"Oh no you didn't" BEWARE: THE RAGING PITBULL

This post is a continuation from the last one.

Markie D walked to his house just around the corner from his grammar school for lunch everyday. As the omega male of the Wolf Pack it was hard bumping elbows with the brood when the chaotic scramble happened every morning as the older boys scavenged for anything they could put in a lunch sack. With the fighting, the name calling and the pulling of hair, Markie decided it was best to stay under the radar and not even try to compete. By the time it came along for him to glean the kitchen for scraps there was nothing left over other than tainted milk, wilted celery, and the leftover something that had begun to grow green hair.  Opening the Tupperware lid on his ancient treasure, Mark gagged and almost threw up and then received a thump on the head by one of older guys. Other than that, the only thing edible that survived the ravages of the Wolf Pack was dry sourdough bread from the Pioneer day-old store. He wasn't about to pack a piece of dry bread, not when he could walk home and toast it!

And that's what he did. He lived on sourdough toast for lunch everyday.

But to his dismay, he discovered the terrifying newsflash that Chewbacca (a brother, who was 8 years older and like 12 feet taller) was home at that time from Santa Monica City College every Tuesday and Thursday. Chewbacca, in a moment of evil inspiration, had just invented a new form of torture that he affectionately termed a "Template." 

We left off last time, when Markie D had just woken up from his unconscious stuper after being knocked out and left on the floor in the cruel trick by his older brother. The runt of the litter, toasted his sourdough bread and happily staggered back to lunch recess with his blonde bangs swaying off his forehead (although he had plastered his hair earlier in his father's frugal concoction of sugar-water instead of hair gel).

Ironically, the poor little fella was a happy little soul - perhaps even, quite too happy for his circumstances. Though he thought of himself as special... like Joseph in the Bible... this designation "Special" may have been more in line with the way that word is used when thinking about "The Short Yellow Bus" - kind of "Special."

Markie had heard about the word love in Catechism and knew that the concept or idea of love was out there somewhere. He had never heard the "L" word  used in his family, but felt that it was out there to be discovered.  He desperately wanted to know what love was; what it felt like.. what it looked like and if a person could really experience this concept that he felt was so out of reach.

Last year, in 4th grade, when Mrs. McNellis was reading Charlotte's Web to the class (and fell asleep while reading) MARK DISCOVERED something amazing for the first time! GIRLS!

With something like 7 or 8 older brothers at home and with only two toilets in the house, you can image the dilemma. It meant there were desperate times when 4 or 5 of the boys had to pee in the toilet at the same time....if any went into the toilet, that was a miracle. Poor Markie had to squeeze in between a forest of legs, and being just about "po-po" height (compared to the guys who were 2 or more feet taller) -  he knew was a boy was. Hello, no problem with that one!

It took him this long, however, to figure that girls were different from boys... a different gender...a different species and he was suddenly intrigued as he looked across the 4th grade classroom (while the teacher had fallen asleep) and fell in love with Roberta.  Not the girls his house, but girls in the outside world were soft and cute and, well, different (maybe even nice) he imagined. He had tried his affections on Janet and hit her over the head with his book causing the little teeth in her hair barrette to draw blood. That relationship lasted about three hours when her parents got the phone call and Sister Superior and everyone started yelling at him.  

Roberta had the most beautiful, thick auburn hair and he was in love - whatever loved looked like to a 4th grader. Markie wasn't going to hit her over the head (that didn't work) yet other than that, he didn't know what to do, but to stare and daydream. Richard Stiman was a man of action....he told Roberta he liked her and Markie lost the girl of his dreams. By 5th grade Markie knew he had no chance with the girls, because there were guys who already had traces of hair on their upper lip, like Richard Arredondo. Hair on Markie's lip was about 25 years down the road. No chance with the girls meant, that Markie had no chance at discovering what this illusive thing called love - was all about. He was Mowgli, who was all alone in the jungle. 

(Enough of the back story) Whistling and staggering  his way back onto Saint Mark's School property holding  up his warm buttered sourdough toast as if it were a glorious trophy - symbolic of  enduring Chewbacca 's "Template of Brain Damage." 

This toasted bread was the envy of every 5th grader who had to chock down stale peanut and squished jelly sandwiches. His stock value suddenly increased...he was important for a minute. He liked the feeling of being liked. The boys in that corner of the schoolyard lined up and Markie granted one bite apiece. ONE BITE... Markie had not even had the chance to eat one-half of his toast yet and was reluctantly giving most of his prized possession away.

THEN CAME MICHAEL. Michael was at least a full head taller than Mark and probably twice his weight... Michael grabbed Markie's sourdough and shoved half it in his mouth to be mean and spiteful...

BAD! BAD! BAD Mistake! Michael might have outweighed Markie  D by 50-60 lbs... and had no idea that the little runt had to fight Ulrich and his Small Napoleons - like very day.  Bad choice bully Michael, this was just not your lucky day. 

Picture this. Pitbulls are cute and cuddly, quite friendly and about as unassuming as a beagle. Now image a police dog...a 135 pound German Shepherd. If that German Shepherd were to attack this 30 pound dog, your initial reaction is to feel sorry for the poor little fella. You root for the little guy - you (plural) feel sorry for the cute little thing.  

But when that little guy tightens the sinew of his muscle mass and his pupils pin-point, it's like a metamorphosis from Dr. Hyde to Mr. Jekyll takes place. And when that Pitbull sinks his teeth into the neck of that German Shepherd, suddenly you fell sorry for the poor, pathetic, self-assured German Shepherd who thought he was "All That!"

You might even be compelled to get a stick and beat the Pitbull off of the humbled-terrorist of a bully.

Do I need to say anything more - other than poor, big, self-assured, bully Michael, who though he was "All That," received more than he bargained for. 

It did take about two teachers and three kids to pull Markie off of the big bully...his ear got pinched by Sister Godzilla, as he was sent to the Principal's office to the cheers of admiring 5th graders.

Pray for Michael, but don't feel sorry for Markie...his stock value went up in school that day... and now maybe, he had a chance with the ladies and could find out what this thing called love was all about. 

Unbeknownst to him, the closest thing Markie would come touching love, to finding love and experiencing love...came every Friday with Irene. She was the cleaning lady from Watts who knew a thing or two about bullies, about prejudice, about enduring, and fully understood about glorious trophy of true love.

You may have heard that. “Sticks and stones may break your bones, but names will never hurt you!” 

Yeah, well… I think I would put it a different way, “Sticks and stones may break your bones – they will  heal, but names can hurt for a long time.” 

 
It was Tuesday and Markie would have to wait until Friday. Until then, he sang one of the songs Irene had taught him. 

Go Down Moses

Way down in Egypt Land

Tell old Pharaoh

To let my People Go

When Israel was in Egypt land

Let my people go

Oppressed so hard they could not stand

Let my people go

“Thus spoke the Lord,” bold Moses said

“If not, I’ll smite your first born dead..

Let my people go

CHEWBACCA and The Template of Doom

For all of you around the world who are joining Markie D's journey through adolescence, you can see that this is much more than the iconic, How I survived Catholic School...but rather, how this poor little guy survived at all.
              Thank you for joining me!
These 100% true stories take place in the seed bed of the tumultuous 60's cultural revolution in America.  My mother-in-law warned me, "Markie D, aren't you afraid of what people in other countries might think of America?" My reaction is, "They might actually want to know what was taking place over here at this time in history!" 

The year is 1966, John Lennon just declared that the Beatles were "Bigger than Jesus," long hair was in and all the kids were quoting Captain Kirk (from Star Trek) "Beam me up Scotty."

The United States and the Soviet Union were like two fifth graders in a schoolyard standoff in something called the Cold War. 

The Civil Rights movement was in full swing, rioting and Viet Nam Protest was happening all over the country. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

Markie D was 10-years-old and in fifth grade... but to understand his psychosis, you probably need to go back in the blog and read about the "The Zoo," "Salton Sea" and "The Hamper."  When Mrs. D. wasn't teaching school at Saint Marks, she came home and locked herself in her bedroom and watched episodes of Bonanza, I love Lucy, Bewitched and The Beverley Hillbillies (and of course got her dose of the Lennon Sisters on the Lawrence Welk Show every Saturday night). Meanwhile the Wolf Pack (that's Mark's older brothers) were calling the shots at the Dahlin family asylum.  They were creative, intelligent, mischievous beyond imagination and totally unrestrained. HELLO?

We left off last time...with Markie punching poor Billy in the face and was now fearing the consequences of the wrath of Mr. Lennon or that Billy might join Ulrich's "Small-Men Army of Anarchy." 

Having barely survived the first day of Fifth Grade in Sister Godzilla's class, Markie D was about to discover THE MOST TERRIFYING NEWS OF HIS LIFE on Tuesday.  It wasn't about the threat of nuclear warfare or Viet Nam, it was something far worst, it was about his second oldest brother's college schedule (which had everything to do with what happened in the school yard at the end of lunch time to poor Michael C). 

Markie D ran home for lunch, saw a snake in the palm tree next to the Smith's house, which he knew that had escaped from the attic cages of his old, turn-of-the-century 3 story home. It was not the rattlesnake that put the entire neighborhood on high alert for the past week...so Markied D wrestled the gardersnake from the palm fronds and took it home.

When Markie D descended the stairs it was like a cold chill that blew in horror movies just before the knife repeatedly stuck it unsuspecting victim. Bjorn (another made up name to protect the guilty), stood in the direct path between the service stairs and the toaster.

Markie rounded the corner and Bjorn's eyes lit up and a crooked smile broke across his face like that of the Grinch when he looked down on Whoville after stealing all the presents. The Terrifying News was that Bjorn, now in college, had Tuesday and Thursdays off during Markie's lunch hour.

From the look that Bjorn gave...Markie knew he was in trouble...he just didn't know how much at the moment. Besides the fact that there was 8 years between them, Bjorn was tall and Markie was small. Bjorn a hairy-hippy viking who towered above 6 feet and Markie was the smallest boy in fifth grade - at barely over 4 feet and not more than 70 lbs dripping wet.

Mark gulped when Bjorn asked him if he knew what a "template" was. He knew it was a loaded question and attempted to throw out positive pheromones, like he tried to do with the attack rooster in the backyard.

"A template is a plastic thing you draw around, right?"  Markie said... trying not to reveal his fear...as if he could will himself to be released from Bjorn's sinister tractor beam.


"No, let me show you" replied Bjorn in a threatening tone that gave away his intent.

Frozen by fear, Markie could not move. This was like one of those moments in his dreams where his feet would not comply to his demands to run away. Bjorn's grin stretch from ear to ear as he approached the little fellow who had retreated home for a piece of sourdough toast in lieu of packing a lunch this morning.  

Bjorn's words sounded as scary as the doll in the Twilight Zone when she said, "My name is Talking Tina and I don't think I like you." It was just one brother and Markie figured he could take them one at a time...but Bjorn lulled Markie D into a hypnotic sense of false security with his even, soft tones. Bjorn said, "This is a template" and grabbed Markie by this temples between his strong thumb and other fingers. Bjorn squeezed almost lifting Markied D off his feet. He squeezed and he squeezed and Markie D blacked out, went limp and crumpled to the floor... in a unconscious pile of flesh and bones. "Restless dreams I walked alone. Narrow streets of cobblestone."

Markie's head spun as he slowly faded back into consciousness... Little did he know this would be a ritual he would have to endure every Tuesday and Thursday for Bjorn's first college semester. "Hello darkness my old friend"

Clinging to the edge of the bumper pool-table for support - though semi-alert and dizzy, Markie managed to make it back to his feet.  He staggered his way past the stacks of National Geographic magazines, successfully toasted his Pioneer sourdough bread and happily headed back to Saint Marks with his warm, buttered toast.

Michael C. please don't do what your about to do next - this is just a warning: DON'T MESS WITH HIS TOAST!  Next time, apparently, poor Michael, the bully, didn't get the memo!

God was kind to Mark and gave him special coping mechanism that, though feeling alone - like a rock, an island...like Mogwli lost in the jungle and raised by the Wolf Pack...despite how he was treated or should I say mistreated...He was a happy little soul who lived in his own little world.

He'll grow up to have certain character flaws... memory loss... learning disabilities, but eventually - by the grace of God, the little guy will be Okay! :) 

You Just Picked the WRONG DAY Billy!

It is still the first week of fifth grade and it has been about a bazillion years since anything seemed to go right for the poor little fellow.  Having been left behind at Salton Sea; lured, deceived, betrayed, Mark was stuffed in a diaper pail and shoved under the old grouches' car next door and was involuntarily subjected to community shock therapy by the Wolf Pack.

The older boys were slowly evolving into full fledged hippys and Markie D felt like an outsider looking in. He just wanted to feel like he was a part of his own family, but was too young - too helpless - and too much of a target. As the omega male he was easy prey.

Conked, swatted, kicked, tricked, tied, carried, shoved, shot, shocked, humiliated, dipped, bounced, the little guy was this "passive-aggressive" blob of explosive jello.

"Class," Sister Godzilla shrieked. "What percent of the earth's water can be used for drinking?"

Ernestine, who sat in the desk just across from Markie D (a good arms length away), shot her hand up in the air to answer the question. Thinking it was a fist coming in his direction Markie D reacted to the perceived threat -covered his head with both arms and leaned away - thusly falling out of his chair!  

That's probably not the best thing to do in fifth grade (or in brother Michael's class in ninth grade). Fifth graders can be a pretty mean species.  

 

Richard pointed!

The class laughed! 

Mark pretended to be on the ground looking for a lost pencil. No one was buying it. 

How do you spell humiliation!   m a r k i e d. 

 

Sr. Godzilla pinched his ear, yanked him from the floor and dragged him off to Sister Superior's office. 

Markie didn't know who he should be mad at...someone he figured! Sister Godzilla? Ernestine? Richard? His brothers for giving him Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome? His parents, for not protecting him? Himself for being an idiot? God? No, he wasn't mad at God, but boy... all those pent up emotions were brewing and stewing inside and someone was liable to get punched in the face. By the end of school, the little volcano was about to explode - Watch out world! To be fair to the unsuspecting masses that lived on Harding Ave, Markie d should have had a sign around his neck with a big warning: PLEASE DO NOT PUSH ANY OF MY BUTTONS TODAY!

(Please excuse the literary license as I shift to first person)

I will use a pseudonym for my my next oldest brother - in order to protect the innocent or the GUILTY! Ulrich, who was about 4 years older than me, had begun to gather his own crew of angry short people. All of whom suffered from a personality disorder referred to as a "Napoleon Complex" and assembleD them into a club. Their one grand purpose in life was to roam about and beat up unsuspecting little brothers and anyone they felt they could intimidate and subject to their rule by force. Who better than me! Why not? On the way home from school I was often ambushed by attacks from his motley crew who would cleverly be hidden behind cars or in trees.
 TODAY WAS NOT THE DAY!
 Obviously, they didn't get the memo (please don't push any of my buttons) and Billy Lennon picked the wrong day to wonder off the confines of the Lennon compound!

The Lennons (for many good reasons), played only in their backyard (if they chose to go out into the sun and do activities that normal children do)!  The Lennon Sisters at this time, were indeed, quite famous and had stalkers and gawkers who parked outside their house seeking autographs and hoping to catch glimpses of this celebrity Venice family.  Mr. Lennon was no patsy! This guy could fight and could stand his ground in a boxing ring with just about anybody. For some reason, however, he didn't give boxing lessons to his kids. Oh, and another good reason for them not to wonder off the premises is that the DAHLINS LIVED ACROSS THE STREET.


"Warning! Danger, Will Robinson Danger" 

Danger, Wolf Pack, Danger!

Danger, Mini-Napoleons, danger!

Danger, Billy Lennon, Danger!

Today was not the Day!

Billy caught up to Ulrich where the angry, small-man congress had been lying in wait behind the Steadman's Cadillac to pounce on me.  Mrs. Steadman peered out from behind the blinds and yelled to Mr. Steadman..."The Wolf Pack in on the move, honey. Get ready to call the police! My, oh my"

Urich and his punitive jamboree of "no-gooders" jumped out from behind the big white Cadillac - startling me like Ernestine did earlier. Only this time it was intentional and I wildly swung hoping to take out one of the beligerent predators.

ONLY!

Only, it was poor Billy who I cold-cocked in the face. He was an innocent bystander and the only one of them that didn't deserve it.

The angry little-men scattered! Billy gave chase. I ran into the house slammed the door and hid in my room.

50 some years later, poor Billy is still wondering why I slugged him in the face. When you see him, someone please tell him it had something to do the the electrocutions, with the hamper, with Salton Sea.... with the"Pee-pee incident" in third grade and Mrs. Simpson's alligators (that I swear were real), with Ernestine's hand, with Ulrich and his wretched ambushes or with Sister Godzilla. 

Someone tell Billy I'm sorry and warn him that it just might be safer in their own backyard. As for now, I just hope he dosen't send his dad down the street the settle the score.Mea Culpa. Mea Culpa. Mea Maxi Culpa!

Turns out it was Ulrich who inspired the lyrics to Randy Newman's song; Short People which he recorded years and years later.

Oh, and someone should warn Michael C. about tomorrow regarding "THE TOAST INCIDENT" of 1966, obviously he didn't get the memo either. 

Please don't read this... Mrs. Simpson and the PEE-PEE incident!

In my Blog, I’m still talking about my first week in fifth grade where I ended up in Sr. Godzilla’s class. She did not fail to live up to the terror her Saint Marks’ grammar school nickname invoked. 

So far (if you have tuned in and read some of my stories) you realize that our family was just NOT normal.   

We lived in what many would consider a GOOD CATHOLIC neighborhood and felt that between the Dahlins and the four other Lennon families nearby - our wonderful and obedient parents did everything they could to fulfill the Dominion Mandate of Genesis chapter 1 “Multiply and fill the earth.”  Between those five homes (alone) we had something like 53 kids and could have populated a small city all by ourselves (Wait...we did have a small city all by ourselves).

My mom had a baby a year and the Lennon Family (on the corner) are in Ripley’s Believe It or Not for having 11 kids (all of whom are born in different months – statistically, that’s an anomaly).

The only problem with the Dominion Mandate in Genesis Chapter 1…( besides the command to have lots of babies) is also the command by God to “Subdue and Rule over the world.”  That was probably a good idea at one time, but then after sin entered the world that’s where everything went wrong and Vikings were invented to pillage, plunder and terrorized the civilized world i.e. "to take dominion"

While the Lennons were obediently having children and appearing on TV every Saturday night on the Lawrence Welk show, my older brothers were busy wreaking havoc - also obediently keeping the command to subdue and rule i.e "to dominate" our little corner of the world.

Being something like 7^th or 8^th or whatever number I was in birth order (the last male child), I imagine that I was left to change my own diapers and feed myself from scraps that were either thrown to me in the corner or food that had fallen off the table.

I was like Mowgli, the lost child, being raised in the jungle. Our house was literally a jungle not only with kids and strangers who lived with us… but also the four legged creatures, reptiles, and birds that we brought home. Just look at that picture above... there I am in diapers holding a piece of 2 day old toast that I probably found on the ground...yum... yum!

I don’t blame my parents one bit for checking out, but that might be one reason it allowed the Wolf-Pack to reigned holy terror at Saint Marks (as well as in our neighborhood).  This might also explain the reason why the nuns at Saint Marks School felt they had to take out revenge on me.  By the time I came along, those poor nuns had enough of the Dahlin infestation that plagued the school for at least the last ten years.

Back then I didn’t know why I felt hated even on the first day of every grade I moved up to, but have since figured that out (at least that’s a hypothesis I’m floating as a theory), which leads me to the embarrassing story that happened in the third grade at the hands of Mrs. Simpson. 

The Lennons: The best Catholic Family in the history of the world.(see Blog Post of 4-28-2013: The Best Catholics in the World ).

The Dahlins: Well, let's allow this picture to speak for itself.

If you have had a chance to follow this blog, then you're well aware that my poor parents checked out and let my brothers (the inmates of the Dahlin house) run the asylum… By this time, our family had let the monkeys out of the zoo, reeled in the old grouch next door in a horrible prank, left me behind at Salton Sea that ended in a highway patrol chase… and the Wolf pack lured me into a death chamber that used to be a diaper pail  for an extreme "twofer." It doesn’t take a rocket scientist, to see that our family was unique, creative, diabolical and totally in touch with our inner-Viking (that followed God's command to subdue, take dominion and rule the world). 

A year after the JFK assassination when the cold war with Russia was at its zenith, Miss Sims – turned Mrs. Simpson was the substitute teacher in my third grade class.  She was going to give a test! I had to go pee and should have gone when we came in from recess. I didn’t and needed to go real bad...REAL BAD!

The mean substitute, Mrs. Simpson stood on top of Sister Shawn’s desk and declared that the floor  was like water and swarmed with angry and hungry alligators that loved to eat Third Graders… especially blonde-haired boys!

Since I learned to live in my imagination as a way of escape… I actually saw the alligators swimming around my feet and snapping their sharp teeth at my Keds sneakers. Dramatically, Mrs. Simpson barked out shrill warnings as to the demands of her test requirements.

There was to be absolutely no talking, “What-so-ever!”

There was to be no cheating, “What-so-ever!”

AND nobody – not one person could, at any time during the test, -could  never, at any time, -ever-ever raise their hand “For any reason, what-so ever!”

Look  up gullible in the dictionary and this is what you will find.  Gullible [ˈgʌləb^əl]  adj Markie D i.e Easily deceived or duped.

I looked around to see if any of the other normal kids saw the ferocious alligators.  I was terrified, BUT HAD to go pee-pee really, really bad. However, Mrs. Simpson (the Sub, the one in authority) said that if I raised my hand for any reason the alligators would eat me. I was afraid and spent the entire time of the class set aside for the test contemplating as to whether her hungry alligators would eat a kid who raised their hand - if that particular kid just wanted permission to use the restroom!

Everyone was busy taking the test… I was busy watching for alligators and trying to hold back my bloated and pressurized bladder.  
      10 minutes of torture – not one answer put down on the test. 
      20 minutes of torture – not one answer put down.

I was holding my popo...and doing the pee-pee dance in my seat.  Feet wiggling, behind squirming, hand pinching! I sat for 30 minutes of torture – still contemplating whether a kid could raise their hand in order to go to the bathroom or if that meant it would upset her hungry alligators. 

40 minutes of torture and I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I eased up (just a bit -on the grip on my fire hose) and decided to relieve some of the pressure.

Pssst...Psst... went small amounts of warm yellow fluid that ran down my leg. UGHhhhhhhh! That didn’t make my bladder any happier – NO! Instead, it made matters worst and hurt even more.  Bad decision!

By the time a kid got to third grade – no kid in the history of world ever PEE’D their pants - No…that was something for Kindergarteners. Without one answer on my test I was feeling helpless and stupid like a 5 year-old.

Pssst-Pssst – went more of the yellow liquid.  “Leak over the starboard side captain!”  I shouted in my head! 

I couldn’t hold anything back anymore and let it all go!  I managed to do a controlled sinking and let everything do down the right leg and into my right shoe.

There I sat in a giant puddle of yellow pee… and luckily for me, no one noticed....so far! 

Could I get out of this alive or would Michael Boyle point it out to everyone.  Someone had to smell the sea of urine that flooded the entire area around my desk – but at least I didn’t raise my hand…I won!

Sure, I would get another F on a test, but at least I might have beat Mrs. Simpson and her third-grade-eating-alligators.

Only problem now was: could I escape this mess undetected? I decided to run home for lunch and change pants hoping that Ronnie or Pat or Rick Arredondo wouldn't spot the yellow ocean I left behind and call me out in front of everyone.

The test was over and I discretely tried to pretend that nothing had happened…I tried not to draw attention to the man on the grassy knoll… and that there was no CIA conspiracy in this episode of Markie D and the embarrassing incident of the third grade PEE-PEE.

Clop… slosh, clop…slosh, clop…slosh, went one dry Keds and the other sloshing wet shoe filled with pee-pee that left a trail down the long narrow hallway. 

I was almost all the way to the front door when a second grader slipped in my oil-spill and slid into a group of first graders like a bowling ball that knocked down a bunch bowling pins. The incident triggered an investigation to see where the spill took place… I ran home, hid my pants, checked under my bed for the rattlesnake that went missing yesterday, hid in my room and never came back that day.  

This will go down as the day that Markie D beat Mrs. Simpson and her alligators. I WON! 

If you've read this blog post share it with a friend, but please don't tell Marilyn or Theresa or Andrea...or any of my grammar school friends - because it is still embarrassing! 

Until next time...