Book 1-3: The Beginning

By Link Zulu

Parts 1-3 illustrate my childhood adventures, habits, pastimes, family structure, hilarious moments, relatives' antics, and stable home environment within western Pennsylvania! I also outline my diverse college experience at Penn State University. For you, younger folks, that might be compelling since you can see/read how I accomplished my goals that might mirror your own. On the other hand, you might want to follow my advice on what NOT to do if you walk in my shoes!

Parts 4-7, in my second compilation, reflect my career progress, advancement, promotions, and all my ventures across the USA, from Michigan, Pennsylvania, Ohio, to Georgia, Florida, then retreating back up North again before bravely migrating down South again in northern Virginia, then Texas! Millennials and middle-aged adults may find these texts more appealing. Having said that, if you are spiritual or follow GOD, then part 7 is absolutely critical for your soul's progress! It describes my three-year ministry (similar to Jesus) as well as my own insights, wisdom, facts, fictions, illusions, and horrors gleamed from my forty years of experience as well as my conversations with GOD!

1

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781637101797

Book preview

Copyright © 2021 Link Zulu

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2021

ISBN 978-1-63710-178-0 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63710-179-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Part 1

Introduction

Chapter 1: Early Childhood (January 1978–August 1980)

Chapter 2: (September 1980–August 1981)

Chapter 3: September 1981–August 1982

Chapter 4: September 1982–August 1983

Chapter 5: September 1983–August 1984

Chapter 6: September 1984–August 1985

Chapter 7: September 1985–August 1986

Chapter 8: September 1986–August 1987

Part 2

Introduction

Chapter 1: Seventh Grade (September 1987–August 1988)

Chapter 2: Eighth Grade (September 1988–August 1989)

Chapter 3: Ninth Grade (September 1989–August 1990)

Chapter 4: Tenth Grade (September 1990–August 1991)

Chapter 5: Eleventh Grade (September 1991–August 1992)

Chapter 6: Twelfth Grade (September 1992–August 1993)

Part 3

Introduction

Chapter 1: PennState, DuBois (August 1993–August 1995)

Chapter 2: PSU Main Campus

PART 1

Introduction

This autobiography resembles a chronological outline more than anything else. Besides rehashing my background, mundane facts, prominent experiences, triumphs, blunders, and missions, I have weaved insightful spirituality, dream interpretation, poetic wisdom, verbal/scientific illustrations of the universe, encrypted language, and divine guidance into this narrative. Additionally, I will pass on some of GOD’s wisdom and messages as I know them to be true. Having said that, this written script is rather literal, dry, and technical instead of metaphorical, figurative, and humorous. This limits the amount of interpretation required to decipher its true meaning. Plus, the reader and orator is less likely to distort and weaponize this book like corrupt officials and rancorous leaders have wielded with other forms of literature.

At times, these seven accounts may seem like a lecture or sermon, but I’ve tried not to preach too much. Lastly, I applied the following format to this text:

I underlined a person’s name or specific and general dates.

I italicized some proper nouns.

I substituted different names for (local) small towns, streets, roads, etc. in Pennsylvania.

I used quotation marks for shows, movies, and songs, as well as some of my figurative language.

I applied bold font to emphasize certain terms/words/phrases.

I used parenthesis (for inner thoughts or elaboration).

My given name is Link Zulu, but I have been called many other vulgar and comical names over the years! I identify as a gay mildly autistic forty-five-year-old with dissociative fugue disorder. My homosexual identity taught me how to hide or put up a facade. With that in my arsenal, it was easier to conceal my autistic personality, which unscrupulous adults might have preyed on! To them, I would have been an easy target! Nevertheless, my disorder compels me to be blunt, honest, and straightforward regarding just about everything, including GOD and the UNIVERSE. Lastly, my fugue condition provided me with a safe haven during traumatic or stressful periods throughout my life. Another part of my self took control of my speech pattern, mannerisms, and even mobility until my shattered inner self healed enough to emerge again.

You, the reader, skimmer, or scroller, can select all seven texts or can discriminate based on your own current needs. For instance, if you are a sixteen-year-old trailblazer in rural Iowa, then book 2, High School, might appeal to you (or you might prefer book 3, College, to take a gander at your possible or differing future?). If you are stuck in a rut, distraught, and bitter, then you may prefer books 5 or 6 to discern how I mastered my challenges or buckled under pressure, so it might inspire you to take an alternative/similar route! If you are a kid at heart, you might preview book 1, or if you adhere to spirituality or religion, then book 7 could be more appropriate. If you are struggling with spearheading or initiating your career path, then book 4 could be more suitable, etc., etc. Please let your gut, intuition, and spirit nudge you in the right direction for your specific stage of development!

Otherwise, I grew up in the rustic Amish countryside of beautiful Pennsylvania with parents that absolutely cherished me. It was both a blessing and a curse! This is only a fraction of my whole being, and you will understand what I mean by the end of book 7. So you might be wondering why you would want to read about a shy, introverted, reserved, literal, routine, sheltered gay kid. This sounds like the dullest publication on planet Earth, so I don’t blame you for dismissing this account! If I have primed your curiosity this far, then please read on. It’s actually quite alluring and delicious, I promise. So let’s get this show on the road!

Chapter 1

Early Childhood

(January 1978–August 1980)

I have a deficient amount of crisp memories before age five so will mostly just relay what my parents have told me.

First, Mom recapped how she’d been in labor for twenty-four hours until the doctors had to expel me with forceps! Finally, after all that excruciating pain, she’d delivered her bundle of joy on that fateful June evening in 1975. (It’s possible that I was quickly adopted by my current mom/dad, but that tidbit is irrelevant to me.) Apparently, I was very jealous when my brother, Nicholas, was born in 1977. I had been my parents’ gift, whom they adored and coddled for the first two years of my life, until my brother disrupted my safety net! When I was about four years old, I had either deliberately or accidentally shoved Nicholas off our home’s side entrance, where he landed four feet below with a thud! Luckily, my brother was only subjected to some scrapes and bruises. Emergency averted! One time, Mom verified my envious streak by showing me a picture of my outstretched hands while Dad carried my brother on his shoulders.

During the summer of 1978, a wicked thunderstorm scarred our rural county with sixty- to eighty-mile-per-hour winds while the four of us were en route to our aunt’s place. Our flimsy Dodge protected us from what could have been a life-threatening disaster! However, our southward trajectory had been stemmed, so we circled back home. Unfortunately, Dad had to improvise a detour because our main thoroughfare was barricaded with uprooted trees and other debris. As we pulled into our driveway, my parents sighed in relief—our humble trailer hadn’t rolled over, but it had been pierced with a few branches, and our yard was a wreck with twisted limbs.

Mom and Dad claimed that I was mesmerized with bridges and would giddily bounce to their music on my rocking horse. The only evidence of these allegations is posted in their treasured photo albums. So I believe them! According to my mother, I was a fairly quiet, shy, docile toddler/preschooler, but my rock-throwing habit took a turn for the worse when I hurled dozens of limestone gravel into their flower bed! My parents also voiced that I threw temper tantrums like most children!

Obviously, most pre-K individuals have a vague memory of certain events unless they aroused some vivid feelings. My first dose of nature’s fury was when I tapped a bumblebee with my finger after I’d injured it. I howled in pain and stormed into the kitchen, where Mom administered a baking soda / water mixture.

Nonetheless, we’d always had several pet cats and dogs from the time I was a little booger machine. One particular afternoon, I’d approached a brown/white tabby named Tuffy, but he’d darted for the woods. So I followed the feline deeper into the tangled brush, which led me astray. I eventually crept into a slight clearing where the mouser orbited around me several times. However, I was now disoriented and couldn’t get my bearing back to my refuge! Since Tuffy’s familiar, friendly face defused some of my anxiety, I didn’t panic just yet! Meanwhile, Mom noticed that her older boy was missing and wasn’t responding to her alarming calls, so she petitioned our neighbor Joseph to aid in her search, because Dad was at work. Within a half-hour or so, I could hear my rescue squad coming for me. Our local newspaper didn’t need to publish an article concerning a missing five-year-old boy, after all!

Most baby boomers still shudder when anyone brings up the infamous blizzard of 1978 (January 25–27). It is touted as one of the worst winter storms to impact the Great Lakes, Ohio Valley, and Northeast US. Locally, we were crippled with fifteen to twenty feet of snow, howling fifty- to sixty-mile-per-hour winds, zero visibility, and numbing temperatures in the single digits! In its wake, the atmosphere offered brilliant sunshine, pristine skies, and balmier temperatures in the twenties. My parents have one particular picture where I am waddling along the dirt road in a red/white snowsuit, and another where the trailer’s roof and porch top are barely visible above ten to twelve feet of hand-shoveled white mounds. If my memory serves me correctly, I can recall that stroll with Mom and Dad, but it’s more likely that the captivating photo has conjured up some imagined story!

Though our summers in the late 1970s were rather cool in Pennsylvania, we operated our window-unit AC quite regularly in the poorly insulated trailer (mobile home). Nevertheless, the AC sputtered and jangled throughout one particular week in 1980, so my father enlisted his buddy Junior’s help in resolving this issue. The clattering noises scared me, so I observed those two tinkering with the contraption from the kitchen. By nightfall, the AC was quietly blowing its refreshing breezes into the living room again!

This particular summer, I had nurtured a fascination with thermometers. I relished how the red dye would swiftly ascend or sink within the glass tube when I’d hover it near the stove’s flames or freezer’s ventilation. I also tested how hot and cold our faucet water was and compared the air temperature’s value to the thermostat reading. Aside from that, I was dazzled with gauging the outdoor ambience, especially when August 1980 offered a spell of mideighties, low nineties finally! As expected, I was clumsy with the instruments and busted two or three. The crimson liquid would be beaded or striped instead of uniform. I’d act fussy until my parents procured another one at the local hardware store. Otherwise, I became allured with how the local CBS affiliate broadcast a four-minute spiel on the weather! Back then, meteorologists had rudimentary tools, satellites, radars, and computers to depict the nation’s weather. I comprehended some of the narratives and maps, except for the infrared satellite, which portrayed higher/thicker clouds as black blobs and lower/thinner layers as white patches. I assumed the darkness was also indicative of storminess, and Mom confirmed my hunch! Lastly, I referred to the puffy cumulus clouds as mashed potatoes!

Besides weather, I was briefly preoccupied with plumbing/pipes; my Big Wheels with its colorful plastic streaming out the handlebars, a metallic tricycle, and matching the rhythms by rocking my wooden horse to the upbeat tunes as well as the sentimental, mellow melodies that were common in the late 1970s, early 1980s. Dad claimed I loved matching Player’s Baby Come Back to Me rhythm the most! Additionally, I enjoyed watching the soapy liquid drain down into the bathroom and kitchen pipes, then would probe the network of tubes below the sink. To construct my own plastic conduit, I’d pull out Dad’s spare pipes and connect several in a straight line along a natural inclination. Next, I’d spray or dump water at one end and time its exit. I’d be puzzled when a cup or pint of water would never reach the finish line! (Maybe this was a tangible version of the tunnel of light from those near-death-experience accounts.)

As for pedaling my two biking apparatuses, my joy quickly turned to dismay when our home’s dinky setting restricted my movement. Also, Nicholas was often sprawled out in the living room, so I’d have to dodge his wriggling figure. More specifically, I yearned to just mow him down so he’d never get in my way again, but never acted on that impulse. So the Big Wheels presented a more viable solution since I could maneuver outdoors to the garage or down the driveway. (Perhaps these elementary sources of transportation symbolized how our souls propel forward across this planet in vessels we call human bodies?) Needless to say, I bawled when I’d accidentally pulled out some of the trike’s narrow banners!

Because music soothes or stimulates the soul, mind, and emotions, I was attuned to both faster and slower tempos/beats and vibrations. Since my father controlled our household’s compilation of 45-rpm records as well as the car’s radio stations, I naturally gravitated toward his choices! (However, the melodies might have alluded to or shed some light into the true nature of our two spirits.)

Despite my fixation with inanimate objects, I was wary of personal connections to others, including my parents’ pals, neighbors, and relatives. When I was four or five years old, Mom mostly pivoted around our neighbor Dinah. The tall slender woman was married to the same burly Joseph who’d helped Mom track me down. Their offspring included Katy (my age), Hannah (younger), and Bonnie (youngest). About once per week, Mom and I meandered down the dirt road to their house, or vice versa. I’d eavesdrop on those two gossiping over our other neighbors’ woes/victories, giggling over feminine hygiene matters, confiding in each other regarding their spouses, or denying/validating local rumors. Anyway, one particular afternoon, the pair barricaded themselves in the bathroom. I peeked underneath the door crack to figure out what was taking so long! Eventually, I deduced that they were weighing themselves on the simple scale. I verbally estimated Dinah’s mass at 130 pounds, but she cringed. I pondered why she was offended by my seemingly amusing remark.

Otherwise, Dinah, Katy, Hannah, Bonnie, Mom, Nicholas, and I would cook/consume meals together, conduct errands, shop, or drive around the countryside. On one of these particular jaunts, I sensed the duo had lost navigation and didn’t trust them to get us back home safely. When I detected the seat springs squeaking, I became frantic that the car was breaking down, thus rendering us stranded in the middle of nowhere.

I don’t remember playing much with Dinah’s kids, but I do recall our neighbor informing me and Katy about kindergarten in the upcoming months. I’d mistakenly thought Mom and Dinah had pronounced it kinder-garden, so I imagined us youngsters coalescing around some cornstalks and bean sprouts to play games, sing nursery rhymes, and learn about the world around us. I was quite agitated about this looming change in uncharted territory, but at least I was acquainted with someone else (Katy) that was accompanying me to this frontier.

Since I already referenced Dad’s favorite accomplice, Junior, I will proceed to a few others. Mom, Dad, Nicholas, and I often joined their two pals, Holden and Lydia, plus their four children, to swap recipes, play card games, get the scoop on others within our circle of friends, and tour the area’s rolling fields and lush forests. One particular afternoon, Holden brandished the power of his mighty 4WD truck by crossing a mighty river! As the water submerged the wheels, I swallowed my fear and had faith in our guardians’ judgment, intelligence, and tenacity.

Like I had said earlier, I can only recall a few details before age five, but according to my honest parents, a few shades of my personality were unveiled due to my interactions with peers. There were a few subtle signs that I was a meek, passive boy versus a typically assertive one. I was very apprehensive about trying new things, adjusting to a different environment, and cooperating with my teammates during primitive sports, games, and pastimes. I’d badger Mom or Dad to help me adapt to any fresh surroundings, learn new skills, and conduct unfamiliar tasks. For example, I’d retreat to a corner or idle rigidly while neighbors’ youngsters played together. It was a daunting process to incorporate myself into my peers’ interactions and conversations.

Chapter 2

(September 1980–August 1981)

Commencing my first year of school was rather intimidating and horrifying! I don’t actually recall the drive to Commonwealth Elementary (Kent, Pennsylvania), but I do remember getting acclimated to my new digs. I deliberately positioned myself across from Holden and Lydia’s kid Rebecca, whose familiar, friendly face helped ease my transition. My glimmer of hope faded as my acquaintance seemed somewhat indifferent or callous toward me. Luckily, our sympathetic, cordial teacher, Mrs. Eleanor , was attentive toward our emotional and mental needs. She politely informed the class about the upcoming syllabus and familiarized us with our surroundings. Moreover, Mrs. Eisenhuth conveyed her expectations of her pupils and compelled us to interact with one another via games and verbal introductions.

While many of my peers seemed to have a knack for appropriate communication and regular association, I radiated a shy, awkward, quiet stance. I cowered around any boys that seemed boisterous, obnoxious, and aggressive, such as Leo. One morning, I snitched on him when he slid across the table to temper his macho tendency and score brownie points with the teacher.

Accordingly, I’d gravitate toward the more docile boys in addition to the sensitive girls. Still, my seemingly benign chums would tease me when I’d color the sky purple instead of blue (I later learned that I was color-blind).They’d also pick on me when I couldn’t follow the facilitator’s simple instructions. For example, our mentor would demonstrate how to cut shapes in construction paper or paste materials together, but I’d have difficulty emulating those processes. I really felt ashamed when my peers imitated those tasks seamlessly. Furthermore, I’d lag behind others when learning a new game or demonstrating athletic abilities. I was inept at expressing proper coordination, balance, depth perception, and creative/artistic skills. My companions were competent at executing common tasks, such as zipping their jackets. My face would blush when I was sometimes the last person to unfasten my coat, unhook the snaps, and fidget with the hanger. I also dreaded the days when my shoes came untied, because I was clueless at how to knot the laces. Even trying out the pencil sharpener was an overwhelming ordeal! Plus, I’d fumble at wrapping an object or assembling any gizmo.

While becoming aware of my shortcomings, I also discovered a few of my strengths.

I was rather captivated with numbers, counting, simple arithmetic operations, such as 5 + 4 = 9. I enjoyed learning about basic geometric shapes like circles, ovals, triangles, squares, and rectangles. Furthermore, I excelled at reading and memorizing basic vocabulary as well as tracing the alphabet. Moreover, I was attuned to Mrs. Eleanor’s fundamental history narratives that emphasized the Pilgrims’ settlements in America. To honor some of our heritage, our class designed costumes to wear during Thanksgiving. (Naturally, I was clumsy at following those directions.)

Despite mastering academic material so effortlessly, I never gloated about my intelligence or mocked the more mentally challenged students.

Though there were plenty of differences among us, there were certain elements of kindergarten that we all cherished or despised.

Everyone looked forward to the thirty-minute recess, where we were rewarded with milk plus cookies or permitted to snooze.

Other leisurely activities included duck duck goose or hide-and-go-seek or tag, which helped us establish a better rapport with one another.

Our class anxiously awaited when our mentor would read fictional stories to our curious, nimble minds. Plus, Mrs. Eleanor always exuded such a warm, understanding, kind outlook that boosted our collective morale.

The one aspect that we all loathed was waking up at 7:30–8:00 a.m. It was such a chore to rouse at such an early hour and leave my cozy, loving sanctuary. Luckily, morning kindergarten only spanned three hours, from 9:00 a.m. to noon, so our Monday-to-Friday requirements were rather straightforward.

There was an organized rotation to our kindergarten dismissal.

The neighborhood parents (Dehilah, Beau, Luis, Nancy, Robert, and my mom) alternated the tasks of chaperoning us kids home. I beamed with pride when it was my mother’s turn to haul us to our respective habitats. I hoped my peers would take notice of my mother’s extraordinary driving abilities. I also wanted everyone to witness the mighty Dodge Aspen’s incredible power, especially during the snowy December to January of 1980–1981. I distinctly recall quivering with delight and awe when our station wagon easily plowed through a four- to six-inch layer of slush to deposit Beau’s daughter Angela at her home.

Anytime I’d hear Christopher Cross’s Sailing, it’d remind me of Robert navigating us with his van. I’d gently pressure his mute daughter, Jennifer, into contributing more to our dialogue. Perhaps, I had a minicrush on her? I might have been quite bashful and somewhat hushed, but Jennifer’s armor was really tough to crack! I seem to have some vague memory of attending a function at her house too.

Other escorts’ radios might blare sentimental tunes composed by Champaign, Styx’s Babe, Olivia Newton John, Commodores, Elton John, and Ambrosia’s Biggest Part of Me, and Kenny Loggins’s This Is It, which prompted my sensitive, tender attributes to surface.

Aside from Mrs. Eleanor’s lectures and Commonwealth’s glistening hallways, we launched activities outside the classroom.

Some of our kindergarten class gathered at the Cairo McDonald’s for a party. I was extratimid mingling with my mates outside of the typical brick-and-mortar structure. I can recall the clown, Ronald, striving to amuse and joke with us while we slurped hot fudge sundaes.

Leo invited a few of us neighbors to his birthday bash. I didn’t mind playing hide-and-seek and video games, but I refrained from participating in any sporting matches. Luckily, my partner in crime, Nicholas, was present, which helped me let down my guard a little.

During May 1981, the kindergarten teachers had spearheaded a field trip to our borough’s (Kent, Pennsylvania) Almond Park. Just the name alone provoked my stomach to growl. Mom bagged me a lunch, then dropped me off at the pavilion to fool around on the swing sets, monkey bars, and teeter-totter. As usual, I was skittish regarding the social component of this gathering, so I mostly orbited around my neighbor Katy. Hovering around her conspicuous face galvanized me enough to chat with my fellow peers as well as horse around with less recognizable inhabitants.

Once morning kindergarten adjourned, there were a few rituals that I followed.

Once I entered the Smith dwelling at around 12:45 p.m., I’d eagerly lounge with Mom in front of the tube to view the next episode of The Young and the Restless. I often asked my mother to clarify the plot and unravel the script because the characters verbalized such big words. The one storyline that I remember is all the bickering between Kay and her suitor.

One thirty in the afternoon signaled lunchtime with sliced wieners, mashed potatoes, soup, stew, toasted cheese sandwiches, meatloaf, green beans, corn, peas, carrots, and plenty of other dishes. Dad would deliberate about some of our daily or weekly dilemmas, and I’d share my feats or woes concerning kindergarten. My father would depart for the GLEE factory at 2:20 p.m., then I’d swirl water around in the sink and obsess over the liquid channeling through the pipes.

As mentioned before, other habits included tinkering with the thermometer and observing the distinctive cloud patterns. I might squeeze in a nap before watching the late-afternoon cartoons.

I was captivated with the 6:00 p.m. news, especially the segment that featured the weatherman Bob Kudzma! The notorious meteorologist became my idol due to his charismatic monologues and accurate forecasts. I had an inkling that this weather passion was permanent and not fleeting like some of my other pastimes.

I was much more euphoric at home instead of school! Here is an account of my domestic environment.

The trailer, or mobile home, was green with white trimming and a gray porch with iron railing punctuating the west side. Several stone blocks led to the limestone driveway, where a wooden garage was positioned at the north end. The garage sheltered the Dodge Aspen as well as a tractor, rototiller, and various tools. Propane tanks were situated on the east flank of our home, where ten feet away stood two maple trees. A Japanese maple and two red oaks cloaked the southern horizon. A row of primarily oak trees flanked the western border of our property. Behind the garage was a thick forest of briars, hardwoods, and grapevines. In the northeast quadrant, Dad had built a cement firepit to incinerate our trash in.

The interior featured a broad windowsill next to the AC unit. The living room was occupied with the usual couches, coffee tables, and cathode Zenith TV, rocking chair, and hefty stereo/turntable. At the living room’s threshold, there was a ledge where an oil lamp, picture frames, and decorative items sat on. You could see past the ledge into the kitchen. The west-facing outside door opened to the porch, where a thermometer hung. Within the kitchen was a revoltingly green refrigerator and antiquated stove. Our foundation was a simple linoleum, while shaggy carpeting lined the living room. As you drifted northbound, the first alcove to the right was a bedroom that Nicholas and I shared with bunk beds (me on top). As you roamed down the hallway farther, there were mammoth windows with flimsy screens and rickety windows. Across from the windows was a cramped closet where the furnace was stored. Farther down the hall, there was a toy storage partition to the right. The space was also occupied with a sewing machine, then later a desk for a black-and-white TV plus Astrocade. Years later, Nicholas transferred his belongings into this chamber. There was speckled white linoleum in both bedrooms. As you wandered farther north, there was a brown bookcase along the wall. The following niche was the bathroom, which was equipped with a sink plus vanity plus homely green toilet, an opaque window that faced east, a north bathtub and stackable washer/dryer. Across from the bathroom, there was an alternate doorway (that I had pushed Nicholas out of years ago). The grand finale was the master bedroom, where Mom and Dad slept until about 1981. (Their sleeping quarters diverged after that.) As you peered westward, there was a mammoth green fan hoisted on a stand. My parents stashed dressers along the east wall, and a closet was positioned to the south, where a water heater resided.

Overall, it was economical, humble, dinky, and antiquated, but it felt like our castle!

The following excerpt lists a few specific memories of our humble abode.

During those gloomy winter afternoons, Mom would play ballads, such as Anne Murray’s I Just Fall in Love Again. Just hearing that soothing rhythm underscored how nurturing and loving my mother was!

When I’d gripe about Dad’s deafening snoring, he’d divulge how I’d mumble in my sleep. One night, I murmured, I want a hot dog, I want a hot dog, before resuming deep sleep.

Occasionally, Mom would paint her fingernails and I’d be allured with the polish’s aroma. One day, I brushed my own tips with the red ethanol dye. I forgot all about doing this and ventured to kindergarten displaying my crimson tips. Naturally, my classmates harassed me about my feminine gesture, and I alarmingly wondered if this girlish feature was permanent. My mother alleviated my concern that afternoon by dabbing my fingers with alcohol to remove the polish!

I cherished my solitary intervals trifling with those toys that resembled people. I loved pronouncing the word people over and over as I fastened the wooden spheres (head) to the narrower cylinders (body).

It was roughly December 1980 when my maternal aunt Janis maneuvered her adopted daughter, Daniela, as well as Nicholas, Mom, and me in her junky three-speed truck over to a remote pasture. We painstakingly selected the perfect pine to chop down and erect as our Christmas tree! However, our family only had a limited supply of bulbs and lights to decorate it with, so we accented the top with a vividly illuminated star!

In the woods, Nicholas, Daniela, Angela (Beau’s daughter), and I would simulate baking a cake by stirring water into a dirt pile to create mud. Next, we’d pour the slimy substance (batter) into a pan, then place sticks, stones, and leaves on top to improvise as icing and candles.

My father unleashed my affinity for bicycling when he hauled us to Coal Creek State Park during October 1980. I was dazzled with pedaling vigorously to conquer that nine-mile strip of asphalt. However, by summer 1981, Dad was adamant about removing the training wheels, which I objected to. My paternal guardian stressed that if my brother could balance on two tires at age four, then I could acquire that skill too!

Roughly October 1980, Dad and his sidekick, Junior, had quickly assembled a mangled albeit gnarly dummy with a shiny, metallic face in the garage. I was only aware of it until my father transported me into his large toolshed with the John Deere tractor. I winced, shrieked, then pleaded for him not to approach too close. Fortunately, Dad heeded my warnings before I became hysterical, then the two of us promptly retreated into our sanctuary.

I might have demonstrated a glimpse of my homosexual tendencies during a family shindig at my maternal grandfather’s. I was rather curious and enraptured with this older boy wearing a striped shirt. In retrospect, I deduce that this individual was probably my uncle, but at that time, I kept staring at him to determine his identity and get a sense of his disposition.

Our Smith tribe continued cultivating an affiliation with neighbors and relatives.

Though I was envious of Nicholas because he didn’t have to fret about school, I was starting to cement a bond with my brother. I had finally accepted my sibling as an ally versus an enemy. Accordingly, the two of us often begged Mom to let us sleep over at Janis and Daniella’s shabby white house along PA-808. I’d usually sprawl out in the guest bedroom upstairs, but I was often spooked by the rattling windowpanes and creaky boards. Then, I’d try sleeping on the downstairs couch, which was a tad more comforting and reassuring. One night, I perceived some rustling sounds echoing out of the kitchen so cautiously crept over to investigate the source. It was just my aunt’s husband, Rayburn, returning from his truck-driving occupation to prepare the kitchen stove/furnace. It was a welcome reprieve to huddle around the glowing embers with my uncle to keep warm.

I was also quite fond of the petroleum jelly (Vaseline) that Janis would apply to dry skin or chapped lips, in addition to the Bagbaum paste that she’d administer to minor cuts, sores, or wounds.

Moreover, I’d revel in my aunt’s tender loving care whenever she’d bathe me with a sponge until I was mature enough to wash myself. Aside from that, I’d spend hours in the bathroom due to constipation! While patiently waiting for a bowel movement, I’d weigh my frail body, analyze the wall fixtures, or hum a tune.

My parents preserved their endearing link with my grandma Dorothy. Since the maternal figure doted on me, she’d voyage over nearly every day and shower me with admiration. I will always treasure those muggy evenings when I’d adhere to Mom and Grandma to absorb their interesting, grown-up talk. One of our favorite destinations was Julianne’s ice cream shop, but we also embarked for Custis Forest one afternoon.

Mom and Dad continued their amicable groove with our neighbors Dinah and Joseph. Since my June birthday was so close to Katy’s, they hosted a ceremony for the two of us. I was eager to unwrap what Dinah had bought for me but remember being rather disappointed.

For Halloween, they launched a shindig in the downstairs basement. I felt humiliated at my inept ability to smack the piñata with a plastic bat.

Sometimes their tots, Katy, Hannah, Bonnie, would invite us over for roller-skating in the basement or kickball outdoors. Over the coming years, those innocent sporting duels became more elaborate tournaments as they’d coax over our other neighbors, Sebastian and Samuel. I was bashful around those other foreign kids, but being among sweet Hannah; bossy, abrasive Katy; combative, dishonest Bonnie; and sneaky Nicholas subdued my edginess.

During a particular luncheon, Katy boasted that her father was compensated $1,000 per month! I was absolutely baffled when Dinah and Joseph denied being rich!

To appear hospitable, Mom, Dad, Nicholas, Janis, Daniella, and I would hike up to Russ and Mary’s dwelling, which Violet Smith eventually occupied beyond 1981. The geriatric couple’s ambience was a little chilling and somewhat dreary, but I was mesmerized by the majestic nature of the grandfather clock. To the best of my knowledge, their kitchen and living rooms were switched from where they are positioned today.

An expedition to Black Lake, New York, was the highlight of summer 1981.

To ensure that we arrived at our haven at an appropriate time, our family had to rouse at 4:00 a.m.! It was a cumbersome ordeal to summon the energy to collect our belongings and coordinate with Junior, Holden, and Lydia, in addition to my father’s siblings, Dennis, John, Jack, Jorge, Rosanne, and Penelope, for a 6:00 a.m. departure! Since Nicholas and I were still drowsy and inert, we accidentally left the Dodge Aspen’s door ajar when Dad pulled out of the garage. My father had to frantically dismantle the door to repair the damage and alert the rest of the gang to embark without us. Though the door looked odd without the interior felt panel, the station wagon safely transported us to Black Lake. By 4:00 p.m., the four of us had checked in at our cabin accommodations, which were an improvement compared to last year’s tenting experience. However, not everyone from our entourage was so lucky, because two guests (Dennis and Penelope?) found a disintegrated turkey in the oven and unsanitary conditions. Anyway, as the Smiths unpacked, I flashed back to last year, when I hid in the bushes to poop my pants, then celebrated my fifth birthday! This year, our rambunctious crew fished out on the choppy lake and hiked along the shore a few times. Otherwise, Nicholas and I played hide-and-seek with my cousin Darrell and collected seashells with Holden and Lydia’s kids, Rebecca and Jay. Several days later, our bunch left this St. Lawrence County oasis and stopped at an aquarium along the way home.

Chapter 3

September 1981–August 1982

I remember few details of my first day of school except for the different modes of transportation.

Fortunately, Mom accompanied me to the shanty/shack, where I waited with Katy and Sebastian for the intimidating yellow bus to pull up. The trip home was even more frightening because my teacher, Mrs. Rhodes, had inadvertently assigned me to bus 4 instead of 17! Since I was ignorant about the county’s road network, it was a daunting process for my chauffeur to find my green trailer. There was another occasion when I missed the departing bus, so I had to slink into the administrator’s office to phone home. I felt so ashamed waiting for my parents to pick me up. Toward the middle of the academic year, there was one afternoon when I nodded off. I was alarmed at the unfamiliar sights within the Salem, Pennsylvania, corridor, so I stomped up the aisle in a frenzy to alert the driver, Paul. I struggled to illustrate where I lived, but then he had an inkling once I shakily pronounced my parents’ names.

A gruff gal named Betty began substituting for Paul more often. To stamp out bad behavior, she assigned us seats and I was situated second to last, beside a cordial gal named Melissa. I instantly befriended Missy due to her sympathetic, gregarious, compassionate nature, but she also emanated a bold, virile, domineering side. Those traits came in handy when she’d protect me from any bullies nearby. I labeled Missy as my girlfriend despite her being more butch than me. Anytime I hear the song Say, Say, Say, composed by Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson, I flash back to that rapturous year with Missy!

It was a tad unnerving when first grade’s course material seemed more rigorous than kindergarten.

Approximately half the time, I’d receive poor marks for any lessons involving phonics, word usage, and basic sentence structure. Before that, though, Mrs. Rhodes devoted many weeks familiarizing her pupils with the alphabet’s sounds and appearances. She’d use this four-pronged chalk holder to draw lines across the chalkboard to mirror what we were seeing on our blank yellow paper. Our mentor emphasized how certain letters occupied two spaces while others only took up 1 (a versus b). Besides size and shape, we learned that an uppercase letter was different from a lowercase one (Aa, Bb, Cc, etc.). The final goal was to practice the sound of each letter repeatedly before we could advance to the phonics worksheets and spelling/vocabulary. Mrs. Rhodes mandated that her apprentices memorize ten new words each week. I distinctly remember spelling my first word, ball.

Math came natural to me as we reviewed numbers, counting, and operations (adding and subtracting). This information was simplified with worksheets that displayed quantities of apples and oranges correlating with numerals. The pictorial examples also showed taking away or adding objects to represent sums and differences. Once again, we rehashed the properties of all the geometric shapes—circle, oval, rectangle, square, triangle, line, ray. A more challenging aspect of arithmetic was getting acquainted with the US and metric system’s units of measurements and volume—cups, pints, quarts, gallons, liters, inches, feet, yards, centimeters, ounces, pounds, grams, etc. The teacher would illustrate these measurements with various beacons, bottles, rulers, and scales to drill this information into our skulls.

Mrs. Rhodes lectured for several weeks on deciphering the time from a clock. I had already grasped this knowledge at home, so I’d impress my teacher by announcing "one thirty instead of the tedious half past one."

To evaluate our performance on spelling, grammar, and arithmetic, Mrs. Rhodes dispensed six report cards per year with the following marks:

O = Outstanding

S = Satisfactory

U = Unsatisfactory

There was another section titled citizenship, which assessed our behavior, cooperation, and attendance.

My report card was marked with mostly Ss, but I’d beam with pride at the occasional O.

Our class had plenty of time to finish our short assignments and complete tests/quizzes such that we never had to take homework with us at dismissal time.

Mrs. Rhodes had discerned how nonverbal I was. I also had trouble pronouncing certain consonant clusters, such as the th sound. I would pronounce father faver! So she assigned me to a speech specialist, who trained me on becoming more vocal and dictating properly.

Besides the fundamental curriculum of spelling, vocabulary, and math, we’d migrate to different rooms or outside for art, music, physical education, library, and recess.

Art class was a little intimidating for me because I lacked creativity. Fortunately, the course was instructed by this warm, sympathetic, soft-spoken fellow named Mr. Houston. The pudgy, balding instructor familiarized his novices with the typical mediums to display artwork with—colored pencils, paste, rubber cement, crayons, markers, scissors, and construction or tracing paper. I remember one assignment that entailed drawing some random image that meant a lot to us. As a result, I sketched a picture of a house, tree, and car but highlighted the blue sky, cumulus clouds, T-storms, and sunrays to brandish my astronomy and meteorological affinities.

My musical inclinations were pathetic, but fortunately, Mrs. C emitted a nonthreatening, docile, understanding aura. We mostly tuned our vocal cords and practiced the patriotic song America the Beautiful. Throughout December, we’d memorize the The Twelve Days of Christmas carol.

Gym class was facilitated by a fairly abrasive Mr. Baker. Our grades were contingent upon our attendance and responsibility to bring a white shirt. I didn’t mind the less-competitive activities, such as sprinting, stretching, kickball, crab soccer, and (seated) skateboarding. I preferred the outdoor endeavors because that enabled me to inspect the pitch-black, northern horizons that were so common throughout May and September. Eventually, I deduced that the ferocity of the storms was an illusion when the sun was shining (a benign storm looked more menacing and darker when the sun was out).

Mrs. Ryan’s library period was my favorite because you mostly just sat there and pretended to skim through books. The key lessons here were to cultivate an interest in reading different genres of literature as well as developing the responsibility to return school property in a punctual manner.

I was dismayed that the school day spanned from 9:00 a.m. to 3:25 p.m., but it was solacing when the teacher implemented a daily thirty-minute recess period. It was so much fun to play on the merry-go-round, swing sets, slides, and those fake animals that sprung back and forth.

The following passage outlines some of the miscellaneous facets and social components of first grade.

I dreaded the second week of school, which required pictures for the yearbook. I squirmed with restlessness and my stomach churned with bile as I waited for my turn to sit in front of the photographer. I lacked confidence that I could follow his directions, pose properly, and smile at the right time, especially when my classmates were gawking at me.

Just prior to the holidays, the school abbreviated our class time and treated us to a live presentation or film. For Halloween, Mrs. Rhodes urged her charges to bring a costume to wear while she dispensed bags of candy. On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, the entire school watched a live performance that entailed some of the teachers enacting a comical skit then singing along to the country melody Elvira. To honor Christmas, Easter, or a three-day weekend, our class would view a big-screen version of The Swiss Family Robinson or Herbie (starring Don Knotts), while munching on popcorn from a brown paper bag! Furthermore, we’d vocally synchronize a rendition of The Twelve Days of Christmas at a gymnasium reception. Additional activities included an Easter egg hunt, gift exchanges, and bringing in baked cookies, brownies, or cake. Lastly, each one of us played a small role in decorating the classroom to reflect each holiday’s theme, colors, and culture.

Our moral compass was ruffled when Mrs. Rhodes introduced us to a Nigerian student teacher named Ms. Ojomo. Most of us had never seen a woman with such black skin, so it was a test in racial tolerance. I admired the African American’s gentle, angelic nature, so I suppressed any of my meager prejudice.

I became rather mesmerized with the school and bus route schedules. After a few months, I deduced that a normal dismissal time was 3:25 p.m. I was tickled pink when the bell shrilled through the hallways at an early 3:23 p.m., because this denoted a home arrival time at roughly 4:08 p.m. instead of the usual 4:10 p.m. Conversely, I’d be fuming mad when Betty would dawdle at certain stops, thus delaying our destination by a few minutes.

It was a once-a-week ritual to open the metal partition between classrooms. Everyone would cheer with delight as the motor raised the divider by two inches then retract and compress it. The objective was to socialize with other kids, chant nursery rhymes, distribute refreshments, enact games, watch instructional films, or conduct aerobic exercises. It was always a thrill to observe the contraption jam, fail to close, or get stuck in a floating position.

It was usually a daunting challenge to garner friendships, but since my assigned seat was behind the chipper Kevin, I developed an alliance with him. Because I readily comprehended the course material, I’d sometimes tutor my new pal. One afternoon, when the partition began compressing, I expressed my elation by kissing Kevin! We giggled at this impulsive display of homosexuality.

An additional chum that I made that year was the laid-back Keith. Mom chuckled when I raved about this Ashball (surname) person that I adored. Keith and I never did hang out that summer like we’d promised after exchanging phone numbers!

I also established a bond with Carla, whose eloquent last name I loved pronouncing. I was attuned to the blonde because she didn’t radiate a pretentious vibe like some of the other girls.

My shyness had carried over from kindergarten but began eroding somewhat once I had cultivated ties with those three individuals.

Furthermore, I emanated more confidence once Mom had demonstrated how to tie shoes and I could practice the technique at home. I no longer had to fret when my laces unraveled.

On the domestic front, I was content to hone my hobbies, garner new ones, and latch onto bad habits.

I continued fostering my passion for meteorology by tuning to Bob Kudzma and observing or identifying the cloud patterns and precipitation types.

Moreover, I was fond of measuring the dimensions of the trailer, humans, driveway, trees, and furniture with a twenty-four-foot or one-hundred-foot ruler. I ascertained that the trailer was 66 feet; the driveway, 160 feet; the three acres of property, 300 by 500 feet; and the mature trees, approximately 80 feet. I marveled while assessing Dad at sixty-eight inches and Mom at sixty-nine inches but was stunned that my grandfather Gerald was towering at seventy-two inches!

My fascination with measuring the lengths of things progressed into studying an object’s change in distance per time (rate). The only way I could observe this was on a car’s speedometer, then eventually my bicycle gauge. I loved gazing at the needle’s depiction of acceleration to the point where I’d imitate this with a pen and sketched a speedometer. I’d imagine maneuvering slowly down PA-408 and/or rapidly along I-82 and pivot the pen accordingly!

I also possessed an uncanny allure with buttons. I liked inspecting their unique shapes and feeling their distinctive textures. One particular button that crudely resembled a cake had reminded me of my aunt Patricia.

Nicholas and I were dazzled with inducing electric sparks by swiftly rubbing our feet against a blanket.

I also practiced biking on two wheels versus four. Initially, I had been maneuvering the yellowish-orange bicycle, before switching to Nicholas’s rose-white-colored one. I’d blush when Sebastian would refer to me as the Desert Posie. Despite the gearing mechanism restricting me to one speed and applying the brakes with my feet instead of hands, I pedaled anywhere Dad wanted to go. Besides the biannual trek to Coal Creek State Park, I followed Dad to Sheezley’s, Bud Smith’s Store, and Julianne’s Ice Cream Shop. The three of us cherished the penny Tootsie Rolls at the Turkey City venue; guzzling Hires Root Beer, Orange Crush, and nibbling on Hershey’s chocolate at the Nineveh establishment; and slurping the creamy hot fudge sundaes at the Marysville shack. It was always a spectacle as our four-legged companion, Spot, insisted on sprinting alongside our caravan. Besides being mindful of passing motorists, we always had to consider the weather! Several times, a wicked black storm would loom along the horizon and we’d have to accelerate our pace! Other predicaments were more dire, like when a dog leaped in front of me along Ninevah Road. I panicked, flipped my bike, and skidded along the asphalt. I backtracked up the hill toward Mom and Dad, who had lagged behind. I screamed for help because blood was streaming into my eyes, which indicated a fairly serious head wound. Nicholas alleged that he could see part of my skull! The mutt’s owners administered a washcloth and antiseptic to the lacerations, and I bristled at Dad’s suggestion to pedal home, retrieve the Dodge Aspen, and transport me to the county seat’s hospital! I only remember rebelling against an injection in the buttocks, then a doctor removing the stitches a week later.

There were two other times in the early eighties where I had close brushes with death: (1) I was watching TV with Mom when a butterscotch candy went down my trachea. I gasped for breath and sprinted for the kitchen faucet. I gulped down some water, but it promptly came back up onto the floor. My mother was close behind to administer the Heimlich maneuver! (2) Another time, I was jazzed over Dad’s golden-tipped metal screwdrivers. So one evening, I stuck it into an electric socket. Miraculously, I only received a mild jolt. My parents stated their disbelief because I should have been electrocuted far worse, or scorched!)

During the snowy, cold winter months indoors, I was rather engrossed with that conspicuously gold-stenciled, white-covered Bible. Otherwise, I treasured this educational encyclopedia that covered many topics in a pictorial fashion, such as various masks that tribes used. I was especially drawn to the first twenty pages, which chronicled man’s launch to the moon! My father informed me that the moon’s diameter was eight thousand miles wide. I wondered how a picture could display all that distance, because I could discern the moon’s edge. I didn’t realize the moon was a round sphere like Earth.

When Dad’s employment was temporarily suspended at the Glee manufacturing plant, I was stumped at why he was brooding over financial matters. The budgetary deliberations triggered a brief interest in money, or at least accounting. My father also unveiled that he had $20,000 stashed away, so I felt proud to belong to a prosperous, secure, strong family! I remember the one day when Dad withdrew $600 and I salivated with greed over what a staggering sum like that could buy! Toward spring 1982, my father returned to Glee and was compensated $100/day. I remarked that we’d be rich soon, but Dad negated my assertion by explaining that our monthly expenses nearly drained the entire $2,000/month pay. The brief interval of unemployment had spurred my mother to enroll for nursing classes! Within two years, Mom’s hospital salary would be bolstering our financial status!

Since Mom hadn’t been strict about potty training, she’d have to clean my soiled underwear and wipe my ass up to age five. Beyond that, I’d pitch my smeared undergarments in the hamper! LOL.

Another bizarre habit that surfaced was pressing my crotch against the brown seat cushion, especially when I folded it in half. I’d also be sexually aroused when I wedged the tail of one of my stuffed animals between the closet door and wall.

Dad, Nicholas, and I were giddy at powering up this battery-operated Chicken Takes a Licken game. The device mimicked tic-tac-toe, where a hen uttered funny sounds while competing with you. Once the handheld console became defective, I was grossed out when my father disassembled the unit to extract the wire circuitry guts. I could barely swallow my mint cookies after observing Dad perform surgery on the computerized chicken!

Throughout summer 1981 and 1982, Nicholas and I were enthralled with "Dukes of Hazzard." We were entranced with Bo and Luke’s daring stunts, Sheriff Rosco and Boss Hog’s amusing antics, Daisy Duke and Jesse’s endearing spirit, and the indestructible, powerful Orange car! Then, we were even more jazzed when "Knight Rider" debuted. I was awed with KITT’s extraordinary abilities, dozens of gadgets, and revolutionary features! Otherwise, we were captivated with how Ralph clumsily executed his flying abilities, telepathic vision, incredible strength, and awesome invisibility on "Greatest American Hero." Lastly, the two of us marveled at how the protagonist on "Incredible Hulk" morphed into a hefty monster.

There were hourly spans when Dad was at Glee and Mom was training for a nursing career. So they’d solicit a Julia to babysit us rowdy brats. One particular evening, our neighbor couldn’t restrain us from trashing the trailer and ripping off the bedsheets! LOL. Thereafter, it was mainly her sister, Donna, that supervised my brother and me. For my birthday, I petitioned her for a one-hundred-foot ruler. I balked when she gifted me yellow pad plus markers and cited the tape measure as indulgent!

To liven up our existence, our family hung out with various relatives, neighbors, and friends.

To have more freedom getting around, Mom procured a dingy green Chevy Monza in January 1982. Despite the used car’s hefty V6 engine, it offered little pep, and its puny interior was constricting. Whenever Mom and her closest sister, Janis, would pile into the car with Nicholas, Daniella, and me, we’d snicker that the undercarriage was practically dragging along the ground! One particular destination was Sonny’s (relative) during a freezing-rain event. We illogically headed out anyway, but about two miles prior to reaching my uncle’s premises, we skidded into a ditch. The five of us teamed up to push the car back onto the glazed surface. During a less-treacherous summer jaunt to Sonny’s, we prepared a barbecue feast. There was another dicey occasion (winter 1983) when Mom channeled along the laborious incline past another neighbor’s (Jig) dwelling but got stuck. Dad applied the principle of mass plus momentum to gain enough traction out of the hollow.

With renewed freedom to venture out when Dad was working, Mom, Janis, Daniella, Nicholas, and I would shop at Jamesway, Sears, Kmart, or Hills, then dine at the newly opened McDonald’s or Wendy’s. Notwithstanding my scrawny size, I’d usually devour a cheeseburger, fries, and six-piece chicken nuggets. Wendy’s was neat because the tables were imprinted with ancient newspaper clippings. For example, the three of us would eagerly study the 1920s advertisements and 1960s headlines. Usually we’d order the kids’ hamburger meal that included a small Frosty treat. I always peered past the cash register to see if the redheaded Wendy would pop her head around the corner, or I’d ponder if this renowned character even existed. Back then, our county seat, Cairo, seemed like such a huge, bustling city with its majestic courthouse, developing Exit 17 corridor, and vibrant Main Street. (The population was only around six thousand residents, with an extra six thousand college students.) I sometimes worried about getting separated from my family in this confusing metropolis and wondered how my parents could safely navigate such a busy area. That misconception was magnified when the five of us visited a mutual friend, Becky, at her university dorm room, which seemed like a hulking skyscraper! However, Nicholas and I kept fussing about leaving this mundane place so we could chow down at McDonald’s!

Otherwise, I applauded any excursion to our favorite grocer, Heath in Marysville. The somber melody and lyrics to Kansas’s Dust in the Wind seemed to be describing the dry, desolate route to the dilapidated village. Eventually, we switched to Riverside, where I recall interrogating Mom as to whether we were located in the exact center of Pennsylvania. I observed this lady grinning as my maternal protector divulged that we were actually situated in western Pennsylvania! Besides that, it was intriguing to skim over the price tags and the manner in which products were advertised or labeled. Plus, I enjoyed hitching a ride in the cart until I outgrew that. Furthermore, my cravings for sweets prompted me to stack the cart with cookies, candy, and cake when Mom wasn’t paying attention. Nevertheless, I was always apprehensive about crossing paths with one of my classmates. Whenever we’d trek to the mazelike Cairo Mall or behemoth Kmart, I’d trail very closely behind Mom. One particular afternoon, I lost my grip on my mother’s hand and became disoriented. I nearly sobbed from shock until this female patron pledged to stay with me until a staff member could pinpoint my mother. She offered me gum, which I declined, because my parents and teachers had always lectured me about not taking candy from strangers. I expressed sorrow for not accepting the treat once my guardian had fulfilled her promise and led me back to Mom!

Janis and Mom transported us kids quite often to my maternal grandparents’ dwelling (Gerald and Dorothy’s). Nicholas, Daniella, and I would freak out over the red eye at the top of the stairs because we’d only discern the