Sex Education and the stupid eight grader.

Last time, I left off sharing how my attempt to impress the girl I loved (peanut butter and unrequited love) had been blown up in my face (literally) by an unfortunate encounter with an indelible marker. I thought I had finally met the pinnacle of embarrassment by having to go to school with the "drive-by tattooing" all over my face...compliments of the early morning ambush by big brother, Chewbacca, who had been sneaking in at the crack of dawn from one of those hippie all-nighters. Though that embarrassment made it beyond the Venice boarders into Santa Monica and back and had consumed two full days of heartache until an even greater embarrassment of discovering that I may have been the stupidest kid in the 8th grade (I don't mean at Saint Mark's grammar school - I mean in the world)!



Two days later after my suspension, I was riding the Santa Monica blue bus, number 3, with a group of peers traveling back to Saint Mark from the early morning advanced high school math at Saint Monica's high school.


There was still remnants of the back ink under the red blotches of skin that I had scrubbed raw for two days. The bus stopped in front of the newer McDonalds on Lincoln blvd and the group of us nerdy "brainiacs" were walking in front of the Saint Mark's Rectory when it happened... THE MOMENT of revelation!



This moment of discovery didn't just enlighten me, but also made me believe that I must have been the dumbest kid in the eight grade, and if not, then certainly the stupidest kid ever in advanced high school math.

Why?

I'll tell you why! What was I thinking all these years? Why didn't I see it... and where was my brain the whole time? Was I the only 13-year-old in the entire universe not to have a clue about "the birds and the bees" - reason with me here - we had a zoo in our backyard, a terrarium of snakes, chuckwallas, iguanas, guinea pigs, turtles...we had a cage for breeding mice  - two of the most prolific baby-producing females dogs in the world... and rabbits all having sex right in my own house- right under my own nose - under my own roof. The Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom nature show could have been filmed at my house - and I had no clue that this was how babies were born!     DUMB!     Hello!  

AND... I had to open my big mouth - right there - only steps away from the schoolyard in front of the house where the Catholic priests lived. Terry Balletine mentioned some juicy morsel about the kid in our class who came from a divorced family. To Catholics, this was scandalous and he was the only kid we knew from a divorced family.  I had been to this kid's apartment and tried to add some information to the conversation (as tough I had some superior inside knowledge) and said how sad it was that "he only had a mother."

UNFORTUNATELY they took it - exactly the way I meant it.  That was when everyone stopped dead in their tracks and looked at me in utter horror as if the world had stopped spinning or as if time slowed down like in one of those Twilight Zone episodes.  

I still loved the smell of crayons and building forts with Tommy Blaser and Jeffery Lennon in the backyard and it suddenly dawned on me that there was this other world out there...one that I had not given any thought to.  Why? Probably because I spent too much time thinking about how I was going to survive the next attack, ambush or devious prank from the Wolf Pack!

Maybe normal parents told their regular 12 or 13-year-old kids about the birds and the bees - but not mine- NO! My mom was locked in her room watching the Lennon Sisters and I Love Lucy.

I felt like Mowgli in Jungle Book when he saw the girl and all the bells and whistles went off... I got it.





Suddenly, it all became clear and I finally got the meaning behind all the dirty schoolyard jokes the boys had been telling for the past 4 years!  I had really thought a stork (of some sort) had delivered little Ralph to his mommy... and to think that with the million times we sprayed the male dogs that had been attached our female dog in the moment of sexual procreation and that I didn't get it!  

They laughed and circled me and pointed and said I was retarded! I was! Utter humiliation...then in a stroke genius... connecting all the dots with the epiphany of revelation that made everything come to light I said, "No, I didn't mean he didn't have a dad..." (not true) praying hoping they would buy it  "...Pshaw, what I meant was that he lived with his mom only!"  and then proceeded to tell them that of course he had to have a dad...as though I was an expert on the subject of having babies. I say, "The father was just out of the picture, because poor Ralph's parents had gotten a divorced!"

And to drive home my point ... I made sure to look at all of them as though they were complete idiots! Triumphantly, I lifted my head, broke though the circle of mocking - and walked towards school - never looking back at other kids... knowing that I would have to show up to church on Saturday for confession, because - I had told the greatest fib ever (especially if I was going to serve as an Altar-Boy).

I spent the whole day in class trying not to make eye contact with anyone - especially Andrea!   How could I ever look into her big brown eyes - when thinking about the birds and the bees.

How could I ever look at girls the same!  I spent the rest of my time - contemplating this new paradigm shift in my brain and had to force myself  back to holier thought on how I could get back at Chewbacca - for his evil prank with the marker - and  - that's when I came up with the brilliant idea!

Next time!

The Lennons and THE NAKED TRUTH!

                                    Which thou must (though it grieve thee) grant
                                                     I trumped never a man.
                                             But truely told the naked trueth,
                                                  To men that meld with mee,
                                              For neither rigour, nor for rueth,
                                                       But onely loath to lie.
                                                            [Alexander Montgomerie's "The Cherry and the Slae" 1585]

I think it is time to set the record straight.  This blog is a FORUM for me to share all the unbelievable stories that took place while I was growing up in the 60's and 70's in Venice California. Every single story is based on true events and the conflation of stories that have been pressed down...ground up and as if spit out by a blender in a imaginative mixture. 

SERIOUSLY: I ACTUALLY DON'T KNOW IF THERE IS ANOTHER FAMILY ANYWHERE  - THAT HAS HAD A SHARE OF FANTASTIC, INCREDIBLY AND BIZARRE STORIES AS...

THE DAHLINS! 

My family's stories are TRULY like something out of the Twilight Zone and uniquely centered in the tumultuous 60's - when the world seemed to be changing.  My goal is to have fun, make you laugh and to get you to think about the brotherhood of humankind!  It is an outlandish claim for me to begin with the premise that we were the "World's most dysfunctional family."  Certainly we weren't...but we certainly weren't your average family by any stretch of the imagination.

In order for me to highlight how bizarre we were in this imaginative romp, I set the stage by using the contrast between our family and the famous Lennons who lived two houses over - across the street.

Most everything I said was true...they did have a nice, clean, and orderly home. They did have a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary in their large picture window in front. We did have cars and boats and motorcycles and car parts and junk and magazines... and our house really did lean a little to the left! The Lennon Sisters did appear on TV every Saturday night and I think (next to my mom) I was one of their biggest fans. I really did consider them to be the picture of every good and right in the world. 

The Lennon Family were really quite reclusive...but that was only to be expected! I have one teenage daughter and would do everything in my power to protect her. Mr. Lennon had 6 beautiful daughters and did what he felt he had to do to protect them: they had autograph hounds... fans... and crazies that drove down our street trying to catch a glimpse, take pictures and sought autographs. I only pressed in on those differences to highlight how out of control we were in contrast - it enhances our story. BUT, my confession is that those comparisons or contrast were indeed a bit unfair.

I showed the famous Lennon Sisters then I showed us...

Them

 Us

 
I showed them sitting around in their living room together - in the goodness of a very functional family and then I showed pictures of us... (later in years) in all the glory of our hippy-ness. But in truth, the Lennons began to wander off the reservation (and truth be told) at just about the same time we were growing long hair the Lennon boys were becoming hippies as well (I just don't have any pictures of that).

Them

Us

In my broad brush strokes of artistic license... it made us look brilliantly and brutishly VIKING-esque... with all of our crazy antics of shooting each other and horrible pranks over and against the sanity of their house which may have inadvertently put them (or cast them in a bad light) as mam-bee-pambee's.  I want the world to know that nothing is further from the truth.











SETTING THE RECORD STRAIGHT! 







 
I respect and admire the Lennons for a plethora of reasons:

 1) They are all extremely generous and kind (that is my experience).
                    The Lennon Sisters sang at my dad's funeral.
                    Kippy and the Venice band played at my wedding.
                    Marky Lennon (a cousin, also in Venice) sang at my mom's Funeral
                    The Lennon Sisters invited me and my Water Polo team backstage in Las Vegas
                    They also invited my mom, me and my little sister to the taping of their Christmas Special.

2) Another thing is the sense of deep and meaningful family relationships they nurtured.
                   To this day they still get together for traditions that they fostered years ago.
                   They (very much) still seem to enjoy each others company ( I admire that).

3) Friendship. I paddled outrigger canoes and hung around with Joey in high-school( we were undefeated state champs several years running) and as a founding member of the "Ice Brothers" consider him a good friend to this day. 

4) Smiles. Mimi and DeeDee always had contagious smiles. 

5) Hard working and disciplined (this is something I think they learned from their dad - he was a "man's man)... dreamers of dreams and willing to work hard to make them come true. 

6) Forgiving. Billy should have punched me back in the face...when I blindsided him...but never sought revenge. a) sorry Billy b) Thank you for not beating me up.

7) Strength! Kippy has modeled to me the strength and courage of perseverance. As the youngest boy in the Lennon clan he never gave up on his dream and attacked it with the ferociousness of a pit bull. Today, he and his band travel around the world - despite what-ever setback and obstacle they had to hurdle in order to overcome.

8) My wife! Somehow, I was introduced to my wife through the Lennon-Gass connection! To which I owe a great debt.  Thank you... Dick and DeeDee, Debi...Marilee and Mrs. Gass (and anyone else who conspired in that).  

I love the Lennons and am perhaps one of their greatest fans... and apologize if I paint them in too good a light...and also for my comparisons, which I'd have to admit were intentionally unfair (I'm sure they had their share of dysfunction as well). 

As for the Dahlins...even though we did let the monkeys out of the zoo...have the police department over at our house every couple days...had an attack rooster - instead of a watch dog... grow "Mexican tomato plants"... shoot each other with needle-tipped homemade arrows... have cages full of reptiles and rattlesnakes that kept escaping... an alligator in our backyard pond... electrocute ourselves and one of the nuns from Saint Marks... vacation at the God-forsaken Salton Sea... have a hospital bed in our dining room and have an notorious encounter with the President of the United States. Though I did blow myself up... get shoved in the hamper of death and get left behind at Salton Sea...  I don't think I would had traded my childhood with anyone else... even if tempted by a bite of Sis Lennon's famous chocolate cake.


As for me... I'm just waiting for my next adrenaline fix...and can't wait to see what ambush lies just ahead.

I am convinced that we live in a hard world that is full of ups and downs... success and discouragement...hardships and hurts and  tell people, "It is better to laugh than to cry"

I think laughing at ourselves gives us power over the things that can have power over us...

My advice: "Don't take yourself too seriously.... and if you think I'm weird, at least I have an excuse!"
   
      

THE DAHLIN ZONE and my biggest nightmare!

There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man.  It is a dimension in Venice California in the gap in time between now and then. It is the middle ground between what was fact and what was perceived to be. In it lies the pit of fears regarding the survival of Catholic school and lots of older brothers. It is the dimension of 1960’s in Markie D’s imagination. It is filled with tragedy, humor and a satirical look at the human condition.  

It is known as “The Dahlin Zone”  

I blogged my way through that first terrible week of fifth grade in September of 1966. It is now October 1968, I have just turned 12 and am in seventh grade in Catholic School. Sister Edith is my teacher, and (like a lot of the nuns before her), she has had her share of Dahlin boys (5 or 6 to be inexact, one right after another).  By this time in her long teaching vocation she was just plain tired of the plague that had infested Saint Marks some many moons ago beginning in the 1950's. Sister Edith will forever be notorious for her music lessons and will likely go down in infamy for her "head tones," for cracking rulers over hands of many-a-seventh grader, and for throwing erasers. She had a good arm and nailed me just about every time she hurled one of those chalk-filled bombs in my direction. She is probably in heaven right now playing catch with Jesus (However, I just hope she's not throwing erasers).

Anyway... I skipped reporting on last year - my sixth grade experience. If life wasn't already difficult enough, I mean, being shocked and shot, buried and shoved in the Hamper of Death, Milk Wars and pushing cars, left behind and knocked out, bitten by snakes, tormented and tossed like a salad in the trunk of Gustav's legendary Rat Killer...Sixth Grade was far worst than all of those things combined!

Besides starting the year off on the "wrong foot" with leprosy, and a stolen sweater that embarrassed the heck out of me...Du...Du...Du...I discovered my biggest NIGHTMARE!

Oh, I had barely made it out of Sister Godzilla's class by the skin of my teeth. I'm not joking when I say,  "I barely made it out." My only consolation was the fact that all of the Nuns at Saint Marks already had - like - eight Dahlins before I got there and were not, under any circumstance willing to subject themselves to that kind of pain ever again. Not one of them would ever consider holding anyone of us back for another year. Thanks to the shear number of Dahlins and the rather rambunctious nature of my brothers, who preceded me, I practically had FUNKING INSURANCE.  When I was promoted from fifth grade, it was Sister Godzilla's last year and she tried everything in her power to flunk me back into the fifth grade for another stint- since she was leaving. PAYBACK for the time we had electrocuted her (BLOG Post 4/26/13). Apparently, the Pope vetoed her, because the Catholic Church felt they couldn't afford to ruin a perfectly new teacher, recruited to be her replacement.

I made it!  Just like the Hamper of Death... just like the Templates... and just like Salton Sea, I made it out alive!

Having said all that, why couldn't they have moved me across the hall into the other sixth grade class? Why did they stick me in my mother's class? (The reason was obvious,, to spare the nun across the hall). Yep, my mom had begun teaching the sixth grade at Saint Marks and I mistakenly figured that this year would be like being on a holiday where I could just kick back and relax!  Nepotism had to have it's advantages, right?




I love my mom, but boy was I wrong!

Turns out that, I didn't have a clue!

My mom was funny and there wasn't room in our classroom for two class clowns and besides she could make an example out of me! 

In the future.. they are going to find out some things about little boys.  They are going to discover things like ADD and ADHD and learning styles and things like that.  In 1967 they didn't have those kinds of labels. I don't know if that was a good thing or bad thing. Without being defined or confined by a label I guess we really didn't have all the excuses we have today. But, the way I was wired...let me just put it this way...there was nothing in that classroom setting that was conducive to my particular learning style. We couldn't move enough, we couldn't touch enough, the desk chairs were too hard and too straight...there was too much order... I couldn't learn through my ears and the teachers talked too much. All of this to tell you that...I was special...and they just didn't know it or how to handle someone like me. Shucks, why stand when you can sit? Why sit when you can slough? Why slough when you can lay down? Why lay down when you can crawl around on the floor and grab the girl's ankles. 

Why obey when you can climb over the cloakroom wall and make everybody laugh and why study when you can cheat off Regina's paper.  (It was all pretty simple to me - I don't know why they didn't get it)

Sixth grade would be the hardest ten years I ever spent in school! I figured my mom  might just flunk me, since I was hers. I pictured it in my head - I would probably end up like Jethro Bodine (on The Beverly Hillbillies) as a 26-year-old in Junior High School (I guess by then, at least, I'd be as tall as Marilyn Jones and maybe even have hair on my lip by then like some of the other boys). Anyway, like The Beverly Hillbillies, I was a fish out of water. That very first week I learned that sixth grade in my mom's class would not be a "cake-walk" especially since I arrived on the first day with "leprosy."

I'm going to tell you about that story,  but it all begins a few years earlier about how the Dahlins managed to bring mosquitoes to California.

Yep, we are the one's...all right. And I'll tell you exactly how that came back to bite me (that's a pun)...let's say, it came back to bite me - like a bazillion times AND just two weeks before the first day of school. Everybody knows that sixth graders can be pretty cruel at times and should understand why I wished I have been committed to a Leper Colony Instead.

I would have gladly accepted the bell around my neck and publicly declared myself to be unclean rather than the ridicule of my friends.

...and it all began with my dad's frugal, hair-gel concoction of sugar-water... which I tell you about Next Tme...

...in the mean time, here is a picture of my hair that is as hard as a plastic, baseball helmet...that a gale force wind couldn't mess it up. That is where we get the derogatory expression... "Helmet Head."

Oh, and by the way, The Beatles just came out with a new song, "Hey Jude" sounds pretty cool to me and looks like it's probably going to be a pretty big hit.

Take a bad song and make it better...  Don't be afraid

And anytime you feel the pain, hey Markie D, refrain,
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders