markie d: : Half Naked in the Janitor Closet.

Thursday, September 24, 2015

Half Naked in the Janitor Closet.

Worst shirt in the world and the worst day ever got even weirder, but didn't turn out so bad after all.

Undressing in the janitor closet—bare-chested I found myself cornered and uncomfortable. The conclusion in a minute.

I met a new freshman kid named, Alex, who said he wanted to try out for the football team. The fact that he wanted to play football should have made us rivals. Football players and swimmers at Saint Monica High School seemed like oil and water—we weren't supposed to mix.

I could only pull up the collar of Keith Bjelajac's Saint Mark's sweater so far and think that Alex saw my ridiculous shirt in History class and felt sorry for me. I tried to hide from everyone the best I could, but at lunch Alex found me in the alley between the gym and the music room.

He had a lunch bag which caught my attention. Since mom taught and was always exhausted, she had quit making lunches about 7 years ago. It was easy for me to fend for myself while in grammar school because we only lived a block away. My little sister, Karin, and her best friend, Annie Lennon, would follow me home at lunch time and we always managed to scrounge up something having to do with day-old Pioneer Bread.

But here at Saint Monica's—that was a different story. I just figured that I would survive without having lunch. Pshaw—lunch is for regular kids. Alex's mom packed him a hamburger that had been wrapped in multiple layers of tin-foil. Alex didn't dare want to tell his mother that he didn't like the pickles that were squished on top of his burger and offered them to me.

I was now on the Alex Delgadillo food program - two slices of pickles every day and whatever else I could mooch off of him.

Anyway, it was the end of my first day at High School and I was hiding in the janitor closet stripping the hideous shirt off my body when the door opened. Like the proverbial "dear in the headlights" I froze.

Football player?
Water polo player?
Janitor?

I WISH.

It was one of those catholic-priest-type-guys we called brothers. Brother Michael stood there and stared and I felt like I was naked. After coming to my senses, I scrambled to put on the brown sweater when he said, "No rush."

GROSS! I felt icky.

Footsteps. He walked away and said he would see me tomorrow in his History class like it was a promise. I felt like it was a threat.

Fast and furious I pulled out about 500 rolls of toilet paper from one of the trashcans they were kept in, and buried the shirt on the very bottom. A fitting burial, I figured! I thought about setting fire to the school but realized that it may have been overkill.

On the 3 Lincoln bus on the way home a senior girl spotted me in my sweater with the deep V (without shirt) and my inglorious bare chest that hadn't been visited yet by a single hair.

To the shagrin of the other boys from Saint Marks who had gone through puberty in the 5th grade and had mustaches that rivaled Sister Cheryl's—this full-bodied blonde-bombshell picked me.

Ha. Take that Ricky.

This fully developed woman invited me to sit on her lap. I felt a little like I was back in the janitor closet. It was kind of weird, but I was now the envy of those mustached boys. I would like to think that she thought I was sexy with my bare chest and all, but think it was more like she wanted to mother me like I was her child.

Oh Boy. Maybe, Andrea would take notice and be jealous. Maybe this day wouldn't end so bad after all.

I obediently sat on her lap as she combed my hair and made sure to push her upper female-parts into my body. NICE. But seriously, now I was nervous. What was she going to do—adopt me? Something far sinister I feared.

I made it back to Venice with some of my dignity intact.

Now I had to figure out how I could dump this scheming, senior-chick before she had a chance to work any of her sensual magic on me.

After we got off the bus Ricky and Jim wanted to beat me up, but other than that I thought this "high-school-thing" might not be so bad after all.

hehehehe

Never again plaid and stripes! Never again.

One day older. One day wiser.

Around the corner at Foster's Freeze and back to the Harding House where the Wolf Pack was waiting to pounce on me.

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better.

It’s not.” Dr. Seuss

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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.