The Tricks of a Memory

Lately many of us (me included), have been posting notes on our facebook pages asking others to recall memories of us through the years, or perhaps silly things they know about us. We have all answered our fair share of questionaires, and we have all endured the skeletons emerging from our prospective closets. I wont post one of those. I am not sure what people remember about me is what I remember from childhood. Or growing up for that matter. Im sure I would get the obligatory "you made me laughs", and the " You were so funny" comments, and that is all good and well. But I thought in order to really clear the cobwebs I would write what I remember.

I have been feeling old lately. Not in the sense that my bones ache and my memory is shot. Just old. Weary. Tired. For some reason I have been thinking a lot about my youth and the years that bring me to who I am today. In reality what I am writing here is a confession. Knowing that, if you turn back now you will never be the wiser and you can continue to see me as you do now. However, if you are truly ready...let's begin.

I was born August 19, 1971. I have one sister and one brother (he came many years later). I have been told by my parents on numerous occasions I spoke for both my sister and myself always. It was later discovered she was deaf. Not 100% mind you, but deaf enough to not hear a normal conversation. I dont remember our first house, but I do remember the house my parents still live in. Being a new neighborhood, there were many homes being built around us. One day while exploring, my sister and I slid down the just dug foundation of the house behind us (just a big ol' dirt hole ya'all) and became trapped. It was fun sliding down Im sure. However we had to be rescued because we couldnt climb back out. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I also remember the neighbor boy (david sperry, in fact) running around and falling in a hole in the ground. Inside that hole was a broken piece of clay pipe and it cut his leg darn near from ankle to knee cap. Those were the early years. Eventually all the holes were filled and more and more people moved in. Many still live there today.

As I grew older one thing about me never changed. My red hair. At first I saw nothing bad about this (I dont now either), but I later learned to despise it. Throughout Jr and Sr High School I was called "carrott top", "Duracell (copper top...get it??), and I heard all the fun time chants like " I would rather be dead than red in the head". So many clever people...I wonder what most are doing now? My elementary years were just as fun though without the chants and name calling. My second grade teacher introduced me to child abuse. I guess as I look back now I realise that even then I was too smart for my own good. I would finish my assignments in class sooner than the others, and being done and bored would proceed to goof off. This didnt bode well with my teacher. He started by locking me in the classroom closet to prevent me from disrupting class. When that didnt work (even then I was a master at mischief), he began to quiet me in other ways. If I finsihed early I was instructed to lay my head acoss my desk and be quiet...only then that gave him the chance to push my desk forward and slam my fingers between it and the desk in front of me. Thinking it was me causing the problems in class, my parents resorted to having a friend of my dads come in complete police uniform to speak with me about juvenile delinquency. I was even placed in resource. I felt like an instant outcast. I felt like I was bad. When it was discovered what was truly going on...well Mr Tolman doesnt teach school anymore. The next year I found J.R.R. Tolkien, I was removed from resource and I learned to play chess. All thanks to a wonderful librarian who saw more than a disruptive child in me.

The rest of elementary school went as it should. I found and lost friends. I sold cookies for the P.T.A, and I played marbles at recess. In 1983, I started Jr High School at Valley. It was a short walk from my house and the freedom was wonderful. On registration day I knew few people. I had no idea what a locker was. I also met my best friend and brother that day. This skinny little blonde haired boy walked up to me and asked "you got a locker partner yet?" I said "naw...you?"...well the rest is history. I lockered with that skinny little blonde haired kid for six years. our first year in Jr high was rough. New classes, new teachers, and bullies. Being as skinny as he was, he was a constant target both in class and out. I protected him when I could, but I couldnt stop him from getting his leg ripped open by a pair of track cleats. It happened in gym class day. One of our classmates had just finished running track and joined us for soccer. He kicked the ball and missed...taking the right leg of my new best friend right to the bone. He still has the ghostly scar as a reminder. Thanks for everything Veigh.

I soon graduated and went to High School. Im sure you know where too. If not I will tell you. Granger High. Fresh out of Jr High and lookin to be the big dogs. I went from thinking I knew something to quickly realising I knew nothing. The teasing and tormenting of me because of my red hair had started early on in seventh grade, so it was no surprise that it continued into the tenth. I was both physically and mentally happy that some of the jerks from Jr High had chosen to go to Taylorsville instead. I thought it would be different. It wasnt. One person in particular had it in for me. I wont mention names because he knows who he is. Thats all that matters. This boy would shove me, trip me, push me into the girls locker room (sorry ladies...I swear I remember nothing), and because by then I was wearing glasses, he would lick his fingers and wipe them across my glasses. It was both frustrating and aggrivating. I was always taught growing up that fighting was not an option. In reality, I was never taught to fight. I accepted my role in the hierarchy of the High School Dogma. I was noone. To that point I had actually been a rather quiet and reserved person. Sure I had the occasional outburst of humor, but nothing compared to my later years. It was then that I snapped...I changed...I morphed into a acne faced kid with red hair who just no longer gave a damn. I spouted off whenever I could. I mimicked and goofed off. I held nothing back. My humor became my best defense weapon. It was my shield, and later my sword. I called our rotund spanish teacher "NORM !!!". I told my art teacher that painting upside down was like peeing backwards...it made no sense ( I was shortly removed from the painting class). The bullying didnt stop...it just didnt bother me anymore. They would call me "Copper top", and I would respond with something equally as clever and earn a butt kicking or a punch in the arm. I disrupted classes...I made teachers sigh when my name showed up on the class register...I lived to make people laugh.

Now some of you reading this were in some of my classes. I also remember some of you giving me nasty looks when I screwed around. I dont blame you. You were there to learn, and I was there for....I look back now and realise I spent three years screwing around. I did some dumb things. I pulled some crazy stunts. All for a laugh. To those of you I may have offended...I apologize. To those of you that laughed...I thank you. I guess what Im trying to say is this...In all honesty, my High School years sucked. I had few friends. I had dates, but I was not popular. I looked at my yearbook the other day and was saddened by the fact that most of the signatures were from schoolmates younger than me. I took no time to get to know those my own age. I know some of you now better in the last year than I knew you then. Some of you I have never talked to, others I have thought about over the years and wondered about. Even the kids I grew up with in my own neighborhood terrorized me and therefore did not sign my yearbook either. It was like second grade all over again...I felt like an outcast. Im not saying I do now.

Since High School, I fell in love and was burned. I had a son and never saw him again. I have been stabbed and hit by a rapidly moving vehicle. I have scars...both the physical and mental kind. I didnt have a productive childhood. I didnt play sports because I didnt want to ask my parents for the money to do so. I always felt like a third wheel around some of my friends. In hindsight...I can see now why I tend to keep to myself. I dont go out often. I dont talk to many people. Its the biggest reason I find moving to California so comforting. I dont know anyone there so I would not be forced to perform. I can be myself...whoever that is. Dont worry about me...dont feel bad either. Im alive and my heart is filled now. I have a purpose in life and I regret little. My childhood bullies have all grown up and with any luck have children who are being bullied.

Peace Love and Happiness to you all.