markie d: : 28 Half-Naked Aborigines...and the failed rescue attempt!

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

28 Half-Naked Aborigines...and the failed rescue attempt!

(continued from last post Part 2) We packed all 28 of us half-naked, blonde-haired, Venice Aborigines into that old 1959 Volkswagen van, strapped down the over-sized paddle-board on top and headed for a glorious week at the Kings River.

We weren't really aborigines and there really wasn't 28 of us. It just felt like there was 28 of us in that over-sized VW sardine can...and with our platinum blonde hair, tan bodies and in our half-clad state of dress, we were called that by a lady at gas station in Porterville when she found out that we were from Venice.

"Those children will grow up to be hippies" she said, glaring at us with flared nostrils and one lifted eyebrow of utter disdain.

"Roy, I hope that's not prophetic" mom said to dad as he pushed down hard on the gas-pedal, leaving that stuffy lady chocking in a cloud of smoke from our poorly adjusted carburetor.

We had spent the first couple days splashing around in a calm tributary that lulled us into a false state of security.

There is my dad with nine of us. Just look at that! Tell me that doesn't seem like 28 kids?

I'm the little pudgy one - right in front of my dad's knee.

Swinging on ropes

Water fights...

Good old fashioned, safe - fun in the sun.

Next, we loaded up for a day's excursion for a fishing trip below the Pine Flats Dam.

When we crossed over the bridge, it was a gruesome sight to see a dead cow spinning and bobbing and trapped in the turbulent clutches of the water that flowed over the spillway just below the bridge. Taking it in, my dad slowed on the bride. Obviously that 'O cow was no match for the force of the water that pulled everything under the surface which had managed to float down river and get caught spilling over the cement embankment of the small waterfall. Mom put a bag over my head because she thought I was going to vomit.

"Choke 'em, mom! Choke 'em" Ulrich yelled to mom, urging her to squeeze the bag around my neck.

As we sat there and watch (not me of course, I had a bag over my head - but I could tell) the older boys were even grossed-out with the graphic image of the blood and how the skin was being pealed off that cow as it got sucked back down, then returned to the surface, then back down, and back up, twisting and spinning as if on a bent barbeque spit.

"Holy cow!" Dooh-Dooh Pants said with a chuckle. Thump, went Gustav's hand to the back of his head, thinking this was nothing to make fun of.

"Ouch!" screamed Dooh-Dooh Pants a little too loud...as if pleading for dad's intercession.

"Silence is golden" dad said sternly, as we all paused for a moment of silence when we saw flowers and a small cross someone had erected as a memorial.

Little did we know at the time, that the horrific scene we were grimacing at - was indeed a omen.

Pulling the Micro-bus into the dirt lot, we oozed out of that hot van like a teenager's pimple under pressure. Dooh-Dooh Pants had just cut the cheese and it was more like we had shot out of that thing.

To the left is a picture of our grandiose paddle-board. It was as big as a Sherman tank itself, made of plywood and coated in 42 coats of resin...(This time when I say 42...I mean 42), it was as heavy as that Volkswagen van. Look, that's me and another kid standing on it - in the safe waters of our little tributary.That board could hold 8 of us, if we wanted to pile our bodies that high (we did sometimes, but mostly fights broke out).

The older boys took turns on the paddle board in the big river, below the dam.

Puke-Breath had a cast on his leg, so after the two oldest boys gave the paddle-board a whirl around the main branch of the Kings River it was Dooh-Dooh Pants' turn (he was the fourth born and wanted to do everything the older boys did). The only problem was that he wasn't as old, or as big, or as strong (and certainly not as smart) as the two older boys. Dooh-Dooh Pants shot out from the shallow shoreline where the water was moving slow and got caught in the faster current in the middle.

No one thought too much about it at first...UNTIL. Until, Dad began yelling at Dooh-Dooh Pants to paddle the great, big, honking battleship back to shore.

Seeing how Dooh-Dooh Pants was powerless against the swift current, that's when the bolt of light hit us all at the same time. It was just like something out of the Twilight Zone as if we were all watching the same thing being projected on the screen - something that my dad had already seen. It wasn't a cow that we all suddenly visualized in the spillway blender that was being sucked under and torn to shreds - No! It was Dooh-Dooh Pants whose bloodied carcass we visualized that was bobbing up and down in the deadly vortex below the bridge.

I ran to the van searching for the bag to put over my head...

My dad grabbed the rope that had been used to tie down the board and sprinted for bridge hoping to make it there before Dooh-Dooh Pants drifted underneath. Mom and all of us kids scurried along begin as fast as our little legs would carry us with Puke-Breath hobbling behind and me with that brown shopping bag over my head. I could see down to my feet but that was all and ran into two trees and Puke-Breath once, who hit me with his crutch.

While he was running dad had managed to tie a slip-knot (he was really good at tying slip-knots). Unfortunately, he had arrived just a half-second too late to lower the rope before Dooh-Dooh Pants shot underneath the bridge flailing and screaming (and if I could wager a guess, he was probably cutting the cheese).

"Dad, get 'em" Chewbacca yelled, upset about all the coats of resin he painstakingly painted on that giantic board, knowing it was about to be splintered into a million pieces.

Dad ran across the hot asphalt to the other side of the brige hopeing he could catch Dooh-Dooh Pants on the way out. He lowered the large loop over the railing - guessing - hoping - and calculating to the best of his ability where he thought Dooh-Dooh Pants might come emerging from underneath.

After running into the railing, I took the bag off my head. It wasn't looking too good and mom prayed to Saint Anthony - the Catholic Patron Saint of "lost causes."

I'll tell you the gruesome details next time... Let's just say... it wasn't pretty!

I should have kept the bag on my head!

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No Other Family Like Ours - seriously

WHAT OTHER FAMILY IN THE WORLD let all of the monkeys out of the Zoo, been pranked by the sitting President of the United States in a rouge encounter, chased in cities, chased out of cities and chased down by the cops. Who in their right mind voluntarily electrocute themselves just for fun and dared to electrify the nuns around the corner—who neither volunteered nor had fun? WHAT OTHER FAMILY has had more broken bones, pulled more pranks, have had a plethora of runaway rattlesnakes and other large reptiles terrorize their neighborhood. WHAT OTHER FAMILY grew Mexican Tomato plants that never grew tomatoes and had leaky boats that refuse to float or Escaped death more times? Who had cars on blocks, trucks as trash barges and flowerbeds sprouting rusted bikes, mislaid sparkplugs and abandoned carburetors instead of flowers? Meet the DAHLINS

And to think we survived and came out normal—well, mostly.

The Truimph of Overcoming

I use the word dysfunction with deliberate intention and with great respect in serving the main point of this blog. In the wild ramblings of a kid I ruminate on the idea that my family was not just dysfunctional but was the “most dysfunctional family” on the planet—that’s the set up.

As I look to the other “normal” plain-wrap families next door and across the street that had tidy yards and flowerbeds believing that the grass is greener on the other side (well the grass was greener), it shouldn’t shock anyone to realize that there is dysfunction in all of us—often times masked by tidy lawns and clean exteriors. Along with joy, success and adventure, life is filled with disappointment, failure, pain, and betrayal from those who have let us down. This is what it means to be human. I admit that I faced some disappointment in trying to fit in and longed for acceptance as the youngest boy of our wolf pack, but in large part I can honestly say that I had more fun and more adventure, in what I would call a happy childhood—despite the numerous broken bones. Yet, I would be remiss if I did not brag a bit and say, “Yeah, but...Look at all the great stories.”

Though, I dig deep into the mind and explore the full range of emotions of this young kid who felt detached, wondered about his existence, about his place in the family and his connection to the universe—He came out okay.

The older Markie D loves his brothers and sisters and holds no grudges.

Markie D has found this elusive connection to the universe and is well adjusted—and yes, still a little bit crazy. He has been married for 34 years to an amazing artist, Kerry, and has four incredibly gifted and talented adult children.

Oh, BTW… He mows his lawn, parks a car in the garage and has flowers in the flowerbeds and desires boats that float and less adventure in every outing and more "plain-wrap."

May you find your connection to the universe that brings healing, wholeness, forgiveness and a sense of hope as you look to your future.

Not too long ago on a pale blue dot, third from the sun, people and events converged in the space/time continuum that would forever change the course of history. The setting is a huge Victorian home that slightly leaned on its crumbling foundation, groaning under the weight of unruly kids and hoards of junk. In the era of Ozzie and Harriet and Father’s Knows Best, I was born into a family dysfunction of epic proportions. This decrepit masterpiece in Venice would rival the Addams Family’s house, and the cast of characters would prove to be more incredible and wacky than The Munsters. The big problem was that I was the seventh born, the youngest boy and the runt of the litter.

To have 10 in a family in our catholic neighborhood was underachieving. To compete with the larger families, my mom gladly took in strays. The official-nonofficial count was more in the neighborhood of 14 ―mostly boys and all older than me.

All sibling rivalry and mischief flowed downhill and ended up on my platter, whether I had any say in the matter or not. For fun, we held on to the live wires that were left hanging out of a wall from a unfinished remodel. We were the only family I knew who voluntarily electrocuted themselves with 110 volt household current, and are the only family in the history of the world to single-handedly let all of the monkeys out of the LA zoo. We got chased out of cities; pursued by the Highway Patrol; and sought after by the entire Needles California Police force. Wherever we went, we made a spectacular splash which usually ended up on the front page of the local newspaper.

After being buried in pits, caged, hunted, left behind and electrocuted, I somehow managed to survive my childhood but felt numb, disconnected and alone although part of a big family. In college while searching for acceptance and connection, I experienced an event that would alter the course of my life. I graduated from Loyola Marymount University with a degree in Communications. I coached water polo and swimming at Saint Monica’s my High School Alma Mater and enjoyed major success in investment real estate. After a financial crisis, I committed myself to serving in ministry, working with Youth and Family, as an associate pastor of a large church in Southern California. I graduated with a Masters at the top of my class from Azusa Pacific Graduate School of Theology and was ordained a licensed Pastor.

I am married to an avid artist and have four children: three boys and a girl who takes after her mother’s creativity.

Currently, I am a senior Pastor of a church in Roseville, CA, and adjunct Professor of Biblical Studies at a Bible college, and live in Sacramento with my wife and daughter.