of us possessed lofty expectations for the other to fulfill, and therefore enjoyed each other's company when we shared activities together.
From this early point in life, I saw that friendships were more stable than romantic inclinations, and therefore worth much more. To this day, when B. and I meet, we still share a glimmer and a smile.
Norm / Marriage
."..religion amplified the significance of marriage, entrenching the ceremony itself into the hearts and minds of society…"
Norm/Marriage
As the years aged to decades, college became the educational replacement for high school. My dad attended, and graduated from high school in an era when, in some areas, relatively few accomplished that feat, and fewer still furthered their academic standing by enrolling in a college. Mom, born ten years later, was able to earn a teaching certificate after two years of college. By the time my parents married and raised their children, college had evolved into a common aspiration, and both Sharon and Todd took full advantage of their educational opportunities, each earning their Bachelor Degree and excelling in their respective fields of study.
College had almost become a given, especially with the advent of the less expensive community colleges which boasted low tuition and the option to eat and sleep at home. Unless one obtained a good job, college seemed to be the national answer for the unmarried and unemployed, as well as the aspiring professionals. It was just the thing to do, and, in certain cases, this was unfortunate; in commonality, education lost its honor and significance.
The adverse affect which seemed to encroach upon some college graduates, who, feeling educated and superior, were still unable to "adequately employ" their mighty selves (and later collapsed into a pool of confusion) did not touch Norm. Well tuned to his inner needs, he excused himself from the collegiate race hours short of attaining a two year degree. Mom was discouraged, of course, but Norm stood fast to his decision, since graduation required that he take speech. He was phobic in group situations despite his outer appearance of self-assured collectiveness, and he, with reason, feared that in such a class he would meet his demise. Moreover, he had no intention of acquiring a "career"; he wanted to find employment with relatively little tension after which he could return home and, suffering no mental fatigue or emotional anguish, settle into an easy chair and persue a philosophy book or take a carefree evening ride on his motorcycle.
Since Norm had funded his entire college education, no obligation had been left unfulfilled and he was free to seek his dreams. I knew he didn't care about owning a fabulous car; he had too much fun with the various junkers that he managed to fish out of the used car lots. I will never forget the time that he and several other guys rocked the Rambler until it stood on its side; impervious to further damage than that which its previous owners had provoked, the car was finally righted, seeming no worse for the affair.
Other than finding a job, I was not certain of the type of ambitions that Norm possessed. He had always been rather quiet, given to infrequent bursts of conversation between lapses of brooding silence, but now, his silence sometimes masked turbid emotions. Whereas Todd had openly rebelled and demonstrated his conflicting views with society and the reigning generation of "elders," Norm fumed within, concealing gaps of understanding and petty annoyances with a disconcerting unwillingness to speak. He spent more and more time alone, and if his space was disturbed, he often quit the room for other surroundings. This latter incident was most notable upon the arrival of one of our parents; I, as well as they, sensed his intolerance for their presence, and although it was unpleasant for everyone, such injury seemed to coexist with the search for freedom and independence in youth. Personally, I could do nothing but cringe, for even within such silent battles, emotional bruises were in great supply.
Because of their changes toward self-sufficiency, young adults become progressively more difficult for their parents. I say this because it is at this time in a young person's life that he tests and selects those morals by which he shall live, choosing, bending or sometimes brutalizing the ideals which his parents had feverishly sought to instill into, and hopefully command his life. It is extremely difficult for parents who witness a seeming metamorphosis in the child they helped to create; astonishingly radical modes of thought practiced by their "child" can be a devastating blow. While certain "demonstrations of individuality" will subside with age, it is important that parents not blame themselves for faults within their children. A good, solid foundation is all that parents are expected to give to their off-spring; beyond the foundation, growth must be left to the child, for although he may have been erected to maturity under the utmost guidance and love, the child remains an individual, a human with a unique mind.
When Norm began dating a woman who worked at the shop, it evoked a natural aura of curiosity. He had never before dated, and we at home were surprised and pleased that he had taken interest in someone; indeed, such was his interest that he soon was absent from the house on a daily basis. Mom made several invitations to Norm for the purpose of meeting his girl, but none were accepted, so the suggestions fell to a minimum and subsided altogether. It was never Mom's habit to pry, thinking that such behavior would only serve as a constraining influence.
Moreover, Norm was legally an adult and had a right to his privacy. Months elapsed yet we were not introduced to the mysterious girl who had stolen Norm's penchant for solitude. "Maybe Norm's embarrassed…or embarrassed of her," I deducted. I began to wonder if she was fat, envisioning a rotund but jovial cherry who worked diligently on a drill press, her body a package of perpetual motion when she laughed or descended a flight of stairs. "That's unfair," I thought to myself, chastising both my ignorance and presuppositions.
The family's internal relations sank lower, although no outright war existed. Norm continued to see his girl, now referred to as "Tracy," while Mom and Dad continued to wonder and worry as each date seemed to end at a later hour. I merely continued to go to school and do my chores on Saturday. As I dusted Norm's room, I noticed greeting cards which he had received from Tracy, the softly romantic kind that I dreamed over at the drug store. Love, Tracy…her signature was a hurried scrawl, the letters a combination of vertical lines and rigid points. I picked up each card and dusted the dresser, carefully replacing them in their orderly march across the old piece of furniture. A spare pair of Norm's glasses rested on the vanity. I took off my glasses and placed his on my face. Pulling aside the curtain, I gazed at the woods below, blinking to counteract the strength of his glasses, I could see like an eagle! Norm's eyes were still worse than mine, but mine were going fast. With each child, eyesight grew progressively poorer in our family. I knew I was doomed. Distraught, I took off the glasses and moved to the other side of the vanity. A furry ball wearing a horned helmet and brandishing a wooden club met my eyes, and I picked up the Nordic figure with a smile. I figured that it was a gift from Tracy but I asked Norm anyway. "Yeh…," he admitted with a grin. "She likes to think of me as a Viking."
Upon the celebration of Norm's birthday he received a beautifully tailored shirt from Tracy. She was a gifted seamstress, fitting shirts to Norm's muscular frame in a way that could not be equalled. Such specialization and effort made me certain that she wanted to snare Norm.
Aside from occasional, subtle teasing, I did not burden Norm with a parcel of inquiries. If the relationship was as "serious" (or, "sincere," a word which I prefer) as it seemed, Tracy would soon have to make an appearance. So it was that one evening, when Mom happened to be gone, Norm brought Tracy to meet us. She was thin, well-proportioned and attractive, and quite unlike my mental meanderings. Her personality was pleasantly outgoing, yet not overbearing. I liked her immediately; she made a good "first impression."
Mom finally met Tracy during a family rendezvous at my sister's home. We no longer had to subsist upon fragments of unsubstantial suppositions; Tracy was a person, not a figment of one's imagination. The introduction helped to mask the tensions within our home, yet something remained amiss which corroded the trust between my parents and Norm. He battled for freedom; as is often the case, however, the conflicts were internal, waged between who he was and who he wanted to be in an uncertain world.
After months of unanswered questions, Mom went upstairs with some of Norm's clean clothes and, pulling open a drawer, found it entirely stripped of its former contents. She pulled open another…and another…they, too, were empty. Mom now faced an even greater question. Norm had moved out with no warning while the three of us were absent from the house. He was gone. But where? And why?
That evening, Norm came back to the house to reveal his intentions, and to give Mom and Dad a formal explanation regarding his sudden move. His appearance alone served to quickly escalate the conversation toward a destination which was beyond my realm of involvement, so I turned to one of the far corners of the kitchen where my gerbil cage was situated and stared unseeingly at my pet while listening intently to the scenario unfolding behind me.
Norm stated that he had moved in with Tracy. "You kids got married then!" Mom exclaimed, moving closer as if to embrace her son. A quiet, no frills wedding would have been characteristic of Norm. "No…," he replied. A silence followed his statement, as if each person was attempting to understand the conversation which was unfolding and see beyond the misconceptions that had obscured the truth.
"You mean you're just going to live with each other?" Mom asked. "Didn't our marriage and family mean anything to you?" She was aghast, tearful, frustrated.
Norm appeared awestruck by the magnanimous fervor he had evoked. He had not thought that marriage could have meant so much to my parents. "You have made a beautiful home!" Norm exclaimed, "But it just can't be for me."
Questions flurried about the room like a mid-summer blizzard; upset parents, I learned, excelled in the art of interrogation. Mom's voice had transformed into a slightly nasal, high-pitched whine which characterized both disapproval and sickness of heart, while Dad's speech quickened into abrupt, angry darts which leapt through the air and stung their recipient. To each question, Norm bowed his head a bit lower. "If she loves you, she'd marry you."
"It just can't be for me." It was all he could say. He loved Tracy, and wanted to spend his life with her; love of the heart should require no legal document to assure its sincerity. He could not understand the importance of marriage.
Norm's was an idealistic view of human love. Society, however, having judged man's ineptitude in the areas of honesty and integrity, found that unceremonious love was not, generally speaking, taken as seriously as love proclaimed before an audience in the form of predetermined vows. In certain circles, religion amplified the significance of marriage, entrenching the ceremony itself into the hearts and minds of society…and to my parents; moreover, it was tradition. To them, love alone was not enough to justify a man and a woman living together as one unit; Norm's proposition was a revolt against their values.
An ultimatum surfaced after all of the questions had spilled from my parent's minds: Norm would no longer be welcome in the home unless he married. Tears welled up in Norm's eyes and he began to sob; Mom and Norm held each other in a long, emotional embrace. So much depended on the future; a hug was all that they had. Until then, I had been eyeing the gerbil cage feverishly as the discussion raged behind me. Norm had under-estimated mom and dad and their inflexible scale of values, but even I could not swallow such a voluminous consequence of co-habitation. How could marriage be so important that one would no longer consider his son a person because he desired to live unwed with his beloved? Did not love matter more than all else?
Apparently it did not. I could listen to no more if I had to assume that I was going to lose my brother. I choked upon a mountainous wave of hysteria, and with tears blinding my vision, went wailing out of the kitchen into the sheltering darkness of my own room. I felt like a fool, flying from the argument in such an undignified manner. "Now look what you've done," said Dad, seeing my agitated state of mind. It was not Norm's fault, however; I knew, and Norm knew; my distress was related only to the thought of losing Norm forever; it was like a planned death. I could not handle such a loss.
"I'll drive you to Tracy's apartment…you can get your things and come back here," Dad offered. It was a final plea, an attempt to make amends before the damage was done.
Norm shook his head. "I'm sorry…I can't." Not after all that had been said. He was trembling; like an injured animal, he wanted only to run and hide from further hurt. Mom knew he couldn't return that night, but as the door closed and her son disappeared into the dark abyss, she prayed that he would change his mind.