Pages From The Memory Vault Book III Part IV

Sorry about the gap again, but another, and far better change in jobs has made me a tad busy lately. Anyway, you're not here to hear about that. Let's make with the goodies...

This little trip down memory lane is going to be a bit of catch-up. You see, over the course of this little blog I have come to remember a few more tidbits from the years I have pretty much already covered. So, in order to be as thorough as possible, I thought I'd retrace a few of my steps and drop in some of these recently remembered memories. Cool? Cool.

The first one I can remember happened on the playground while I attended Central Elementary. The logistics are a bit fuzzy, but I do recall it centered around my 'girlfriend' Jenny Motycka (I air-quote that because I'm pretty sure I only assumed she was my girlfriend). Anyway, there was a new boy on the grounds, I think his name was Bobby Something... maybe McSomething. Look, I can't remember everything. Anyway, he was all up in my territory and I wasn't really thrilled about it. So, it just so happened that I was wearing hiking boots that day... steel toe, even, and I decided to take it upon myself to shove him in the dirt and kick him square in the eye. That's right: the eye. I don't know if I felt good about myself or not, but I did manage to gather quite a crowd who cheered me on. I also don't recall if Jenny was impressed or not. I'm gonna say likely not.

Another time was a time I pooped my pants. That wasn't the worst part. No, the worst part was that I was 12. Yup. That's right: 12. I was walking home from Junior High (Portage Northern) and I had stopped to get my MAD Magazine so I was a bit further from home than usual, and suddenly I was overcome by a horrible wave of nausea. You know what I mean: cool flashes, that sinking feeling in the pit of your guts that starts out rumbly and quickly escalates into a full-on Poo-Mergency (my brother coined that term, by the way). Well, I started speeding up my pace and clenching my butt, but time and the pressure of actually moving was having none of that clenching nonsense. And so, just as I hit the Haverhill playground -literally 1/2 mile from my house- the floodgates flew open and a very wet plop escaped and landed firmly like a moist baseball right into the mitt that was my pants. That was a fun one to try to hide in the laundry, let me tell you.

How about falling out of a tree? Anyone ever do that? That is not a fun time, let me tell you. Especially when you're about 20 feet up. There's more, but I won't bury the lead. So there I was, climbing up with one of my toy action figures in my hand, my brother just behind me (I think we were around seven and four because we still lived on Liszt). Suddenly, the branch I was using to swing on from one perch to another snapped clean of the pine tree, and I was a goner. I plummeted like a bloated corpse those 20 feet breaking several limbs on the way down. Sadly, they did very little to impede my descent and served only to really, really hurt. As I neared earth, I immediately realized that we had a really nice sandbox directly in my path... my path of my head. Luckily, I hit the ground at such an angle that the damage to my melon was limited, but it still hurt like hell. Knocked the wind out of me, too. I don't climb trees much, anymore.

Well, that's the skinny for now. See ya soon with a continuation of my life line... 

Pages From The Memory Vault Book III Part III (THE DREAM)

This at first didn't seem like the most appropriate place to write about a dream I just had last night, until it occurred to me that it kind of is. You see, I have a tendency to remember good sized chunks of my dreams and I have been able to for as long as I can remember. So, if you look at it that way, it is part of what makes me... me? Okay, on with this wacky nonsense...

For some reason it starts out in this epic, sprawling mall that always seems to make appearances in my dreams. Now I'm no Dream Scientist, but it's become increasingly obvious that this 'Mall' is what houses all of the little side tracks and stores to other dreams. Understand? It's like a way station to other dreams and it binds and connects every one of my dreams together, in a way. So there's the mall, and I'm wandering the middle of it through what appears to be some kind of show where sellers are peddling everything from cool action figures to comic books to art work. You see, this is my kind of joint. I love big, open 'Shows' like this and I'm particularly fond of Cinema Wasteland in Ohio where just such a thing goes on, only with a horror theme. Anyway, I was walking around and I stumble across a book that I really want. It appears to be some kind of graphic novel and the artist is right there at the table, so I get it signed.

I turn around and head for one of the stores where, oddly, I spot my mom. She tells me to go on in, and as I do, it instantly turns into a vast college campus and I'm climbing an exterior set of stairs into my dorm. My two roommates are people I've never seen before, but seem to be made of several people I used to know, like high school friends and such. So there we were, sitting around our dorm when the two of them begin smoking weed. I tell them I can't because I have to get a drug test for a job as a camp counselor at a Summer Camp where my kids are going. But the smoke gets heavy and I have to leave. At this point I just know that I breathed in a bunch of smoke and I need to think fast because the test is later that day. So, miraculously, one of my roomies pokes his head out and hands me a container of pee from a student that no longer goes to that school. He says they use it all the time to past tests. So I grab it and head out.

The next scene picks up apparently right after the test because there are a bunch of us college-age kids who have applied for counseling jobs sitting around a half circle of picnic tables watching an older lady talk about the job at hand. I'm listening, but also absently flipping through that book I bought at the Mall part of my dream. Suddenly, I'm surrounded my three cops who ask me to come with them and proceed to harass me about the fact that I am not who the pee test says I am and I'm no way a med student and not working at a hospital, and so forth. Everyone is staring as they escort me to their car and drive me 'downtown'. I was pleading with them that I didn't actually DO anything, but I had to use the fake pee because I was worried I'd not be able to counsel my own kids. They didn't listen, and I was brought to 'Jail'.

Well, 'Jail' definitely wasn't a Jail in the traditional sense of the word. In fact, it was more like a run-down doctor's office waiting room. Yeah, there were 'inmates' who were grungy and standard 'TV issue jail folk', but it didn't even sort of look like a jail. I the office of this jail was a lady who was handling all the cases. She was a no-nonsense woman who frequently called out numbers and told the riff-raff to 'Shut up!'. I was a little worried because I knew that if my wife found out I'd be in serious trouble. So, the woman came out and asked for my paper work and told me to explain to her what happened. I told her the story and she seemed sympathetic, but told me to wait anyway until a judgement could be passed. So I wandered back to the waiting room, and suddenly all of the ruffians from within were super friendly and we all sat around and read my book. Seriously. That's how it ended as I woke up. Wow. Bizarre.

Pages From The Memory Vault Book III Part II

It's exhausting taking such long breaks between posts because I lose track of what I was talking about and kinda get the wind sucked out of my sails. So, to recap, my parents were divorced, and my mom and the three of us (my brother, sister, and I) moved Fescue in the same neighborhood presumably to finish out the school year before we pressed on to a different location. I remember being in 7th grade... or at least the tail end of it, but this is the point in my Junior High career where I literally remember nothing about school. The fact that much of middle school is a blur doesn't help much, but the latter half of 7th and probably all of 8th are just not there. And I think it's because I was doing my part to balance a shattered family with education, and wrapping the whole mess in a bag full of personal demons and self aggravation. This will eventually lead to me visiting a shrink... but that's not for a while.

In the background my mother quietly began dating a member of my Dad's softball team. I think I mentioned that before. His name was Joe Nardelli, and he was built like a 'fire plug'. Stocky, barrel-chested, and slightly gruff... but all in all a decent guy. I'm not sure what my mom's plans for him were within the family structure. He already had two daughters of his own, right around my age, and there was just something about him that didn't really scream commitment. In fact (though he was around a bit) he never really tried to take on a paternal roll with the three of us, and that might be due to the fact that he new my dad pretty well and it was just really uncomfortable territory. Whatever the case, he wasn't there very long.

One thing I do remember is he took my brother and I out shooting once. Just into the woods with a shotgun and maybe a rifle. Up to that point I had never even held a gun that wasn't either loaded with plastic darts or BB's, or transformed into a robot, so I guess it was pretty exciting. We stood around some big trees and stumps and shot stuff. Seriously. That was it. I guess the guy was a pretty avid hunter, so that was why he had guns and wanted us to learn how to be men. Or else he was a bizarre serial killer with a conscience. Oh well, doesn't matter now.

But all the while, especially during weekends and vacation breaks, I was never home. I just didn't feel comfortable around anyone, especially my mom. It was whispered to me (by my dad, unsurprisingly) that it was her doing that they were divorced and that it was a big surprise to him. Well, since my dad was my dad, and just about the most prominent real-father figure I'd had (even aside from my best friend Kerry, who pretty much stayed out of the divorce advice territory) I believed him and began blaming mom, too. And it was right about then I began to realize that my parents had begun to use me against one another.

At first I didn't catch on. I'd just casually report messages from one to the other like some kind of twisted mailman. But then messages turned into little bits of information that I really didn't think I ought to be knowing about. But then I wised up and started using this little sick tennis match to my advantage. I became manipulative like you read about. I could, nearly every time, get what I want just by making myself seem upset and torn up over the messages I was relaying. And it worked. No divorced couple wants to see their oldest child -the one they were using as their own personal parrot- upset over what was essentially their fault in the first place. Well, I milked it for all it was worth and I got just about anything I wanted. For a while. Because eventually they did wise up. But the ride was fun while it lasted.

So what's next for everyone? Well, let's just say I acquire two Step-Parents in pretty rapid succession. That chapter's about to open wide, kids. Stay tuned...

Pages From The Memory Vault Book III Part I

So, let's catch up to just where I sit at this point. As you know, if you've been keeping up, my parents have just gotten separated, and I think it's sometime in the fall of 1987. This makes me about 13, and a decision has been made that I am going rogue. Yeah, I made the conscious choice to become kind of an elusive jerk. In fact, after my dad moved out, my mom and the three of us moved with my mom to Fescue, which was a street on the complete opposite end of the exact same neighborhood. Which in and of itself, was great because I still wasn't too far away from my friends... especially Kerry Frieben. I say this because it was there where I spent the majority of my time both after school and on vacations from same. He really kind of took me in and became like a surrogate 'older brother' to me. And Chad was there on occasion as well, but it was most often Kerry and I and we did so much stuff together.

Oh, and it was also at this time that my mom got us a baby sitter. Yeah, one of those. Fortunately, he was a really great guy from a family that my Grandparents knew named Rick. He wasn't strict in the least and pretty much just let us do what we wanted to do... within reason. I am convinced, however, that my mother told him that I was skating through a rebellious period and to just let me be. Rick was cool with it, and I was so infrequently home that he hardly had to deal with me anyway. So all was good.

Kerry and I would go fishing, hiking, bike riding, out to movies, and spend countless hours wasting life away on his myriad video game systems like the Atari 7800. We were inseparable. We were, in fact, just like brothers and that was just fine. But what about my real brother, you might be asking yourself? Well, sadly, I honestly do not remember. I do know during our tenure on Fescue he got really big into pets. He had a rabbit, a snake, a lizard, and probably some fish. So I'm assuming this was he release from the stress going on round us. And as far as my sister went, well, she was 7, so as far as I know she was the real reason for having Rick around. She had a few friends, as well, but beyond that... I just can't remember much more.

I still enjoyed Scouts and my dad still took the time to make sure I made it to and from my meetings, though at this point he was no longer actively involved other than to assist me on projects and the occasional weekend gig. And speaking of my dad, it was this time he moved away from his own parents' house... again, and found an apartment at the then-new Candlewyck complex.And it was also this time where I witnessed a few things from my dad that as an impressionable youth... well, I was pretty disgusted with and damn frightened. You see, he had been on a local Softball league for a few years and one of the things they did after a game was to go get pirate-drunk. Look, I'm not blaming him for that... far from it. What I am holding against him is taking us to the very bar in which he'd slowly fall into inebriation because the whole team knew the owners and did the same with their kids. And it was at this time when he'd drive us, drunk, back to his apartment and I'd lie awake nights listening to him regurgitate his sorrows. Is it any wonder I'd taken on a slightly angry air? I'm asking you like you were there... yikes.

Oh, and before I finish this entry, this was also the time my mother began dating a member of my dad's Softball team. Just so bizarre.... but I'll get more into that next time.

See ya then...

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 15

Divorce. It's a pretty common occurrence, actually. And I've seen quite a few of them in my time. Sadly, the first of which was my parents. In fact, of all the things I can readily remember from life on Suffolk, this was not only the biggest memory, but also likely the biggest bombshell at the time (and, according to the therapist I used to chat with, might still be). Anyway, I still relive the moment sometimes in dreams; the moment when I saw what I assumed was a pretty stable marriage collapse right before my eyes. Little did I know that there was a lot going on behind the curtains that framed the facade, but I don't need to get into that. But I will share how it went down. It's cathartic, ya know?

If I remember right, it was 1986. I was 12. My dad and I used to do work-outs in our basement together. He had a weight bench and a few other pieces of exercise equipment, and we would kind of putz our way through some reps and what not and it was fun. It was me and my dad time, and I remember it pretty fondly. So one day -it might have been late afternoon or even a Sunday (maybe both, I guess), we were in the basement pretending like we were training for an Olympics that should never exist: one where slightly doughy fathers and boys with no muscle tone vie for aluminum foil medallions and chicken wings. He sat me down, my brother, too... he was hanging about being 9 and not caring about biceps or cal's. And he basically told us that he and mom wouldn't be living together any more and that (and this part is necessary for any divorce talk involving children) it wasn't our fault. Well, my brother didn't quite grasp the concept, but it hit me right away because my buddy Chad's parents were separated, too. I knew what it meant: divorce. He then told us that they just didn't feel any love for one another any more and that he'd be moving out very soon. Needless to say, I wept.

Soon, we went up the stairs to talk to my mom and I can remember it -the ascention- feeling like I was climbing into a filthy house I really didn't want to be in. It felt dank and nasty. I knew my siblings and I had nothing to do with what was going on... I knew it but it still felt like somehow not being the best kid ever was a partial catalyst for their marital destruction. So I went up into a home that wasn't a home anymore and the agony was palpable. I could feel and taste the gorge rising in my throat, and I knew it would burst forth into a torrent of crying the very second I saw my mom. You see, crying in front of my dad (I bet a lot of guys will understand this) was weird. I wasn't like I'd never done it, but there was never that kind of matronly protection one gets from a mom. So I knew, the moment I saw my mom it was going to open the flood gates. And I wasn't wrong. She held me as she pretty much replayed the same words my dad had already told us as she cried as well. Finally it sunk in to my brother, and he, too, began to sob. I'm not sure if my 6-year old sister ever fully understood it at the time, or if she just cried because everyone else was. But she cried just the same.

The rest of that day is a meaningless blur. I don't know what happened after and I don't really care, either. But the next day, which I do remember being a Monday, I walked to school just like any other day and met Chad at his house. He was the first friend I told because I knew he'd be the one to understand. And he was. He told me that it sucked and that life would go on. And that was enough for me, because if Chad could move on, so could I. Well, it did suck. Especially when my dad actually left. He lived with his parents for a while before finding his own place, and those days were weird going over there for weekends and just seeing him so morose and broken. It sucked a whole lot.

We eventually moved, too. And that will bring us to the third book of this little ride down memory lane. Stay tuned!

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 14

Well, I have to apologize up front for the large gap between posts, here, but a new job takes it out of a guy. Seriously, 10-hour days literally sap the energy from a body and a mind. But I did think of something yesterday that fits right into the puzzle, and I figured I'd get it down before I nod off again...

People often ask me, "When did you learn to draw and write?" And you know what? I really don't know. I don't really remember a specific time when I wasn't drawing something, honestly, but I do know that it was during this particular time of my life (my days on Suffolk) where I really began to share my artwork with other people, specifically friends. I had always been something of an artist in school, and I frequently had artwork displayed in art class or where ever, but that was scholastically and it never really sunk in that those times were the real kick-starters. However, at home I really kind of just doodled here and there and was praised, ya know, much like any other kid would be when their parents proudly hung their pictures from the fridge. But when it came to really showing my friends that I had some kind of discernible talent... well, that was the big moment, I suppose.

I guess I was just born with some kind of artistic ability. I think most people are, it just takes practice and enjoyment to retrieve it, and a desire to want to turn it into something helps, too. So? Who were my influences? Believe it or not, I had two major points of interest who really sparked my love for cartoons and illustrations: Jim Davis (Garfield, U.S. Acres), and Don Martin (MAD Magazine). There was just something about these two that really piqued my interest. Maybe it was their balloon-y appearances to their characters, or maybe it was their expressions and mannerisms that came out in their work. Most likely, it was a combination of these and many other things, but whatever the case, I fell hard for the works of these guys and voraciously fed off and copied their designs. I wanted to draw just like them, and so, I did. I had no real style of my own at first, but eventually, copying became cues, and cues blended into the work I created on my own. I think this truly is the way any artist starts his or her work: mocking and adapting. Eventually, over the years, my style has become my own.

As for writing, it's a bit less of a story, really. I think once you realize you're and artist, may other forms of art just kind of come naturally. For me, it was writing and, weirdly, cooking. I took up a love for poetry and even writing book reports in school because I tended to add my own spin to them. I began writing along with my artwork, and, eventually creating comic strips and character bio's and silly things like that. That, soon, led to writing in semi-professional manners and, well, to this, I suppose.

So there you have it: a very brief synopsis of how and why I like make pretty pictures and words. Neat!

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 13

Hey! How about some pictures! Yeah, that's right... good old embarrassing pictures.

Before you see them, though, let me just say that they are both Middle School pics -you can easily tell by the sweatshirt I'm wearing. I think we're looking at 6th and 7th grade here, but I don't know why I'm not wearing my glasses in the second one. As for the glasses in the first, well, they are roughly the size of windshields. Look at those things! I was obviously a kid and the place at which we acquired one of my first pair obviously hadn't heard of children's sizes yet. Those things were so big I could see what was happening behind and above me without even moving my head! Yikes. Apparently I really enjoyed that chair as the backdrop, because being the Rattan King is nothing to scoff at. And please, don't even get me on a tangent about my hair. All I know is I had to brush that nonsense with a pick and a prayer. And that's the very reason why I shave my head now. That hot mess never needs to see the light of day again.

Anyway, here ya go...