Chapter 5 (Relationships, Friends, Perseverance)

        Chapter 5

                                     (Relationships, friends, perseverance)

 

               I am always ready to learn although I do not always like being taught.

                                                                                     

-Winston Churchhill

 

     Coming from the Port was even more daunting than I expected.  In the middle of third grade in Bridgeport, I was doing addition and subtraction.  In Fairfield, they had already learned long division. I hadn't even learned my multiplication facts.  In Bridgeport, I was printing.  In Fairfield, they had been taught and were using cursive handwriting.  Foolishly, I believed, they would teach those skills and help me catch up.  Suddenly, I was not only the shy, little, poor Jewish boy, I was now the retarded, withdrawn, pint size, desolate, Jew.  I was shrinking by the day and sinking into the abyss.  Maybe I was stupid, but certainly the adults would help me through my travail. Or not.  When help was not forthcoming, I did what any red blooded, American scholar would do...I cheated.  I became the best and most proficient cheater in my class.  No one knew when I was cheating.  Even the cheatees didn't know I was cheating off of them, unless I wanted them to make it easier for me by sliding their paper to the edge of the desk or dropping it on the floor so I could pick it up for them, stealthily glancing at an answer or two.  Not many people would do this for me except my two best friends;  Andy Poppodopolus, the Greek, and Kevin Balboni, the Guinea. We were like three peas in a pod.  We remain good friends to this day, though seldom see each other. 

     Andy had an extended family like no other.  He lived of course with his mother and father and older brother, Mike.  In addition, he lived with his Grandmother and Great Grandmother, neither of whom spoke English.  It would be a riot going over to his house and listen to everybody in the family give Andy instructions in Greek.  They always wanted something from him and believe me, there was some pecking order.  I was somewhat envious of Andy because he spoke Greek fluently and I would listen to these arguments, which, by the way occurred on a daily basis, without having a clue what they were fighting about. You can't make this stuff up.  It got funnier as we grew up and it seemed like his grandparents would go on forever.  The best part of the whole deal was that they were both smaller than me, so there was hope, I thought.

     Kevin also lived with his mother, father, and older brother.  His mother always looked like she was his Grandmother, but I'm sure she was his mother.  They too would always be arguing, but Kevin always would try to get the last word in.

     "Shut up" he would either utter under his breath or just loud enough for his mother to hear. 

     "You shut up" she would quack back, and the argument was over.  I always had a good laugh whenever I visited either of their homes, which was more

frequent as we got older and were able to drive.  They were not of my neighborhood and lived several miles from my house.  They were so different...so foreign.... so entertaining.

    

     School was drudgery, however, from the time I arrived in Fairfield, and the fourth grade mercifully was coming to an end, which was probably a good thing since my teacher was really not that fond of me after I called her fat one day.  She wasn't that fond of me before, but she really disliked me after.  Of course she didn't actually hear me call her fat, but her twitty, rat fink son, who was in her class, overheard me tell someone that I thought she was fat.  Well, this infraction just wouldn't be tolerated, and big, old, fat Mrs. Flounder called my mother and made her come in for a conference.  This was one of many such encounters my poor mother was forced to endure.  How embarrassing it and I must have been for her.  My fourth grade report card reflected my dispassion for school and my disdain for old fatso.  If she was more interested in teaching me how to write cursive or how to perform long division, I might not have struggled so mightily in school.  No, she was insulted so we all had to suffer.

      I was also now becoming interested in the fairer sex, and I don't mean Gary the gay boy.  No, he wasn't fair...he was a fairy, and we all knew it. Nobody really knew what a fairy was or did...we just knew he liked boys more than girls, wasn’t much good in gym and was usually picked last for a game.. Just behind me.  Not that I was a f*g.... Not me.  My infraction was I was puny which in the eyes of the "captains" was a notch above a fairy.  So it went, for years...I was picked near the bottom with either fairy Gary, Paul "Dent" Hart, or George "the animal" Bicker.  Paul's nickname came from the fact that he was born with a huge indention in the back of his head that looked like someone took an ice-cream scooper and dug in for a couple of scoops. He was clumsy, unathletic, wimpy and for Christ sakes, had a crater sized dent in his head that kind of freaked us all out. Sometimes, he wasn't even chosen; just went to the team with the last pick.                                                                        

     George on the other hand… well simply put...looked, acted and even smelled like an animal.  We couldn't really name or see the type of animal he was, he was just unique unto himself.  He also was far down the pecking order, but even he would get picked ahead of me at times.  The thing that pissed me off, and I'm not just saying this, was I was actually pretty good in sports...not great...but okay.  I hated when popular kids got picked before me even though I knew I was better than them.  I would seethe over this and would try extra hard to succeed and to impress everyone and show those captains I was worth picking.  It was a trait ingrained into my whole being through every aspect of my life, everyday of my life, to this moment of my life.  I always felt I had to prove to people, I was valuable, I was worth the risk, and most of all I could be trusted.  This idiosyncrasy, if you want to call it that, shaped my life and made me who I became.  There was a slight detour along the way of course; D-Day plus six years put a slight damper in my maturation period.

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Mockingbird]

there's nothing narcissistic about an autobiographical work (I'm not saying this is about you, but just the point of view). i know that i keep saying this but it never ceases to amaze me how you can become the child:his mind and his soul. i think it's brilliant to make this kid an underdog because of his size, race and class. these are obstacles a young child has to overcome, and your character is doing just fine in all that. he's very amusing too in his observations. his friends are fleshed out, and they become a realistic trio. just like stephen king's 'stand by me' or 'it.' i really enjoy these chapters.

[patricia]

There is a refreshing lack of narcissism in this chapter, you put as much work and even more, into to talking about others, with a very observant eye! I must add, as you do into describing your own experiences. It makes for a very engrossing read. It is a brave write too, there aren't many people willing to put on record their prejudices and less desirable traits, so you have been full of integrity here. A good chapter, well penned. Thankyou.

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the story. I can't remember my youth. Poor mother dragged me to 13 schools and many states. I learn to like to travel at a young age. I like the way you described the school and the people in the story. Thank you for sharing the story.
Coyote

[Leslie Philibert]

Due to limited time I don`t normally read prose, but I had a look at this and enjoyed this.You are in good company about writing about your childhood.And Winston Churchill wasn`t great at school,but was later a good writer as well as politician.

[?]

Awwww, those were the days....I envy you and others that can remember your childhood...school days like this. I am not that lucky...or maybe I am lucky...lol
I think mine is due to being hit on the head at one point in my life. After that happened I couldnt remember alot of my childhood.. I see pictures in the photo albums and its like a stranger or something...I dont remember any of it. lol Considering the how and why and with what I was hit with, that could me a good thing, dont know. lol
This was a wonderful story, I love the greek language among others, just wish I could speak and understand some, so I could at least know what they or who they were talking about...Awesome story Allen....Chapter 6?

[Jessica E. Hamilton]

I like this. It reminds me of when I was in school. It was like going back...brrr.