Last Revised August 5, 2011

Through These Eyes

The courageous struggle to find meaning in a life stressed with cancer

An Autobiography by Lauren Ann Isaacson 1961-1986

Original Hardcover Book: Copyright 1990
Released into public domain: 2006
Library of Congress Catalog Card #90 93276
ISBN 0-9628196-0-3

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Early Years 1 Chapter 2 My Brothers 11 Chapter 3 Todd's Illness 16 Chapter 4 Fifth Grade 19 Chapter 5 Norm / Marriage 24 Chapter 6 Norm / Reflections 28 Chapter 7 Todd / Reflections 31 Chapter 8 Sixth Grade 33 Chapter 9 Discovery of Tumor 38 Chapter 10 Preparation and Surgery 49 Chapter 11 Diagnosis and Recovery 53 Chapter 12 Chemotherapy 70 Chapter 13 Year at Home and Diary 87 Chapter 14 Summer 1976 111 Chapter 15 Return to School 114 Chapter 16 Divorce 119 Chapter 17 Ninth Grade 127 Chapter 18 Summer 1977 133 Chapter 19 Tenth Grade 137 Chapter 20 Eleventh Grade 140 Chapter 21 Twelfth Grade 160 Chapter 22 Summer 1980 167

Chapter 23 Black Hawk College 175 Essays: Views on Choice 181 Views on Awareness 183

Chapter 24 Interlude 187

Chapter 25 Return of Cancer 195 Essays: Suffering 212 Quality in Life 213 Bargaining and Prayer 214

Chapter 26 Categories of Acceptance 216 Chapter 27 Frustrations 225 Chapter 28 Christmas 1981 230 Chapter 29 Self Imposed Barriers 232 Chapter 30 Autumn at Augustana 236 Chapter 31 Depression 243 Chapter 32 Basic Day 246 Chapter 33 Treatment / Hoax 251 Chapter 34 Journey to Greece 254 Chapter 35 In Limbo 263 Chapter 36 Reflections 267 Chapter 37 Zenith of Grief 276 Chapter 38 Personal Belief 284 Chapter 39 Reminiscence 286 Chapter 40 God, My View 288 Chapter 41 Continuum 291

THROUGH THESE EYES, written by Lauren A. Isaacson (10 Dec 1961 - 16 Jul 1986), is rare in several respects. At the age of twelve, she was diagnosed as having cancer of the stomach; leiomyosarcoma is a cancer prevalent in older women. She was accepted at the Mayo Clinic for research, and after a five year period was given a clean bill of health. During her sixth year following chemotherapy, she was diagnosed as suffering from the same cancer; it had invaded the liver.

Lauren decided to write her life story. Her treatment of elementary school days, junior high, her year of chemo and her home tutor, her return to ninth grade wearing her wig, the first day she went without that wig, high school experiences, her modeling contract, the way she coped with her impending death, the continuing of her college education until she could no longer physically endure, the trauma of seeing her 32 year old brother die; all relate an aura, a searching for quality in each given day.

Her thoughts on acceptance, awareness, anger, guilt, her views of an omnipotent being, God; her ability to write poetry as she viewed and photographed life around her; the maturity and depth of her writings bring with them humor as well as pathos. She was concerned about those who loved her and those who medically assisted her. It was her hope to help others facing adversity, or who have loved ones suffering the direct trauma. Her journal was her companion as she coped with life. It brought her peace and acceptance; she would hope it could do the same for others.

Much of her manuscript is complete; it was necessary for her to outline journal entries she wished copied. I, her mother, have completed those listings and have related her final two and one half days at Hospice.

Journal entry June 29, 1986…The night is loud with thunder; the deep, sharp rumbling that shakes the house as if to remind the world that it is alive. It is not subtle, but in its brazen clap, I can find reason to rejoice; I live in the shadows of a wondrous and beautiful world, yet thunder is one element of nature from which I have not been excluded, for it penetrates walls.

Lauren's exclusion began after Christmas, 1985. She was confined to her hide-a-way in the upstairs of her home until Hospice on 14 of July, and died 16 July, 1986.

Respectfully submitted,

Muriel K. Isaacson (Mother)

Dedicated to…

those who came with culinary delights who shared of their time making crafts and visiting who brought lovely plants, curios and books who shared roses from their garden who, through Laurie's five year illness, remembered her often with cards and gifts of money and especially those who lifted her name and her family in supportive love and prayer.

Journal Quotes

"Carrying a secret would have been like transporting a dandelion seed head on a windy day."

"Cancer. One word, and yet it made such a difference; it was almost mathematical; just as surely as positive and negative numbers, multiplied, equaled a negative response, certainty coupled with uncertainty yielded uncertainty."

"Cancer knew no barrier and bore no prejudice; cancer took the weak, the strong, the indifferent, the proud, the cheerful, the embittered; it took all, greedily in an unquenchable hunger."

"Only acceptance can wash away the flames born of despair."

"The more the mind grows the more humble its 'master' becomes, for he realizes that knowledge is infinity and infinity cannot be encapsulated in the human brain."

Excerpt from Diary
June 22, 1984

…In a relationship, truth can often times hurt. So, I am faced with the problem of whether to tell the truth or speak nothing. I would never choose to jeopardize a relationship, yet if that relationship is full of deception, or other undesirable attributes, and undiscerned by the other, is it noble to hold one's peace? For to bespeak truths could lead to ruinous separation…yet, a one-sided relationship is of no account.

If I could but harness the energy begotten of my anger towards self-obsessive persons, I could heat the house for a month. Perhaps, with time, I shall be able to transfer that energy toward the thinking of constructive thoughts. Anger cannot be felt without sustaining internal damage; a raging emotional fire surely must char the mind.

Prologue

DEATH

Man's basic instinct is to survive, and despite all the civilizing and technological factors of the present, that basic instinct has remained. Though the improvements rendered on society through modernization has allowed each individual to live at a more leisurely pace, those same devices, conveniences and services have also separated each life from the healing qualities inherent in a life lived close to nature.

So often I have heard the remark, "Nature is cruel," yet I cannot regard that statement to be wholly true; nature should not be given a character which is labeled, at various intervals in time, as "good" or "bad"; it merely functions to the mutual interactions of all life. For life to continue, there must also be death. Nature is the intricate mechanism behind all living and dying things; it is reality in its most elemental sense. Unfortunately, it is the one reality which modern society has attempted to purge from all minds, and replace with a perverted idea of life; since it is nearly impossible for a man to live naturally, society has also obliterated the idea that one can die naturally, and quietly.

Even though one is facing death, it is yet difficult to relinquish that instinct, as well as the instinct to escape pain. One will do everything in his power to escape a sniper's gun, just as he would remove his hand from the hot kettle or jump at the prick of a needle. It is natural to protect ourselves. While sightless and immobile elderly may "want to die," they would never take their life.

In the case of disease and debilitation, a line must be drawn. When no treatment is available, one must say "enough" and try to find peace. Perhaps mercy will one day be a part of medicine.

Death should not be shielded from the young, and borne solely by the old; when death is faced, one can better learn to live.

Overcoming Disability and Death
The True Hero

Some may argue that the only true heroes confronting a terminal and/or disabling disease are those who have overpowered that disease. May I respectfully disagree?

Lauren fought valiantly to retain a best level of health and ability, in spite of day after day, night after night, of chronic nausea, sweating, and fatigue. To give courage to anyone facing chronic disease, she fought to continue writing, even when physically and mentally exhausted. She continued to write, even up to her very last days of life. She was, and is, the true hero.

If you have faith in a higher power than either yourself or humanity in general; and if you have overpowered your disease or disability by faith, you are to be highly commended. If, by the grace of that same power, you have given your best effort, and your disease or disability either totally destroys your capacity, or demands your life; you are also deserving of honor.

Even those who found healing through faith in a higher power eventually met their earthly death; most likely by some disease that they could not, in spite of their faith, overcome. And death is a blessing, a relief from earthly suffering, not a horrid finality.

Faith in a higher power can afford courage in death, and timeless eternity in love.

Lauren's brother,
Todd Isaacson

Monday, April 3, 2006
Revised November 29, 2006

Spanish Letter (from a pen-pal from New Zealand)

Hola!

Me llamo Dean
Soy de Nueva Zelanda
Tengo 29 anos

Hay cuatro en mi familia, Mis padres, mi hermana y yo. Mis padres viven en Auckland, Nueva Zelanda. Mientras mi hermana vive en Wigan, Inglaterra con Su familia.

Mi padre Uama Merv. Fune cincuerta y cuatro anos. Frabaja en La policia. Habla Maori y Jngles. Juega rugby y tenis. Foca La guitarra. Es muy simpatico, generoso, introvetido, sincero y sentimental. No es cruel, terrible y impulsivo. Se gusta viajar con mi madre.

Mi madre Uana Jan Fiene cincuerta anos. Habla Jngles, no habla Maori. No trabaja tambier. Se gusta nadar y beber. Es muy simpatico, generosa, servical, impulsivo y guapa. No es cruel, introvertido y rebelde.

Mi hermana Uama Tracy. Tiene Viente y seis anos. Tiene un esposo y dos ninos. La nina el mayor que la nino. Habla Italiano y ingles. No habla Maori. Es guapa, simpatica, maravellosa, Trabajadora y divertida. No es optimista, terrible, cruel, y aburrida.

Letter as corrected, with gratitude to Esther Erbele, Waterloo, Iowa, April 19, 2006.

Please note: Since the English alphabet lacks certain features commonly used in Spanish, the following words are given below, with explanation:

llamo - pronounced YAH-mo.

anos - requires a wavy line (tilde) over the n,
pronounced AHN-yos.

nina - requires a wavy line (tilde) over the second n,
pronounced NEEN-yah.

nino - requires a wavy line (tilde) over the second n,
pronounced NEEN-yo.

ninos - requires a wavy line (tilde) over the second n,
pronounced NEEN-yos.

Ingles - requires an accent mark over the es,
pronounced een-GLES.

simpatica - requires an accent mark over the at,
pronounced seem-PAT-ee-kah.

simpatico - requires an accent mark over the at,
pronounced seem-PAT-ee-ko.

Punctuation: In Spanish, the exclamation point (and the question mark) appear at the end of the sentence, and "upside down" at the beginning of the same sentence.

Hola!

Me llamo Dean
Soy de Nueva Zelanda
Tengo 29 anos

Hay cuatro en mi familia, Mis padres, mi hermana y yo. Mis padres viven en Auckland, Nueva Zelanda. Mientras que mi hermana vive en Wigan, Inglaterra, con su familia.

Mi padre se llama Merv, tiene cincuenta y cuatro (54) anos.
Trabaja en la policia. Habla Maori e Ingles. Juega rugby y tenis.
Toca la guitarra. Es muy simpatico, generoso, ocupado, sincero
y sentimental. No es cruel, terrible o impulsivo.
Le gusta viajar con mi madre.

Mi madre se llama Jan, tiene cincuenta (50) anos. Habla Ingles,
no habla Maori. No trabaja tambien. Le gusta nadar y beber.
Es muy simpatica, generosa, servicial, impulsivo y guapa.
No es cruel, introvertido o rebelde.

Mi hermana se llama Tracy, tiene viente y seis (26) anos. Tiene un esposo y dos ninos. La nina es mayor, que el nino. Habla Italiano e Ingles. No habla Maori. Es guapa, simpatica, maravillosa, trabajadora y divertida. No es oportunista, terrible, cruel, o aburrida.

Letter translated by Esther Erbele,
Waterloo, Iowa, April 19, 2006.

Hello!

My name is Dean
I'm from New Zealand
I'm 29 years old

There are four (4) in my family, my parents, my sister, and I. My parents live in Aukland, New Zealand. Meanwhile, my sister lives in Wigan (Manchester), England, with her family.

My father named Merv is fifty-four (54) years old. He works in the police department. He speaks Maori and English. He plays rugby and tennis. He plays the guitar. He is agreeable generous, involved, sincere, and sentimental. He is not cruel, terrible, or impulsive. He likes to travel with my mother.

My mother named Jan is fifty (50) years old. She speaks English, does not speak Maori. She does not work also. (She is not employed outside the home.) She likes to swim and drink (refreshments). She is agreeable, generous, a helper, impulsive, and good looking. She is not cruel, introverted, or rebellious.

My sister named Tracy is twenty-six (26) years old. She has a husband and two (2) children. The girl is older than the boy. (Tracy) speaks Italian and English. She doesn't speak Maori. She is good looking, agreeable, marvelous, a good worker, and enjoys herself. She is not opportunistic, terrible, cruel, or boring.

(Lauren's trip to Mexico is presented on PAGE 160
Chapter 21 - Twelfth Grade.)

PAGE 1

Chapter 1

Early Years

"Having no definite values, one is nothing, insubstantial and devoid of character."

CHAPTER ONE

Early Years

Long before I entered the world, my family indulged in activities which germinated lasting memories in their minds, and though I do not personally recall such events, their existence often touched my life in some way. Had my ancestors lived differently over the course of time, the most insignificant alteration could have impeded my very life. Such is the delicate thread from which humanity is suspended and on which we depend to obtain, and retain life.

The two individuals to whom I am inextricably bound, are, of course, my parents. Through their childhood reflections, I have been able to meld history into my being, for their past is part of me.

I always loved older people, especially those who had not allowed themselves to become embittered by time and the changes it renders upon all living and inanimate things. Too often, old age is maligned, as if it is a communicable disease that, avoided or ignored, will never touch more than that which it has already claimed. Reacting thus, an individual gains nothing and loses the joy begotten of the remembrances related through wrinkled smiles and twinkling eyes. Older people have much to give; love, which like a fine wine, matures and is sweeter with age; reflections of the past that, unheard, will be buried and appreciated by no one; and the wisdom and tranquillity of character that comes with the acceptance of death and the ability to live.

Many times I hear the complaint that an older person is "set in his ways" and will yield to no fresh mode of thought. To me, this indicates that the older individual has an established ethical and moral code which evolved through a life-long struggle for inner peace. Predictability, under these conditions, is earned; each of life's problematic questions had been meticulously solved, carving daily the beliefs which became the man. Having no definitive values, one is nothing, insubstantial and devoid of character.

I cherish my father's childhood memories, and always listen with fascination when he tells and retells past events. Through his speech, I am able to grasp the bygone years and color the family portrait of which I was never an active part.

My father's father died before I was born and his mother shortly thereafter. John Emil and Hilda Isaacson; ancient names, they seemed to me, yet Dad's memory brought life to their photographs and instilled in me a wish that I could have known them as had my father. John Emil was a character; and insatiable tease who provoked the more serious Hilda: he made dandelion wine and tested it so frequently that it was entirely consumed before attaining an alcohol consistency. He ice-sailed on the Mississippi, showing little concern for the dangers of air holes and thin ice while traveling at a high rate of speed. He had learned to swim by being pushed off a river barge.

Dad never learned to swim, perhaps because he was never given as good an opportunity as his father. This served as no impediment to fun, however. He was always busy; if he did not have toys, he made them, setting to work with a natural expertise for the mechanical realm. From the Buddy L and other junk yards and garbage heaps, he and his brother salvaged rejected parts and recycled them into usable toys. He fashioned bicycles in the same manner; later, parts were gathered….a scrapped frame, a model T motor from a neighbor, a coupe body from another area….Bravo!…the finished product…a car! When the gas in the tank was low, it was necessary to go backwards up the hill, allowing gas to flow into the carburetor.

Dad told of dares waged between himself and a neighbor boy wherein each boy jumped from one large tree to the branches of another tree; he laughed about the crabapples which he blew sky-high using firecrackers and a metal pipe. He recalled holidays, from the Christmas when his father told the children, "There will be no toys this year because you'll have a new baby brother," and his accompanying joylessness toward that news. Joy returned, however, when he received a wind-up train and the accompanying round track. He reminisced about the Easter egg hunts where the hoard was heaped upon the table, and, under four watchful sets of eyes, divided by size and color until the remaining odd number of eggs were given to his mother. I heard of the one valentine which he received in second grade that had been used and reused countless times. I learned, also, of the severe case of diphtheria, which at six, nearly claimed his life. He related actually seeing fiery flames leaping from his bed sheets while struggling to overcome his high fever.

About the time that my father had reached ten years of age, my mother was born in Elgin, Illinois. I was privileged to interact with my mother's parents whose heritage was somewhat different from that of my father. My grandfather, Leslie Howard Anderson, was a descendant of Mary Chilton, who crossed the ocean on the Mayflower with her parents James and Susanna. She became the wife of John Winslow whose family came from Dartwich, England. There follows such historical places as Plymouth and Bridgewater, Massachusetts; the era of the steamboats and Mary Chilton's name gracing one of the boats; the name "Howard" down through the lineage to my uncle, Leslie Howard Anderson, Jr.; the descendants move from Bridgewater to Detroit, Michigan and on to Dixon, Illinois; the trek from Illinois in a covered wagon to lay claim to a quarter of a section in Ole Brul County in South Dakota, and the stories of homesteading in the little sod house whose walls were papered with newspaper…all fascinating!

My Grandmother Anna's parents came from Germany to America before they were ten years of age. In the 1800's the Kaiser was mobilizing his forces. Immigration was popular during this period. Grandma tells of fighting with her sister over who was to control (by hand) the dasher for the wooden washing machine; of hitting a fellow schoolmate over the head with her lunch pail because of his incessant teasing, of the shoulder that was a little lower than the other, and how her brothers would sit in church and keep moving their shoulders up and down to remind her to hold that shoulder "up" while she led the group in "Opening Exercises." Church school was an important part of her life and she served as a Sunday School teacher well into her 70's.

It would be nothing short of a lie to say that I actually remember my first years of life, having, as it was, little to do with life's crises except assuring myself of thoughtless comfort. I indulged in the selfish desires that typify the usual child, gleefully absorbed in play until I discovered that I had soiled my diapers or was shot with a pang of hunger.

Perhaps it would be accurate to say that my earliest memories were not truly remembrances at all, but rather, images that were repeatedly described to me until I finally adopted them for my own.

My earliest actual memories evolve around the age of four years. By that time, I was capable of performing many duties for myself, and my vocabulary was developing rapidly. I had the ability to form conceptions of others, and thus relationships began to materialize. I could now be considered an active family member, for I was no longer solely dependent upon my parents, or my siblings, to be the mechanism behind my existence.

I suppose that one might say I was spoiled to the extent that good loving can spoil a child, although each member of my family agrees that I was not spoiled in the obnoxious sense of the word. I was never a nuisance, either to other children or to adults. I promptly did what I was instructed to do; so obedient was I, in fact, that a strong word or tone of voice had the ability to bring tears to my eyes. I caused no trouble, nor did I want any trouble.

I recall an encounter with Great Uncle Gust in which I was bidden to sit on his lap. Upon close observation, however, I was appalled to discover that the elderly gentleman had only four fingers on one of his large hands. I shied away from him. This was a rather traumatic sight to deal with at that age, for I had only been exposed to the facets of life which would be classified as "normal."

Despite my timidity toward sharp words and unusual events, I cannot say this trait carried over into the physical world of scrapes and bruises. I rarely cried for bodily injury, electing on most occasions to laugh and exclaim about the stupidity of my lack of coordination. A case in point, falling off of Mary's bicycle into her father's bed of roses. I was willing to testify that rose bushes have plenty of thorns; however, I felt no use for tears.

A very early and, at the time, quite unpleasant instance would have to include an ill-fated picnic at a local park. After having eaten my fill of grilled pork chops and corn on the cob, I gingerly led the way down a well-worn trail. As I descended, I gradually gained momentum, eventually finding myself duly out of control of my legs. Consequently, I hurdled over a projecting tree root and landed in a ditch of broken beer bottles. I rose in terror, admonishing a true battle scar on my right hand.

Once at the hospital, a doctor was doing his best to aid my injury. I considered myself to be in terrific pain, and when he began attempting to clamp my wound, I felt that he was doing me no service. Outraged, I bit the doctor squarely on the arm. Apparently he didn't relish my lack of enthusiasm and quickly bit me back. I was a trifle shocked; however, I accepted the unspoken truce with no further outbursts.

I was also given to occasional inexplicable fears, such as a fleeting intolerance for what I considered "fast and dangerous vehicles," including sled rides and motoring about in our home-made go-cart, dubbed "the chug." My mom would soon tire of my ridiculous reactions to those things most children would consider fun, and override my stubborn insecurity by making me ride. The other kids were right. It was fun!

More than anything else, I liked to be at home. I loved to romp through the woods or busy myself indoors. Aside from my neighborhood friends, I seldom sought interaction with others of my age; spending much of my time with adults or alone. I was content with my crafts, swing-set and the like. This attribute may account, to a degree, for my shyness and lack of enthusiasm for group activities. On the whole, I found it very difficult to speak at gatherings unless a question was deliberately pointed in my direction.

As do most children, I enjoyed Kindergarten, although I did not mingle with others during free-time. I found the various activities to be interesting and to my liking. I loved the many art projects, except those in which we were forced to use messy paste pots. I detested sticky fingers, and was shocked to discover that some children liked paste to such a degree that they would eat it. I recall stringing beads to create necklaces through the duration of many play-times; the teacher would sometimes suggest that I play with the other children, but that idea I strongly opposed. I would, on occasion, join the group at her bidding, but shortly I would excuse myself to once again make necklaces. I simply did not relish pandemonium.

Grade school proved to be neither a happy nor unhappy affair. I considered it an integral part of growing up through which every child must pass. I made acquaintances, for I could not truly label these individuals as friends, so cruel and insensitive they often showed themselves to be. Many would mock less fortunate children, reasoning that their standing amongst their peers would undoubtedly be raised for their unjust behavior. Only once did I resort to such base inclinations for the supposed purpose of gaining popularity, and once was enough for me. Coupled with the fact that I was nearly "caught" by the subject of my ridicule, I despised myself for behaving in such a lowly manner. From that day to the present I have kept my comments hidden, or if I do speak aloud, I am prepared to stand behind my statements. I speak only of my distaste for actions which I personally regard as wrong or spurred through a lack of control; any further comments are of no consequence unless the subject is able to change those things about which he is being ridiculed.

Although I excelled academically in school, I was always content when the time would come to be dismissed. I liked school only in the sense that I enjoyed the result of successfully completing my assignments. I felt a certain compulsion to produce perfection: I believed that if I was to engage in an activity at all, I should do my best, or my time thus engaged would be without worth.

This desire for perfection had a price, however, because certain activities conflicted with my personality. Although physical education was my ultimate terror, the only subject with which I grappled considerably was mathematics. After the most elementary techniques of addition, multiplication, and their counterparts were mastered, I found myself to be floundering in a sea of the seemingly "unknowable." I had extreme difficulty accepting the various theorems and equations without asking the method behind their stated form. I was alarmed to deal with absolutes, finding it hard to believe that any subject was so unyielding and allowed no room for error, however slight.

In my inability to accept the laws of mathematics "wholesale," I soon discovered that there were those teachers who disliked students who failed to grasp their subject matter. Perhaps they felt that one who did not understand was undoubtedly inattentive in class and was therefore undeserving of any further assistance outside of class, especially when the extra time was the teacher's own. In many instances, I would seek the mathematically inclined intelligence of my cousin, Gary, or attempt to work out my disaster through additional reading and calculation, rather than face the malignant stare of an insensitive instructor.

My other enemy throughout school was, as mentioned, physical education. Although I was not uncoordinated, I was unfamiliar with many of the sports, and my lack of social aggressiveness affected my performance in a way which could only be described as unfavorable. I felt the class to be senselessly competitive; so concerned were my schoolmates with winning that to say we were involved in a "game" was totally incomprehensible. Except for running, and a somewhat comical aptitude for standing on my head, I dreaded the activities, and detested any sport which dealt with balls. The teachers augmented a student's frail self-image by allowing individuals to choose their own teams, resulting, of course, in the less able participants being chosen last. Once the game began, I felt besieged by paranoia; my blunders were met by icy glances of derision, despite my desperate attempts to perform in an admirable fashion. I soon learned that sports were not games, but battles in which winning meant everything. Under such conditions, I had absolutely no hope or desire to fight.

I have always found it quite interesting that children will attack one another about many short-comings, but will say nothing of certain other equally embarrassing occurrences. My observations include those bodily accidents which could be avoided, such as dirtying one's pants or vomiting in the classroom. One is always amply warned, but sheer embarrassment often will not allow the child to mention his predicament before the entire class is visually aware of it.

I once vomited in second grade, too afraid to raise my hand to ask permission of the substitute teacher to be excused. I was always wary of substitutes, and perhaps I also thought that my nausea would eventually subside if I remained very still. It did not, and I spewed gastric liquid all over my book and desk. I was allowed to go home, pacified only by the fact that my "boyfriend" happened to be absent that day. On my return to school I found that my anxiety was needless, for no one mentioned my catastrophe of several days earlier. No one ever ridiculed another person for those types of accidents. Perhaps there exists an unspoken truce amongst children to avoid such harassment because each child knows that it could have happened to him.

I fostered a slight fear toward substitute teachers throughout grade school. They often tended to be rather insecure, a trait which I felt they were justified in having. Substitute teachers paralleled chaos; either the class would be utterly uncontrollable and would be allowed to do as it pleased or the teacher would be unreasonably strict and foreboding. More than the substitutes, I hated when the regular teacher would return. Inevitably, he or she would verbally lash the class, leaving my spirit crushed, albeit the fact that I deserved no such punishment. Those who do not need chastisement, and for whom it was not intended, are always the ones who take it to heart.

Throughout my earlier years, my main playmate was Mary, a girl who lived several houses up the avenue. That her age bested mine by four years did not seem to restrict our friendship in the least; I had a habit of better enjoying the company of those older than myself, and obviously this was no exception.

Much of our play involved the riding of our tricycles, which placed us under the fire of the neighborhood boys, who were sporting bicycles at considerably younger ages. We would ride our trikes despite the ridicule, however, as they afforded a modest degree of mobility and could also be manipulated to serve as reasonable scooters if one so desired.

One of the boys whose tongue was particularly keen happened to acquire a bicycle after a mere six years of life. He would fly past us, wearing a smile of overt superiority, as we tramped our much slower vehicles up the avenue. We bore his stately self-assurance as if it were an inherent factor of childhood which would one day be relinquished for a more affable character, as eventually, it was.

We looked on as he joyously raced through the neighborhood amid a cloud of arrogance; he circled, and returned, then lifted the front wheel off the pavement a trifle too far, causing an irreversible conjunction with the unyielding cement. His back found the street as his bike crashed to its side nearby. I believe the entire neighborhood must have heard his pride dissipating into the humid summer breeze; after that decidedly rough lesson, he no longer jeered at our mode of transportation.

Mary and I rarely played with dolls, although we were both fortunate to have them. Playing with dolls, for us, consisted more of dressing our "Barbies" in their various costumes, and perhaps, dreaming that we would one day appear as shapely and attractive as they, rather than actually involving ourselves with dialogue.

We would often gather together an assorted array of trinkets and gumball machine prizes for the purpose of trading those we no longer treasured. Although I admired the appearance of certain "stars," my devotion was more pretense than real: I could not love an individual simply through reading a handful of trivia gathered by prying, assuming publications. The inclusion of an idol in one's imaginings could result in nothing short of disappointment, and is therefore a cruel waste of time. Thankfully, I was free of any form of infatuation for those in the midst of stardom by the time I reached junior high school.

Mary and I shared many entertaining hours, but the most memorable occasions were those of our overnight slumber parties. I loved going to her house, as her parents maintained a different store of food than did my own. We would often eat "Wonder Bread" spread with butter, accompanied quite nicely, we thought, with a bottle of Pepsi. (My mom always bought the kind of bread that would not stick to the roof of one's mouth, but, as she put it, "would stick to your ribs!" Health bread was not my idea of a good snack.) As we munched on our favored snack, our mothers would wince, believing that our combination was food fit for convicts. We were undauntedly convinced to think otherwise. Occasionally, we tossed a frozen pizza into the oven to complete our late night feast.

During these affairs we would occupy our time in idle conversation, watch television, or involve ourselves in a singular form of diversion, paging through the telephone books in search of the city's strangest names.

When the party was held at my house, the usual schedule was not complete without my father grabbing our legs and dragging us from the couch and across the carpet. Rarely could we walk our arms fast enough to avoid a slight case of "rug burn."

Instead of bread and pizza we had popcorn and homemade cookies. As my mother was never an advocate of carbonated beverages, soda pop was seldom seen in our refrigerator. (To this day, she will bristle at the mention of "cola.") If we did have pop, it was the less-revered Lady Lee or Jewel brand.

Mary and I got along quite well, as neither of us possessed any fiery attributes. We were both mild mannered and soft-spoken; to my great relief, she shared my lack of enthusiasm for sports.

I was always amazed at her capacity for food; she ate heartily, yet remained a mere wisp of a shadow. Another of her characteristics which I deemed truly awesome was her ability to sleep undisturbed while her mother vacuumed around her bed.

It is difficult to venture those attributes which Mary may have associated with the essence of my character; maybe it was my joke, instead of tears, after an injury, or the humor which would evoke her smile and easy laughter. At any rate, I could have had no finer friend throughout the initial stages of my life, and although we now are far apart, and living in our separate worlds, those memories of our companionship shall persist for all time.

Steve, my other neighborhood buddy, lived next door. We were much closer in age than Mary and I, with our birthdays being only six months apart. I spent quite a bit of time with him, though more so during the summer months; we were in separate grades in school and that seemed to make a slight difference in our friends. In grade school, more than any other higher school of education one is more aware of age, somehow relating that directly to one's social status; in effect, a person of a higher grade should not be caught dead conversing with his younger neighborhood friends, at least not at school.

Once apart from our peers, we were the greatest of friends. We often sought out windfalls in the woods, which made terrific "camps," or simply hiked along the creek bed. Names were bestowed upon various landmarks according to their appearance; one drop-off was christened "dead man's bluff" while a small grove of wild chives was called "the onion field." There was a seemingly endless amount of diversion in the woods and we used it to our best advantage.

It was Steve I chose to accompany me on family excursions to parks and wildlife refuges; he was more game to tromp through the woods than were many of my companions.

One of the attributes which gave Steve rare character was his flawless honesty with respect to one's appearance or annoying habits. He would as quickly inform a person of a rip in his garment as he would another who was oblivious of the mucous running from his nose. If there was something amiss that by most standards should be set aright, he would see that it was done. Through Steve's keen insight and equally sharp ability to verbalize these faults, I was made aware of the fact that I walked "pigeon-toed" and soon corrected the matter through close observation. Personally, I feel grateful to Steve. There is no crime in voicing that which, with time or practice, can be overcome.

Some people who are quick to express the faults of others also lack all tact and sensitivity. This was not so with Steve. In his perceptiveness, he unquestionably found room for a great amount of personal concern and interest. Perhaps the most touching instance in which I witnessed this demonstration of care was when I was yet quite young. We were playing outside on the Tarzan swing in my backyard, when, without warning, a loud clap of thunder issued forth from the gray sky. So completely taken by surprise was I that I began to cry. It would have been so easy for him to mock my fright, but instead he jumped up and headed for his house, yelling, "Wait here!" Several minutes passed before he returned carrying a banana. He presented it to me, saying, "This will cheer you up!" He was not aware that I truly disliked bananas, but I was so touched by his show of affection that I humbly ate the fruit and thanked him for his kindness. That little episode of human kindness shall forever remain dear to me. It also altered somewhat my view of bananas.

Summer vacation brought almost unbelievable happiness, a magnetic appeal akin to freedom, for I was generally allowed to spend time as I wished. I seldom encountered schoolmates, and if there was a rendezvous, it was never brought about by my doing. It was far more convenient to call upon my two neighborhood friends, or to simply amuse myself.

Summer was not complete bliss, however, for yearly it brought a dreaded horror to life…camp! My first encounter following Kindergarten…Day Camp. I was terrified upon discovering that I was to exist amid a mob of virtual barbarians for the better part of each weekday. This lasted for but two weeks, yet it seemed an eternity. Each morning I boarded a school bus brimming with children to then endure a jostling, thirty minute ride to the location of the camp itself. Once there, we were to join our assigned group and the daily activities would commence. There were art projects, games, competition, hikes and swimming lessons. Many activities would have been quite pleasing had I been in the company of friends. However, shyness had no place at camp, and I felt constantly ill at ease.

An additional undesirable factor possessed the name "Betsy." In effect, Betsy was the group bully, resembling, ironically, the "Peanuts" character "Lucy" in both form and personality. On one of her particularly shining moments, she told me and another equally shy girl that she would make us sleep overnight in the boys' tent on the last night. Needless to say, we were scared silly although the threat could never have materialized.

Another camp, owned and operated by the Girl Scouts, was also a source of much summertime duress, although I recall very little about this camp other than the fact that the homeward-bound bus was a welcome sight.

The final camp to which I was sent for a week's time during two consecutive summers, was a King's Daughters Camp. I never relished the idea of rooming with people I did not know, yet here I was obliged to do so. Again, the camp was regimented into various activity schedules to which each camper was to adhere.

I was friendly, but not outgoing and confident, and as time crept by at a snail's pace, I became more and more hounded by loneliness. I wrote my family many postcards lamenting my undesirable situation, but time thus spent only seemed to make the problem worse.

PAGE 11

Chapter 2

My Brothers

CHAPTER TWO

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.

PAGE 16

Chapter 3

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."

CHAPTER THREE

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.

PAGE 19

Chapter 4

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."

CHAPTER FOUR

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.

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Chapter 5

Norm / Marriage

."..religion amplified the significance of marriage, entrenching the ceremony itself into the hearts and minds of society…"

CHAPTER FIVE

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.

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Chapter 6

Norm / Reflections

PAGE 28

."..I had been transported across 2000 miles…Memories and heartaches, however, came along for the ride."

CHAPTER SIX

Norm/Reflections

It seemed impossible to think that I may never see Norm again. I thought about the kite that we bought at a grocery store and flew in the spring gusts until it was a mere speck in the blue sky. I remembered our discussion about the importance of seat belts, after which a love-smitten, one-armed Don Juan nearly forced us off the road. I thought about the many times he pitched to me, saying, "Keep your eye on the ball!," and how we rumbled up the street to K Mart on low-budget shopping sprees. I did not have Tracy's address, so letters would be a pointless effort. My mind began to create images, concocting chance encounters and elaborate dialogues. I pictured his tall form striding from a store into the sun-bathed parking lot; I would run to him despite the protests of my parents. The image would dissolve and another would take its place. This time, I saw him while I was alone; I was able to obtain his phone number and address, and planned to keep in touch. Again the fantasy would fade. I wondered fearfully whether the years would so change his facial appearance that I would fail to recognize him. Nothing and no one in life was immune to change; features, health, relationships…everything could bloom or wither in an instant.

Many thoughts flooded my mind during the next week. I considered my parents and their steadfast values, and understood their torment. Their son was about to embark on a lifestyle which they viewed as morally wrong. After 20 years of guidance, Norm's action was translated as an injustice done to them. Often I heard my dad describe an incident, remarking, "If the kid really loved his parents, he wouldn't have done (it) out of respect for them."

I had been raised under the same school of thought, and, until my views had been tested, my stance on various issues usually echoed those of my parents. Following the incident with my brother, however, I could no longer believe that cohabitation without marriage was so wrong that the act should tempt a parent to disown his son, especially if the two cohabitants loved each other. Had Norm been a promiscuous lout who flitted from one woman to the next merely for the purpose of filling his primal needs, I would have agreed that his irresponsibility demanded punitive action.

As I reflected over my silent disagreements, I wondered why Norm and Tracy couldn't get married. If their life was to be shared, why didn't they just marry to please society? Sure, the legality may only have been a grand joke to Tracy, but if it saved certain relationships, was it not worth the trouble? Moreover, Norm had always avoided involving himself in a scene which would direct undue attention. I found the current circumstances rather odd and out of character, for "shacking up" was a relatively new phenomenon to strike the midwest. I had no answers, and my questions had no ear to rest upon. It was best not to dwell on that which I could not hope to change.

After a week of emotional survival, I boarded a jet bound for California. With all my expenses paid, I was to spend several weeks at the Santa Monica home of my aunt and uncle. Never having flown, I was excited when the journey commenced and the jet tore a path into the hazy summer sky. I found flying to be a delightful affair, especially during the circulation of complimentary pop and peanuts. Silvery mounds of cloud formations glistened against the sun's blinding light. Across the blanket of white, another jet raced toward a secret destination. Corn and wheat fields made a quilted pattern of the landscape. Rectangular fields slowly gave in to circular ones as the jet scorched westward; irrigation. The Rocky Mountains pierced a jagged line through low-flying clouds that skirted each side of the airliner, and the fertile land disappeared where the soaring mountains grew from the earth. The jet flew past that which nature took centuries to create as if it was insignificant and worth little more than a fleeting glimpse. The mountains were now behind us. As I peered out of the tiny window, the land became increasingly arid and fewer roads disrupted the sea of creeping grass and sage brush.

As we began our descent, I felt my ears clog in rebellion to the slight change in air pressure. Swallowing and trying to induce yawns, I cleared my ears continuously until the jet was hanging lazily above city streets and buildings. Not until the aircraft touched down on the runway was I aware of the speed at which the jet was moving; the grass was at first a green blur against outstretched silver wings, and we rushed on as if powered by an unstoppable force. Then I perceived that the forward thrust was steadily reined until the huge jet slowly strolled along the landing strip and taxied toward the Los Angeles terminal. Within the passage of hours I had been transported across 2000 miles; it certainly did not take a long time to leave a place. Memories and heartaches, however, came along for the ride.

This was my vacation, and I tried to avoid thinking about that which had transpired the week earlier. While my aunt and uncle showed me the sights in their part of California, my parents decided to take a vacation of their own. They, too learned that miles did not alleviate worry. Worry cannot be left at home. It is weightless baggage that one is obliged to carry.

After several days of eventful tours, relaxing on my aunt's patio swing, and tempting their aged and extremely bored cat into playing with a ball of yarn, I received a phone call from my mom. They had returned from their small trip and found a note from Norm saying that he and Tracy were married. I was ecstatic. My fears had never materialized.

I hung up the phone, feeling that I had been revitalized by a flood of happiness. It now was possible to truly enjoy the remainder of my stay in California. I determined that I would attempt to find gifts to give Norm and Tracy for the purpose of demonstrating my affection; and a "wedding gift" seemed rather inappropriate under the circumstances. After a joyous day in Disneyland, where I rode countless rides and was seemingly transported into a magical world, I finally purchased two items, a hand-carved wooden box for Tracy and a back-scratcher for my brother. My treasures were placed in a sack and I clung to them excitedly. No longer helpless and unable to express my love, I felt like a child who had just recovered a favorite belonging from the "lost and found." Disneyland shined that night, and the parade of lights glistened on Main Street with a star-like fire. No fantasy could compare with a dream that came true.

The summer had ended well. I reveled in the hours spent with Norm and his wife; it was easy to be with them, for their life appeared low-key and free of pretense. As we discovered many common interests, Tracy became the sister that Sharon was unable to be, living 80 miles distant. Toward Norm also, I developed a greater understanding, and a deep, yet unspoken bond formed between us; we discovered that we were quite alike, thinking in the same manner and sharing the same type of humor.

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Chapter 7

Todd / Reflections

CHAPTER SEVEN

Todd/Reflections

Todd resided in Chicago after graduating from college, and my parents and I occasionally drove up to visit him. He always planned a gala affair, often treating us to a splendid play among an array of other suggestions. Upon our arrival, hugs and kisses were widely distributed; I would run to Todd, whereupon he would grasp me under the armpits and lift me sky-high, wailing in his "Aunt Minerva" voice, "It's been so LONG since I've SEEN you!" This traditional welcome became increasingly difficult to manage as I grew in stature and, of course, gained the accompanying weight, and was thus allowed to die a dignified death.

When we were not touring the city's delights, I entertained myself by arranging Todd's personal effects. The apartment which I most clearly recall boasted a crude built-in bookcase. I loved to flit back and forth between the many compartments and lend a sense of order and style to the pandemonious wall. There were always a few things of which I had no idea concerning their use; these were generally odds and ends, factory rejects, a handful of D cell batteries, and, I must not forget several large and curious aluminum containers. I would neatly line up the small items on the shelves and place the nameless metal containers on the floor in a line. The latter objects were for experiments. Having completed my task, I would stare silently at the line of silver pots, shrug my shoulders and turn my attentions elsewhere.

The sleeping arrangement was simple. Age and respect dictated that my parents sleep on the beds. Since I was a guest, Todd determined that I should sleep on the couch. My brother was left with the remaining alternative, which was an inflatable air mattress and a sleeping bag.

The nights brought out humor which came from bizarre circumstances. Several hours after lying down, Todd's air mattress had deflated to the point of nonexistence and, bone meeting floor, he had no choice but to inflate the mattress once again. Slow expirations, sounding akin to a distant steam engine, would resound into the night. Mom, understanding what had happened, listened to the steady, "Puff…puff…puff…" and would have laughed had it not been for the fact that she pitied Todd and did not wish to waken my dad or myself.

At exactly 4:00 a.m., the church, standing directly beside Todd's apartment building, would begin a horrid serenade in chimes. Approximately every other note was sour, yet the noise continued until the tune was completed. Todd explained that the person who set the clock mistook the four o'clock a.m. setting for the afternoon setting…hence the "ungodly" serenade.

A final recollection regarding the overnight occurrences in Todd's apartment is, admittedly, rather hazy. Having a preoccupation with the shelves by day, it was no shock to find myself sleep walking to them in the middle of the night, searching for my pillow. My walk might not have been discovered by Todd or remembered by me had it not been for the row of metal canisters which flanked the base of the shelves, for in my futile search (my pillow had never strayed from the couch), I bumped my foot into one of the pots, which gonged loudly against a second and third to create a symphony of echoes. Flustered by the rude interruption, I nearly woke, and can recall my brother's sleepy, "Is there something wrong?" to which I mumbled an explanation of my hunt.

The next morning I looked suspiciously at the shelves and was haunted by a memory for which I could not account and therefore inquired of the night's events, asking if I had walked in my sleep. "Oh, yeh…, I couldn't figure out what you were doing!" Todd said.

I reflected over my strange habit and wondered whether I had walked elsewhere on different occasions, and because I encountered no one, did not remember or was not informed. It was slightly disconcerting yet immensely humorous; I only hoped that I would never take a walk which lead me out of a building, because I remembered the tale of a young man who, while sleeping, took out the garbage cans and then completed his slumber on the grass beside the curb. It was a humbling thought, for although a sleeping individual cannot be responsible for what he says or does, one's lack of consciousness will not guard the individual from accompanying embarrassment.

Certain aspects of my brother's personality had changed, while others had remained original and quite intact. When the time had come for us to leave Chicago, Todd's apartment was cleaner and his billfold was decidedly thinner. Although Todd no longer cared about the neatness of his living quarters, which plainly stated that his orderliness at home was merely a function performed to placate Mom's desires, he maintained his suicidal generosity with horrifying steadfastness. My brother had also changed from his too-trusting self to a more realistic and perhaps, cynical person. Losing a coat and bicycle at the university, followed by distributor caps and gasoline in Chicago, had a way of opening … or, at least, readjusting … one's vision of the world. It was not an ideal place, and idealistic views were hastily smashed to oblivion. I saw, too, that he possessed a definite need to exist on his own; more than a door to freedom. Todd's separation from family seemed to be a requirement for personal satisfaction and future happiness. He had to affirm himself by living alone, and having no one near to depend upon through the rough spots.

Despite Todd's need to acquire self-sufficiency, homesickness was difficult to avoid, and his eyes mirrored pure emotion as we drove away. The image of home was, at once, pleasant and unkind, for although memories could quiet the noise of the city, their unattainable substance created a barrier between the present and his need to build happiness from aspects thereof. Sometimes it was easier to bury the past and all which related to it. Todd seldom came home any more.

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Chapter 8

Sixth Grade

"Friendships are realistic interactions of individuals rather than acts performed to satisfy the specific requirements of a group."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sixth Grade

Upon reaching sixth grade, I did not feel that I had risen to the infamous "big cheese" status that I had supposedly earned for successfully passing through the curriculum and harassment of the older kids, nor did I foster any ill regard for those who were younger than myself. I was essentially the person who I had always been, with the exception that I was a year older and somewhat wiser through my experiences and observations.

Although I had become slightly more confident, I knew that it did not pay to feel superior, for someone always had the immense enjoyment of smashing the misinformed individual down to size. Whereas superiority was a false assumption, confidence developed upon a somewhat humble realization of one's mastery over life's trials.