Life is a perpetual succession of dots. Each dot represents an individual in your life, a memory or a misery. Sometimes your dots are arranged in a straight line. Other times, they take the shape of a dinosaur dot to dot created by a child.
It is time to unconnect my dots. Time to remember happiness. Time to uncover scars hidden deep in the furthest corners of my brain. Time to call upon friends or foes long forgotten……………………….and tell of secrets that that have been buried for a lifetime…………………………………
One of my teachers once said, “Don’t ever pick up your pencil while writing, let the words flow from your imagination through your fingers and onto the paper.” I have followed her advice through life as I scribbled my words down on paper; mostly with no rhyme or reason.
Now the time has come to follow my wife’s lead and try blogging. So here we go; let’s unconnect the dots together!
Out of bed early on a summer day. It will be hot again so the fans are running in the windows. I pull a dirty shirt over my head and look for my Flyers.
“Mom, where’s my Flyers?”
“Probably where you left them,” she hollered from the kitchen.
Well, that did me no good, although she is always right. I fall flat on the floor and look under my bed. There they are!
“Found them! You were right. Just where I left them.”
“Please make sure you tie them!”
“OK!”.
I run down the hallway, take a hard right, and just about slam into Mom.
“What’s the hurry, do you have a date?”
“Maybe with my bike!”
“Eat first, grab some toast or an apple.”
I choose the toast. It is a bit burnt but I do’t care. Before I swallow the last bite I go over my plan in my mind.
“Ok Mom, how about this. After chores I ride my bike to the Dairy Store and visit Judy? Then, maybe I ride the trails for a while?”
“Oh goodness Steven, the trails, you know if I give you an inch you’ll take a mile.”
His lyrical song calls for her, but she does not answer. For five seasons we have watched them frolic in our birdbath. He always let her splash first, gazing intently from the top of the wooden fence. But now, he dips reluctantly in the cool spring water all alone. His coat is not as crimson as it once was. He returns to their tree and sings for her, the notes not as telling as before. Deep down he knows, much like us, there will be no answer.
I remember the day perfectly. It was like the scene from Stepbrothers; two boys standing twenty feet apart. Neither one having the first clue about life, building treehouses, or sleepovers. His face was the whitest white and his freckles were the brownest brown. Like me, his head was buzzed, but his cowlick much more distinct than mine.I don’t recall our first words but we knew we needed each other; both for different reasons.
I was shy, a recluse, and a bedwetter. Scott was withdrawn, angry, and deathly afraid of his father.I never witnessed abuse of any kind, yet when Mr. Bladel returned from work each day Scott would hide. If he wasn’t hiding at my house, he was hiding within himself.We bonded quickly and discovered adventures as far away from our homes as possible
Scott’s mother was wonderful. While his dad worked long days as a sheet metal fabricator she was a stay at home mom; like most moms those days.She introduced me to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and McDonald’s breakfasts.
One thing that fascinated me about his mom was the way she smoked. Her cigarettes were long, her fingers were long, and when she inhaled it seemed to last forever. Exhaling……the smoke perfectly found a way through her lips. She usually wore her red nightgown all day. When she sat in her chair she would cross her legs exposing her lower leg that swayed at the knee. At ten years of age I had no worldly knowledge of anything. But, looking back, I think I had a slight tingle through my loins for the first time.
Scott moved away before high school. Eventually he in-listed into the Navy and was very successful. One day out of the blue he called and said he was in town. We met at a bar close by. His face was still the whitest white and his freckles were the brownest brown. His Navy cut still highlighted his cowlick.
We sat for hours and talked about life’s lessons, treehouses, and sleepovers. Towards the end he mentioned that his dad had passed. Then quickly, with great pride and excitement, he bragged that he knew the intelligence that could pinpoint Sadam Houssain’s location in the Middle East at anytime!
On my drive home after our final visitmy mind was reconstructing our talk. It’s funny, the memory that will stick in my mind forever is this…….Scott smoked his cigarettes just like his mom.
Sadly…..Scott has passed away. His Navel obituary listed his death as from disease.My first friend and a great friend is gone. I hope that someplace and somehow he is the captain of his own ship.
My earliest memories derive from our new home in East Moline, IL. Not only a new home, but a BRAND new home in a new addition. I was four. Everything was big and shiny. Everything was new. Outside, the cement was pure white with perfectly formed curbs. Our big house was just as white as the street. Black shutters and a screen door with the screen actually intact.
For the first year it was a dead end street with seven homes on each side. On the west side the addresses were odd numbers. On the east side they were even numbers. Our address was 3420 3rd. Street “A”. If I peddled my sister’s bike south to where the white cement ended……..there sat the farm house; the King’s farmhouse. Before the new addition was carved out, it was healthy farm land. Time for expansion, old Grandpa King’s tired back, and the perfect price all arrived at the same time.
Sixty years later the farm house is still there, but not looking the same after three remodels. The old barn and milk house are gone. Where the old workshop once stood……..now stands a brand new home that is nothing like the others; out of place.
Those owners have no idea of what once was. Maybe I can tell them someday. I can tell them of the block parties. I can tell them about likable Grandpa King who always had a stick of Dentyne gum for all the kids. I can tell them everything and help them connect the dots to my memories, or for all my childhood friends, our memories……………………
Unconnect the Dots 