15 minutes Late.

Happy Memorial Day everyone.

As of my post last week, I can’t say I’ve met too many new folks and had deep, meaningful and life altering conversations with them. But, I have met new people, and I’ve spoken with them about common interests and common dislikes. I’ve stepped out of my box and became a participant in a Memorial Day Parade. (Which, I normally would have not just NOT been in but I would have tried to avoid attending said parade in the first place.)

The new Museum opened and over 600 people showed up on opening day. The subsequent days brought another 1,500 people on Saturday and 500 on Friday. To say we are a hit is an understatement. The museum made all the local news stations, papers and radio announcements. Photographers, videographers, interviewers and all sorts of other “ers” were on hand to talk with anyone with anything to say “On the record.” (Me? Soon as I see a camera or a talking head, I head towards my office and turn out the light and pretend I’m not there. This tactic actually works.) Now, don’t read that I avoid people, ok, I do, but in this case, I actually avoid cameras and interviews and it is only because I’ve been interviewed before and when I watch the footage later, I always feel like I sound like an idiot.

I did manage to graciously accept a compliment about my work from Millie Lancaster and how my vision of the trains at the museum matched her late husband June’s vision. (Extremely high praise and I was struck speechless and even teared up a bit when Millie hugged me and whispered that fact in my ear.) I watched as some folks stood in awe and wonder at what we have accomplished over the past eighteen months. I listened to all the compliments and waited for the complaints to follow. Those complaints never came, but, that is to say they won’t come in the future.

On to more serious things:

Memorial Day, a day in which I spent remembering my fellow shipmates I served with and trying to remember and honor the men and women that came before me and that are serving now. As I sat in my buddies truck traveling down High street in 103 degree temperature at 5 miles an hour waving to people of all ages. Some waved back, some stared blankly into space wishing it were cooler, some smiled blankly at us and wondered who we were and what happened to the marching band kids who had passed out to heat exhaustion. Looking at the faces of the citizens of Portsmouth and being a part of our countries longest running Memorial Day Parade made me wonder how many of these people actually understood the sacrifices the men and women of our military have made for America throughout history. These rhetorical questions were answered when I realized most of the onlookers were missing one small but vital accessory on Memorial Day.

Not a flag, not a button, not a hat… but just the simple patriotic colors of the day. Red, white and blue. It was not until we were two blocks from the grandstand that I saw the first flag waving in the hands of a small child. We had traveled over a mile, the heat was oppressive and our moods were quickly waning from joy to annoyance. The driver and I had made more than our share of snide, rude and snarky comments about the lack of patriotism were seeing, most of those comments were made with AC/DC blaring on his speakers which only fueled our cynicism. But seeing that little kid waving the American flag as if her life and the lives of our nations finest depended on how franticly she waved it.

I smiled, I laughed and I waved to her. I made a comment to the driver and he almost wrecked the truck he was laughing so hard. I don’t believe for a second that kid knew what the day was for but to me she had a gleam in her eye told me she knew it wasn’t about store sales, getting drunk and making some pathetic attempt at a sport you haven’t even thought about for at least a year. She seemed to think it was about watching a parade and seeing all the really cool people in uniforms marching, playing music and driving small cars with large men in them. You know, America. A minor victory for my psyche and hope for our country.

And this concludes my Memorial Day tale. Hope you all had a good one.

Season of Searching

Spring is here. From my front porch I see cardinals whistling their song of lust from the tree in my front yard. Bicyclists rush past my house shouting “Clear, Clear, Clear!” and “Right Turn, Right Turn, Right Turn” followed by “Hep! Hep! Hep!” There is a cat sitting on a log across the street trying not to move as he stalks a robin that is catching worms in the wet grass left over from my neighbor’s efforts at washing his car.

Yes, warm weather is officially here in the heart of the south. Temperatures are up, citronella candles are burning and there are rumors the Brood 9 Cicadas will be emerging from their 13 year slumber any day now. People are starting to move a bit slower, air conditioners seem to be working overtime and the beaches here in Virginia are starting to fill up with tourists complaining about the humidity and lack of waves with the ability to surf on. Not that some of these tourists would know how to handle large waves with an incalculable undertow.

Ahh… Spring turning to summer… A time when kids forget what they’ve learned in school, teachers pick up part time jobs as waiters and more and more folks flock to the cool, canned air of malls, movie theatres and museums. When the pollen from the flora and fauna are so thick that you can barely catch your breath and every car in the tri-state area is a pale shade of green. Yup, it’s time for the hazy, lazy days of summer.

Watermelons’ ripening on the vine and the sun stays in the sky longer; most folks take life a bit easier. Me? I start working harder. But ya know, the older I get the harder it is for me to keep pace with my old self. I’m chasing after the memories of my youth and that is not an easy thing to do. I hear from people all the time about how tough things are for them. They can’t find a job, they can’t get ahead, they can’t find friends, they can’t… Aww, you know the song. I don’t have to spell it out for you. But you know what I say to them? Do you? It’s simple… Just do what you can to survive. Do what you have to do. It’s that easy. Especially now, when most folks want to slow down and enjoy the longer days by sitting on the beach or in the shade, I try to speed up. And, so can you.

Ya know, Thomas Jefferson only believed in taking two days off a year, the first was New Years Day and the second was July 4^th. Since he was a Deist he did not celebrate any religious holidays nor did he celebrate birthdays. He just wanted to work and look where that took him. Not that I’m comparing myself to Jefferson or his work ethic. I’m just pointing out that even our founding fathers were hard workers and tried to do everything they could in their power to make a better life for not just themselves but also the future of the country they were forming.

But it’s summer time, almost… and I need to take a much needed break. Not from writing, not from my family but from work. So, in a few weeks I am going to take a few days off. Well, I’m going to try to at least. I’ve submitted my paperwork and I am currently waiting for the approval signatures. My work has taken on a life of its own and demands as much attention now as it did when I took on the job eight years ago. These past two years have been nothing but a blur of days and nights, storms both natural and manmade. I’ve traveled to see long lost friends and made some new enemies close to home. Seasonal celebrations have been mostly phoned in and the few conversations I remember with my close friends seem to take place either outside in the cold, heat, rain or wind. I enjoyed those times and I look forward to those brief interludes of friendship that seem to warm my soul more than lying on a sun drenched beach of the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

The earth has moved through eight of its season’s and I can’t seem to truly remember any of them. Sure, I see the glitter of winter’s snow in the photos I’ve taken, the sun burst leaves of autumnal foliage and the pantone palette of spring’s blossoms. I have enjoyed each of those photos. And the brief memories that well up inside my mind’s eye and all the emotions those memories bring with them. Those emotions and memories make me realize how starved for more memories and emotions that only experience with close friends and family can bring.

John Donne wrote: No man is an island, entire of itself...any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind… I suppose this is what I am getting to… I need to become more connected with people that increase the value of the seasons of my life.

With this thought I am going to sign off for the week and go in search of more experiences and fulfilling seasons.

Be good to each other this week.

A New Beginning

Hi, welcome back…I hope you enjoyed the 16 part tale from my youth. I know, I know, it seemed a bit long and drawn out and I have to admit that it grew into a tale larger than I expected. But I feel each chapter grew into a standalone story and I just want you, my dear readers, to know that I enjoyed the telling of the tales as much as I hope you enjoyed reading them. I am going to say now that part 16 is not the final part of the story of my friendship with Fish and Fin but it is the final part of this tale. Maybe, possibly, hopefully, one day I will move on and finish the craziness and adventures the three of us had together and the events of our separation and why we have never sought each other out since we called each other by our private names… names one day I may reveal to you.

Today, however; I am pleased to announce that I’ve finally moved on. No, I’m not dead… the renovation project for the Children’s Museum of Virginia where I am an Exhibit Technician and where I work primarily as the Train Technician for the Lancaster Antique Train and Toy Collection is less than a week from completion and I’ve moved out of the Administrative offices and into my new office where I’ll be able to work on, repair and operate toy trains for a living. (DO NOT HATE ME BECAUSE I PLAY WITH TRAINS FOR A LIVING. Matter of fact; don’t hate anyone for what they do for a living. I don’t.)

Over the past two years I have packed up, moved, stored, moved again and unpacked almost 10,000 trains and toys. It has been an amazing and crazy experience. Also, I’ve seen my vision of the future of the Lancaster Antique Train and Toy Collection come to fruition. My design for the train layout, train cases and toy cases are complete. The trains run beautiful on the tracks and the toys and trains look spectacular in the train cases. The kids who visit the museum will now be able to not only see toy trains running but also, they will have the opportunity to operate a toy train, in a limited capacity, but they will still be able to experience the wonder and joy that millions of men and women experienced as youths during the 20^th century. And I was a part of that. On my death bed I will hopefully be able to look back at my life and see the ripples of my work in the blueprints of time. That thought, and others actually help me sleep better at night.

We, as a human collective, seem to always be striving to better ourselves, leave an imprint or legacy for others to see when we are gone and mostly forgotten. Some people create artistic masterpieces; some write tales of conflict and woe, others have children which bear their name. I have the distinct honor of being the third Technician to the Lancaster Antique Train and Toy Collection… but… but… this is not about me is it? Nope… I owe my job, my livelihood, my family, my present, past and future to a man I only met once. A man, who when I met him was stuck in a wheel chair, stunk of feces, and was unable to control his saliva glands. A man, who for all intense and purposes had lost his ability to feel a sense of pride and honor in the work he had dedicated his life to and the amazing collection he had taken up as a hobby that spanned more than 25 years of his life and the life of his high school sweetheart. A sweetheart that he married built a life and legacy with, which will affect generations to come and also instill in anyone who takes time out of their lives to experience the effort of their labors a joy and wonderment they themselves felt during their time of collecting and amassing a large collection of American toy history.

Yup, Mildred and Arthur “Junie” Lancaster have found a way to pass on to children of all ages for years to come through toy trains and a desire to pass on the joy they felt when they saw kids of all ages visit their old museum in Bennett’s Creek in Suffolk, Virginia.

Now, the dawn of a new beginning is upon us and I have a front row seat where I will be able to observe the joy and the birth of a passion to all visitors to the new museum. I am truly blessed to be in my position for the rest of my work life.

So, I shall now say something that everyone who visits the Children’s Museum of Virginia and the Lancaster Antique Train and Toy Collection should say:

“Thank you Junie and Milly Lancaster for all you’ve done for the city of Portsmouth and every visitor that graces the doorstep of my place of employment."

Flatheads, Crescent Wrench's and Pliers (Part 16)

I met up with Fish and Fin near the bike racks. Fish had his lunch out and was splitting an orange with Fin when I arrived.

“You mean to tell me you missed the whole thing?” Fish was saying.

“Yeah, I got up to go to the bathroom and then everything went crazy. I got out of there as fast as I could. Hi Skip!” Fin said. “Tell Fish what happened in the classroom. I told him about how we didn’t get in trouble.”

“Yeah, Man, tell me all about it. Did Cornett get covered in puke? Who got stabbed? And who started the fire?” Fish peppered at me.

“Fish, you’ve been listening to too many rumors. There wasn’t a fire and no one got stabbed. And Karen did get hit with a ton of spitballs. Then everything just became a free for all. It was crazy. I hid behind the A/V cart because I didn’t have a straw or paper on me.” I told him. He seemed a bit disappointed in my relaying of the story.

“So you weren’t involved? Man, that sucks. But I suppose it’s a good thing too. You managed to stay out of trouble.” Fish laughed.

“It is a good thing. But, ya know, somehow I don’t think my Mom or her boyfriend are going to see it that way.” I complained as I handed Fin his lunch bag.

“Aw, Skip, forget them” Fin said as he tore open his bag and started to devour his sandwich. “We’ve got three more days till summer starts and we go camping. None of us can afford to get grounded. You can’t get in trouble for not getting in trouble.” And with that a big wad of grape jelly fell on his shirt.

Fish and I started laughing at Fin as he put his sandwich down on the torn paper of his bag and started to suck the jelly off his shirt.

“Man, you are one messed up cat!” Fish said.

Fin looked at us with a puzzled look on his face, part of his shirt still hanging out of his mouth and his pale stomach glinting sunlight. “Wha? Wha yu luughin at?” he choked out.

A few of the girls from our class walked by an pointed at Fin and started snickering under their breath and pointing at him. “What a pig.” “He should learn some manners” “How gross!” they said as they hurried away from us.

“Fin, you’re never gonna get a date!” I said and fell over on my side unable to contain the burst of laughter that had built up in me. I saw Fish lean over and grab some of Fin’s lunch and start to eat it while Fin just sat there looking befuddled about what we found so funny.

Fish shook his head and started to eat Fin’s apple. I sat up and pulled out my lunch, split up my sandwich and apple with my buddies and enjoyed our lunch. It passed to quickly and when the bell rang to go back to class we were still talking about the camping trip and what to bring.

As we headed in to school Fish told us to meet back up at the bike rack after school and we would go to his house. We agreed and went our separate ways.

Afternoon classes sucked. The teacher was in a foul mood and made us all write pages from the schools code of conduct for most of the afternoon. When the final bell rang everyone in the class had to stay back except Karen, Marky, Fin and myself. As the four of us marched out of class I looked back at all my classmates, unhappy looks and glares met my gaze and I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for them.

“Serves them right!” Karen said when the door to the room shut. “They should have listened to me. And you Jimmy Finnegan! You should be in there with them!”

“Sit on it Karen!” Fin said and pushed me between him and her as she tried to swing her books at his head.

“OUCH! Karen, watch it!” I said as her school books hit me in my arm. “Don’t take it out on Fin, he’s innocent. Just ask the Vice Principal.”

Fin grabbed me and we ran down the hall away from her and Marky. “You’ll get yours one day Jimmy!” She shouted

We responded by waving and laughing at her empty threats. At the stairs we got stuck in the line of students making their way outside. I saw a few kids from Fish’s class but no sign of Fish. Fin and I dodged questions about the riot in our classroom. Some kids thought the police had been called and that some of the kids had been arrested. One kid was saying he heard our teacher was going to be fired for not doing her job. A few kids expressed sympathy to us for the student who was killed. (FYI… NO ONE WAS KILLED!) Fin and I ignored everything and made our way outside.

Fish was waiting for us by his bike; he already had it unlocked and was pulling some smokes out of his backpack for us. “What took you so long?” He asked.

“Ah, Karen and her bullshit. She hates me.” Fin said as he grabbed a smoke from Fish. “I swear, God himself could come down and tell her I’m innocent and she wouldn’t believe him. That girl hates me!”

“Are you sure it’s hate she feels towards you?” I asked and took a cigarette from Fish’s hand.

“Yeah Fin? Maybe she really has a crush on you. Maybe you two are gonna get married and have kids and stuff.” Fish added.

“C’mon guys… leave it alone. I don’t need to be hassled about this crap right now.” He pouted.

Fish gave in “Ok, ok… besides we have better things to do anyway.”

Fin smiled and glance at me “Yeah, we do. Don’t we?

I looked at each of buddies standing before me. They were both grinning at me and had a gleam in their eyes that I’d seen before and that gleam meant trouble. “All I know is that we have to work on the bike.” I stated.

Fish stood up, dusted off his pants, lit his cigarette and turned to grab his bike, “Fin, you gonna get your bike?” he asked

“Yup!” Fin said.

I stood there confused as my pals pulled their bikes out and mounted them. I looked from Fish to Fin and back to Fish. I didn’t know what to do. Fin had told me his mom had given him a ride to school that morning and here he was with his bike. Our trio was getting ready to be cut down to a duo and I was going to be left alone to fend for myself… again.

Fish looked over at me, smiled, nodded to a bike that had been sitting next to Fin’s… “Hey, Space Cadet… You coming or are you gonna stand there looking like an idiot?”

Fin laughed.

My frustration disappeared and a smile as big as the Fox River spread across my face. I pulled my bike out of the bike rack, hopped on it and caught up to my buddies.

The Three Musketeers rode off into the afternoon and the only thing they left behind was their laughter.

Update May

It’s been a crazy week here in the Heart of the South. Full of ups and downs, ins and outs and, well… if you’re a believer in Karma… equality and balance in life.

UP SIDE

The cover art for a book one of my stories is in was released. The artwork is amazing and the writers’ line-up is incredible. I am honored to have my name included with these writers.

Work at the museum is going great, we are looking to open up by the end of May, and we have been steadily moving offices, collections and exhibits into the expanded digs every day.

The new uniform shirts at my part time job seem to be a big success. No more tuxedo shirts, this is a good thing.

Finished a short story and sent it out to my Pre-readers (YES! I KNOW I NEED TO USE THE APPOSTROPHY MORE), and they all liked the tale and want more. I don’t know what to make of that aspect.

I caught up on some decent television, Thank you HBO, and I even saw a movie I’ve been waiting to see for years. Atlas Shrugged, (Go see this film NOW)

DOWN SIDE

Too much work and too little time with family.

I had to answer for someone else’s inactions.

A distance between me and an adversary grew and peace was not made.

My craving for solitude grew and I embraced it with open arms.

The longing for seeing my friends, however briefly, grew. ( I know, this is in direct opposition of my craving solitude but that is part of the glorious didactic that makes me who I am.)

FYI

Ok, those of you looking for more “Fish Tales” and the ongoing epic tale of our bike build, I shall return with another addition next week… or maybe sooner. I’ve already written most of the next episode and I have to say, I have really enjoyed writing this entire journey of my youth and I ask only for your patience and for you to enjoy the rest of the tale.

Thanks… Talk to you soon.

Flatheads, Crescent Wrench's and Pliers (Part 15)

I can’t say for sure how long the spitball fight lasted. I can say that I did not participate. Not because I didn’t want to but simply because my straw and my paper were at my desk. I know Fin wasted no time getting out of the classroom because I heard him scream as a spit soaked wad of paper hit him in the back of the head.

I ducked quickly down behind the slide projector and peeked out to see the unfolding madness only semi-innocent eleven and twelve year olds knew. Madness defined by a purloined luncheon milk straw and some Mead wide ruled spiral notebook paper. A dangerous combination in the late 70’s and a guaranteed expulsion offense in this day and age of oversensitive political correctness that has taken over the Republic of the united States. (Yes, I just made a political statement.)

Saliva soaked balls of paper flew in arcs and incalculable tangents that only Euclid or Newton could figure out. I felt someone poking me in the back and I turned to see Marky Borrowitz hiding behind me. “What are you doin?” I whispered.

“Hiding. I don’t want to be the target like I usually am.” He said with a bit of panic in his voice.

“Uh, I don’t think you’re the target this time. Karen has cornered the market on that.” I replied.

“Didn’t you guys used to go steady? You know, a couple years back?”

“I wouldn’t call it going steady we... DUCK!” I said as a wad of freshly soaked paper hit the side of the A/V cart. “We kissed a few times and hung out in her basement and went to a movie.” I finished.

Marky looked at me and grinned “Thanks Skip.”

“No problem, now get outta here before people start targeting me.” I ordered. He scurried away on his hands and knees and hid behind the bookshelf that held the classes complete collection of Encyclopedia Britannica. As he disappeared behind the shelves he looked at me and gave me a quick thumbs up and a smile.

I turned my attention to the front of the room, Karen was screaming at everyone to settle down but no one was listening to her. Her attempts at dodging the spit balls only seemed to make her an even more irresistible moving target. Some of the kids had given up on making spitballs altogether and were just throwing wadded up pieces of paper, pencils, erasers and I think I saw a “Happy Days” pencil box go sailing across the room and hit the black board only to get smashed into hundreds of broken plastic pieces.

“WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE!” a voice boomed over the cacophony of screams and laughter.

Everyone in the room froze in place and looked at the source of the inquisitor. It belonged to the Vice Principal. We were DOOMED! Karen stood at the head of the class sobbing and trying to explain what happened. No one could understand a word she was saying.

“Suh Suh Suh… deys juss nddd ives den…” was all she was managing to get out. She really looked pathetic and I felt a bit sad for her but there was no way I was gonna put my neck or my reputation on the line for her. Even though I still had a crush on her.

“Nobody move.” He ordered as he came into the room and turned on the lights. Bits of paper still hung in the air and made their way to the floor in a lazy unpredictable descent. I could see him walking up and down the aisle of kids and he would occasionally make a “Tsk Tsk.” Sound with his voice. “Mr. Borrowitz… what are you doing behind the bookcase?” I heard him ask.

“Hiding Sir.” I heard Marky’s meek voice reply.

“Come out from behind there and take a seat at your desk.”

“Yes Sir.”

I felt a hand on my shoulder “And you Mr. Novak, what are you doing down here?”

“Uh, hiding.” I replied and then added “Sir.”

“Ok, is anyone else hiding that I should know of?” He called out to the class. Only silence greeted him.

“Well then, Mr. Borrowitz, Miss Cornett and Mr. Novak, the three of you will report to my office and wait for me there. As for the rest of you, you are now all on clean up duty.” He ordred.

We hastily left our classroom and made our way down to the Vice Principal’s office in silence. When we arrived at the office we saw Fin sitting on one of the chairs three chairs outside the office door. The look on his face told me he was in trouble. Karen sat down and so did Marky, I stood next to Fin and leaned against the wall with my hands behind my back.

“This is all your fault Jimmy Finnegan.” Karen whispered venomously.

I looked down at Fin and he shrugged his shoulders at me as if to ask “What did I do now?” I just shook my head and shrugged my shoulders. Nothing I could say or do could help our situations. I didn’t know what sort of trouble we were in and in my thoughts were filled with after school detention, eraser cleaning, blackboard washing and the most cruel punishment of all, scrapping chewing gum off the bottom of desks.

Our nervous tension filled the air with an almost palpable stench. We were all wondering what our fate would be and we didn’t have to wait long for our answer. We all heard the footsteps of the Vice Principal as he came down the steps and we all looked at each other and I believe we all felt the same ball of trouble stuck in out throats.

“Ok, you four, in my office.” He ordered as he walked past us. I followed behind him and my classmates marched in behind me.

There were only two chairs in front of the large desk he sat behind. Karen quickly took one of the open seats and Marky took the other. I stood behind Karen and let Fin stand behind Marky. The Vice Principal sat at his desk and shuffled papers back and forth for a bit, took a pen out and scribbled some notes. Then he sat back and looked at us and shook his head.

“You four are in quite an interesting situation.” He started. “It seems out of all the kids in the class you’re the only ones who didn’t participate in the mayhem earlier. I can understand why Miss Cornett didn’t and even Mr. Borrowitz, but you Mr. Novak? Not participating? Normally we find you in the middle of incidents like this and Mr. Finnegan, the only reason you weren’t involved is because you weren’t in the class room. I am truly at a loss of my senses in this situation. I can’t punish any one of you four simply because you did nothing wrong, while the rest of your class has been assigned extra work and detention.”

“So… what does that mean for us Sir?” I asked

“You four are free to go about your regular daily schedule. But know this Mr. Novak and Mr. Finnegan, I WILL be keeping an especially watchful eye on you two and your friend Mr. Minnow.”

“But Sir,” Karen interrupted “Skip was flipping the slides in the projector and Jimmy…”

“Miss Cornett, be quiet. No one likes a tattle tale and since they did not participate in the incident there is no need to punish them. Now, I want all of you to go back to your classroom.” He ordered and we all began to leave “Oh, and Miss Cornett, you may want to stop by the ladies restroom and clean yourself up a bit.”

We separated once we all got into the hall, Fin and I headed back to the classroom and Marky and Karen to the bathrooms. None of us were in a hurry to get back to class and lunchtime was only a few minutes away.

“We dodged that bullet.” Fin commented.

“Yeah, you got that right. Shoot Fin, I’m glad you ducked out when you did. Wish I’d been with ya.”

Fin shrugged “Can you believe the whole class is in detention? I think that just might be a school record.”

“Well, technically not the whole class.”

“Ok, everyone but us four.”

We were halfway down the hall when the lunch bell rang and kids started to pour out of their rooms. “Skip, go grab our lunches, I’ll go get Fish and we will meet over by the bike racks like we did the other day. Ok?”

“Sure man, no problem. See ya in a while.” I said as I fought my way through the crowded passageway. I felt like a fish swimming upstream. The whole school was talking about my classroom and all the trouble we’d caused earlier. As I walked, I heard the rumors already starting up, “So and So KILLED the Teacher!” or “…and then they threw the desks out the windows.” And “It was a fight and someone was stabbed, I don’t know who, a new kid from what I heard.” I shook my head and made my way into the classroom which was now empty and surprisingly clean.

I walked over to Fin’s desk, grabbed his lunch bag and quickly retrieved mine from my desk and headed out to lunch.

Flatheads, Crescent Wrench's and Pliers (Part 14)

When I left the house Tuesday morning my pal Fin was not standing at the telephone pole waiting for me as I had come to expect. The familiar routine we had built up over three years of walking to school had suddenly become interrupted for reasons I did not know. I stood by the pole waiting for Fin with a growing sense of nervousness that something bad had happened between dusk and dawn. After five minutes of waiting for him I headed next door to his house and knocked on the front door only to be greeted by the echoing silence of an empty house. A few more knocks, more silence.

I waited around for another ten minutes to see if he was running late or had overslept but I received no satisfaction of an answer. It was getting late so I headed off to school walking by myself for the first time since kindergarten. I had forgotten how desolate the streets were early in the morning. Sure, I delivered papers before the sun came up and the streets were usually empty but in those first ninety minutes when the sun is up and the birds are just starting their morning songs, it can be pretty scary.

As I passed houses on Memory Avenue I could see shadows moving inside. Shadows of people I knew or thought I knew. Shadows that in my mind formed Rockwellesque movies of Mothers and Fathers making their kids breakfast, helping with last minute homework and giving out hugs with unbridled joy, and as I passed each of those homes, with those thoughts, the searing pain of jealousy and rage built up inside of me. I had no outlet, no pressure release valve, no Fin to talk to about the non-sensical bullshit that distracted both of us from the shitty way we felt about our particular family woes.

A few blocks from school I became aware the streets were starting to fill with more kids in my situation. Kids who had no friends, outcast kids with little or no social skills, kids who seemed to have been alienated from everyone since their conception. I felt like shit. I’d heard my name called out by some of the outcasts and I ignored them. The last thing I wanted to do was field questions about why I wasn’t with my normal group of punks and greasers. Some of the older kids who hung out by the drug store smoking saw me and started to chide me about not having Fish or Fin with me. I scowled at them and flipped them off and then quickly crossed the street to put distance between me and a guaranteed ass whipping.

I kept my head down, fists in pockets and just barged across into the street without looking. I ignored the honking horns of cars and the screams of kids I did not know the names of kids I never took the time to learn. One voice rose above the others “SKIP! DAMMIT! LOOKOUT!!!” I stopped and looked around. I was standing at the median with cars passing in front of me and behind me and as I looked towards the voice calling out to me I saw Fish yelling my name again. His hands were clasped around his mouth making a funnel to help amplify his voice. “SKIP!!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!!!” Standing next to Fish was my neighbor and friend Fin. Fin was pale and shaking his head and he looked as if he were about to throw up.

I stood there in shock and wondered how the two of them got to school before me and why Fin had left me to walk to school alone. I half-heartedly lifted my arm in a wave. The cars that were approaching me started to slow and come to a stop and when they had I continued across the street. I was still upset at my friends and I was in no mood to talk with them. They had both ditched me and I felt betrayed. I wanted to punch them both in their noses and watch their blood spill from their bodies, then sit back and laugh at them. But I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, we were the Musketeers! I had to work out my anger, frustration and my sense of betrayal before I got to them. I started counting as I took a step forward.

One…Two…Three…Four… I could feel the tension in my shoulders receding…Five…Six…Seven… My fists started to unclench…Eight…Nine…Ten… Thoughts of us sitting in Fish’s basement listening to Blue Oyster Cult albums and sharing a stolen beer started to make me smile…Ten…Nine…Eight… I remembered a couple of fights all three of us were in and how we had watched each other’s backs…Seven…Six…Five… Fin and I were catching pigeons under the overpass and we both about killed ourselves crossing the interstate…Four…Three…Two…One…All the damn work we’d done over that last week on the bike filled my mind and all was forgiven.

“Hey Guys!” I said a little too loudly as I stepped onto school property.

“What the hell was that?” Fin said

“Yeah Man! You suicidal or something? You drop some acid and think your Superman?” Fish peppered at me.

“Nah, nothing like that. I was just thinking about the bike I guess. I’m pretty excited to get on her and ride tonight.”

“Yeah. Tonight.” Fish said and elbowed Fin in the arm.

“Ouch! What the hell man?”

“Nothin, let’s get going before the first bell.”

“Hey Fin, where were you this morning?” I asked him as all three of us fell into step next to each other.

“Oh, uh, my mom took me out to McDonalds for breakfast and then dropped me off here about ten minutes ago.”

“Cool, what’s the special occasion? She get a pay raise or something?”

“Uh… no, nothing like that.”

“C’mon, Skip, stop being Kojak for a few minutes. So what if Fin’s mom wanted to spend some time with him. Shit, he sees his mom less then you see yours.” Fish interrupted.

“I’m not pulling a Kojak. I was just worried when Fin wasn’t waiting for me at the telephone pole like usual.” I said a bit defensively.

We had just gotten to the front steps of the school when we heard the first bell of the day ring. We nudged our way through the throng of classmates and made our way to our respective homerooms. Fish was in a separate homeroom than Fin and I and we quickly said our goodbyes with a promise to meet for a picnic lunch in a few hours.

Once again our morning education was turned over to Public Service Movies and naps filled with dreams that took each kid out of the concrete block walled educational prisons. I dozed in and out of consciousness like the rest of the class, my thoughts and dreams were filled with the freedom of riding around Green Bay, exploring the parks, being a bike kid for the Green Bay Packers, camping, and just being able to get out of the neighborhood and away from some of the crap that had been brewing with the older kids. Besides, I had some paper route buddies on the West side that I’d only seen during our subscription drives and they’d been pestering me to come by their house since we met. It would be pretty cool if I could ride out to their house and see them over the summer.

You know, summer dreams filled with endless supplies of soda pop, candy bars and trips to Hansen’s Ice Cream to eat the twenty five cent drip cups until my stomach burst! Swimming all day at Joannes Park Pool or riding out to Bay Beach where everything cost a quarter from the rides to the popcorn. No parents leaving notes of endless chores and rules on where not to go and what not to do. Mornings where I wouldn’t have to wake up until the clock was in the double digits and the sun was approaching its apex. Dreams of lazy days and crazy nights, dreams I still have today. Hell, probably dreams you have right now, just like me.

The end of the Public Service Films blurred into slide shows that required some class participation. I was lucky to not have to participate because I had been chosen as the class A/V kid and all I needed to do was set up the slide show and hit play on the tape recorder and then press the “Advance” button on the projector. The teacher had left the classroom stating she needed to use the mimeograph machine and left Karen Cornett in charge of a 25 lethargic kids who wanted nothing to do with watching movies or slide shows.

So, for fun, and since opportunity had presented itself to me, I chose to just flip the slides as fast as I could both forward and back. When Marlin Perkins was talking about how him and Jim had brought down a wild African lion my slides were on the half naked people of a recently discovered tribe of what looked like cannibals. The boys that were awake cheered and the girls hissed at my antics. Karen “tut-tutted” me and I ignored everyone. My shenanigans were strictly for my own amusement and I had been keeping a running count of how far ahead or behind I was with the audio so if I heard the teach opening the door I could easily get back to where I needed to be.

“Skip! That is not the way you’re suppose to work the slide projector.” Karen scolded.

I ignored her. I had no choice. If I stopped what I was doing I would have been razed at lunch and probably for the rest of the week.

“Karen, give it a rest!” little Marky Borrowitz responded from the behind me. “Heck, this is the first time this week anything we’ve done seems interesting. Marky lived on my block about seven houses down from me. He had been the first kid to even speak to me when we moved in. When I slept over at his house we would read all his comic books over and over again. Hell, he had been the one to introduce me to The Amazing Spider Man. When Fin moved into the neighborhood all three of us built the first Memory Avenue Soap Box out of scrap lumber, with the help of Marky’s dad. But, like most friendships in life, Marky had fallen on the popularity food chain that occurs between elementary school, middle school and junior high school. I still liked him and I never picked on him but I knew if I were to reignite our friendship I would suffer the same fate as him. Being an omega kid in an alpha driven educational hierarchy. I slipped my left hand behind my back and gave him a quick thumbs up.

“You’re gonna be in a lot of trouble when Miss Schmidt gets back!” Karen warned.

I saw my buddy Fin stand up, “I have to use the bathroom if that is ok with MISS CORNETT!” he said and walked out of the room.

“Jimmy Finnegan! You are not supposed to leave the classroom while the teacher is not present!” Karen shouted.

And that is about the time the spitball fight started. The main target… Karen Cornett.