I Should Have Stopped at Three Laps

Thank you, to all who are tracking with my Blog and I want to welcome the people from the last 10 countries to my story!

Welcome: Nepal, Lithuania, Saudi Arabia, Czech Republic, Belarus, Colombia, Cambodia, Ecuador, China and Thailand!  

Captains Log: Star Date October 12th 1968.  It is two days after Detroit Tigers won the World series and the morning after the very first telecast from outer-space - that was really cool!

A lot had been happening on our street over the past couple of years. One of the significant developments is that the older Lennon boys down the street had gotten bitten by the "Long-Haired-Hippy-Bug." This infection must explain they reason they were migrating towards our house and I also think those "Mexican Tomato Plants" had something to do with it. That was like the proverbial "crack in the dike" which was followed by the flood waters of defection of Lennons down to and including the youngest girl - Annie. Annie was just around 9-years-old at this time and I can assure you that she had nothing to so with those skunk-smelling plants hidden in our backyard. Innocently, she just followed Karin to the black-hole of chaos at our house.

Chewbacca...no longer had his lunch breaks at the same time Karin, Annie and I ventured off the Saint Mark's campus for lunch everyday at our house. Though subjected to whatever mess, whatever creatures were loose and running around (maybe an escaping rattlesnake or something tame like guinea pigs, or something disgusting like Chewbacca's house-guest, a gross pigeon with a parasite that lived on top of the refrigerator! Did I already say "gross!"? GROSS!) At least Annie was safe from Chewbacca's cruel "Template of Torture" Chewbacca and the Terrible Templates). So, Annie was on today's short list of those invited to go and swim at the McElliot's built-in pool!


In the last year, Ralph had replaced "Gherhing the Great" as my new "Bestest" friend at Saint Marks. My buddy Gherhing had turned a corner. He came to school a month ago in what he affectionately called his black pointed "Beaner-Shoes," I didn't like that word very much, but he said the hard pointed tips were really good for getting into fights with. He talked about all the race fights that were taking place over at Mark Twain Jr. High School and how he couldn't wait to get involved. (No sir,  not me - I didn't feel like I wanted to invite any more conflict into my world than I was already dealing with at home so the two of us began to drift apart).

Ralph, like most of the other guys in the 7th grade, was about a head taller than me and had hair on his lip already like Ricky Arredondo. The nuns at Saint Mark's grammar school weren't too keen on Ricky's mustache and brought his parents in for a conference and told them they had to make Ricky shave it off.  The rumor around school was that either Ricky or his dad told Sister Superior that Ricky would shave off his mustache "When Sister ChaCha shaved hers." That was the latest rumor that made all of us kids laugh and will likely turn into a trend in the future like - "No Shave November!" or something like that.  

On the list with Annie and Ralph was Tommy from next door. It happened to be a Saturday that Tommy wasn't grounded. Tommy's mom, Mrs. Blaser, didn't particularly like the idea that our pool had always been green and mosquito infested, which she feared would spread the contagion of all the "A" ending words: Diphtheria; Malaria, Diarrhea and Ebola! (I think the reason my parents actually wanted us to eat that moldy, old sourdough bread was for antibiotic medicinal properties in fuzzy green penicillin. "Pshaw" - the Blasers might be susceptible to those diseases, but none of us Dahlins were ever going to get Diphtheria or Ebola because of all the moldy bread we had to eat).   

Anyway, Ulrich (against his will) was commissioned to walk us over to the McElliot's pool, which was just past Ricky's house - down Zanja a couple blocks and close to Venice high school. Ulrich was 15 and had his reputation to consider. Begrudgingly, he led us down the alley route, so that no one would see him with a bunch of little kids like us. It was a scary time and his job was to get us there safely, but we have to be extremely quiet and very careful "not to act like little kids" - he said. (I think it was because he "woke up on the wrong side of the bed" again).

Though we were in the middle of an October "heat wave" the water could have been warmer. Surprisingly, Ulrich stuck around longer than he needed to. After we changed into our swim suits he made sure to baptize us by throwing all of us into the unwelcoming temperatures of the pool water. Even more odd, was the fact that he even encouraged us in a game of "how many laps under water."  Pshaw - This was cake. It was me against three 9-year-olds and Ralph...and I was practically a fish. First Annie, then Tommy, then Kjersten, then Ralph! Kjersten nearly did two full laps. Driven by ego, Ralph made it all the way to two laps, just to prove he could beat a 9-year-old girl. (It nearly killed him though so I was glad that an older person like Ulrich was there, just in case one of the other kids drowned or something. I knew that if Tommy Blaser or Annie Lennon had drowned that neither mother would have liked that very much).

 Then it was my turn!  I had to beat my little sister and I HAD to beat Ralph.

One lap
Two laps...
...on my way to Three laps!  Ulrich had done three laps one time... if I could just touch the wall and turn back the other direction I would beat his record.  

I was already out of breath and should have stopped there...but I had prove myself and kept going. My stomach convulsed against me as if in rebellion, but I was determined to press on and win - as though this was something that really mattered.

For me it was like the Gold Medal of the Mexican Olympics was at stake...

At the Olympics this past summer was a 18-year-old hot shot by the name of Mark Spitz who had already won 10 world records. Mark Spitz had won 2 Gold Medals at the Olympics... and I WAS MARK SPITZ!

Four laps...I was making it... It might kill me but I was doing it. FOUR LAPS!  I'm sure it was Lennon record... a Blaser record... Dahlin record... a Venice record and quite possibly a WORLD RECORD! If I were to drown there was an older kid to rescue me - so I had nothing to lose.

Completely out of air, I was barely able to touch the end of the pool but somehow managed to make it all four laps when I shot up from the deep end...like a submarine -kaboom! Urgently surfacing from the depths of the deep I emerged with my mouth opened wide - gasping - and desperately sucking in volumes of air!  That is when heart sank - realizing the terror that awaited me.  Instead of the accolades of the crowds and the cheers of adoring fans; instead of a pat on the back and words of congratulations from my friends (which had motivated me to pursue this dangerous task) I received nothing of the kind. Instead, i was welcomed with the terrifying epiphany of knowing this whole thing had been a diabolical plot just like the time I was betrayed by Dooh-Dooh Pants with the insidious "Hamper of Death" scheme  Betrayal and Hamper of Death. In this case it was Ulrich. He was crouched in the hopeful anticipation of this exact moment in time - running from one end of the pool to the other with each lap waiting for me to emerge. Like an cunning animal of prey that had been patiently waiting for the timing to make his attack.

Bent low to the water's surface...Ulrich inhaled mucus through his nose cavity and with precision, launched the largest, greenest, thickest loogie ever recorded in the history of mankind - right down the center of my mouth - NO... right down the center of my throat - striking my uvula on the way down.

All the contents of his nasal passages ended up with all the contents of everything that was gurgling in my stomach. I was not Mark Spitz... He was Ulrich spits.  My gold medal was a loogie the size of The Beatles Yellow Submarine"      WHICH TRIGGERED MY....

Superpowers!

Vomit!  Hello?  I tried my best to direct the blast of steamy plasma on to Urich, but unfortunately I missed. He was no dummy and knew that it was coming and the second he launched his lethal warhead he had quickly retreated in order to avoid the gooey retribution. The warm confetti of Friday Fish Sticks (Catholics and Fish Sticks ) and the meal-worm laden oatmeal (that's a Dahlin thing) made quite a mess on the pool deck changed the complexity of our morning!

This was only the "Tip of the Iceberg." The five of us were alone and none of us were equipped to handle the tragic bloody episode that was about to happen next.

"If you think you're going to die, pray, 'Oh dear God, I love you and am sorry for my sins'" 

                                                  Sister Edith Mary

                                                                                           (My 7th grade teacher at Saint Marks)

     

                                         

    

It's Friday! For 20 minutes Everything Was All Right in the World.

                                                                   Ahoy Mates

Welcome to my journey, buckle up and hold on. The winds blow and the seas are getting rough, but not all is lost. I think of Walt Witman's Poem, O Captain...reflecting on the death of Abraham Lincoln. I can assure you, however, this story does not end tragically. Instead, Markie was able to sail his vessel into the safe and calm harbor of redemption despite the chaos that so violently blew against his fragile ship! A steady keel and a life preserver of hope was tossed to Captain Markie D on Fridays that kept him afloat. 

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

There is a preacher that has a famous message titled, "It's Friday, but Sunday's Coming" and through the car pushing...and hamper stuffing...and milk sampling...and larvae picking...and temple squeezing...and sour dough fighting...and rattlesnake alerting...and stomach vomiting...and whacks across the knuckles by Sister Godzilla...and trips to the Sister Superior's office...and mom locked in her bedroom...and Wolf Pack conspiring - not all is lost for our brave little soul - for today was FRIDAY!

It was 1966 and a lot was going on in the world... besides The Beatles, long hair, hippies, hot rods and Viet Nam War protest, there were much bigger stakes taking place in our country at this time. It was the ongoing tension about Race and equality and civil rights. After James Meredith was shot, Stockley Carmichael reacted and said,  "The three terms that black people in this country should learn at birth. One is 'White Supremacy,' one is 'New York Colonialism,' and one is 'Black Power.'"

No matter what white people say...blacks were looked down upon as second class citizens. To a small degree (as much as a 5th grader could and more than most) Markie understood their frustration. They were the metaphorical Pitbull (blog post of June 29, 2013) (the little brother who was ready to explode and even strike the innocent, like Billy Lennon (though we all know  he wasn't the one who deserved it). That pent-up need for equality and justice and to finally have a voice had become a ticking time-bomb.

In the seed bed of that context every Friday - an old, black woman took the bus from Watts to the Dahlin house - she was large and squishy and beautiful. Irene spoke with a southern accent that was so thick, it was as though she was talking a different language. Barely anyone could make out what she was saying... yet despite Markie's inability to understand her words, he knew she spoke the language of love - the thing he longed for.

When the bell went off at 2:50 in Sister Godzilla's classroom. Markie darted for door...there was no time for idle chatter. Markie zigged and zagged in between the likes of Terry and Marilyn and Andrea and Theresa and "Ghering the Great" and Richard and Roberta with his mismatched shoes and raced home. His beloved beagle laid smack dab in the middle of the warm asphalt and cheerfully wagged her tail when she saw Markie rounding the corner and giving an abbreviated salute to the Blessed Virgin Mary in the Lennon Sister's front window.  

If Markie hurried, he could beat everyone home. There would be:

No Tony

No Karl

No Bob

No Kris

No Pinky

No Kurt

No Kleghorn

No Chewy

No Erick

No Charlie

No Four Eyes

No Queen of the World

No Karin and no Mrs. D.          He could have Irene all to himself.

Irene, had heroically and miraculously washed mountains of laundry...cleared one set of stairs, raked the living room and entry of its debris, made the Formica surface of the kitchen table visible, parted the red sea of newspapers, National Geographic magazines and the accumulated week's worth of clutter.

Mark saw the flag he hoisted earlier this morning (which reminded him to be on lookout for the rattlesnake that had escaped) and the foul-mouthed Mynah bird cussed at him when he walked in the front door. Markie shook his finger at the bird and said, "Shut up, you dirty bird." 

"Dirty bird. Dirty bird," the foul creature replied proudly. Mark tuned out the bird and listened for the singing.

Ears trained like radar, he had heard it up on the third floor.  He could hear the sweet melody of  "Swing Low" It was one of his and Irene's favorites. "Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home." 

Rounding the third flight of stairs I could hear my beautiful Irene joyfully singing, “Well, I looked over Jordan and what did I see, coming for to carry me home? A band of angels coming after me, coming for to carry me home. Swing low, sweet chariot.” 

Feeling like a bird set free from its cage I bellowed, "I got-a wings, you got-a wings. All O' God's chillun got-a wings." I sang trying to overpower her - there'd be none of that. When I rounded the corner with my voice cracking, she dropped her broom and opened her arms like a mother bird welcoming a chick back to her nest. In I flew.  Her arms smothered me like the protecting wings of that mother bird. I was safe. It was Friday and for 20 minutes everything was all right in the world as I made contact with the elusive concept of love. 

She talked! I listened - though I couldn't understand a word she said, I laughed when she laughed at the end of her sentences - hoping my timing was right. 

Irene grabbed my hands... we danced like the Prince and Princess at a Royal Ball and she said..."You got-a wings child...you got-wings."   

Yep! For some reason - I got Irene and she got me. The Mynah bird squalked out profanities as we heard footsteps of the Wolf Pack returning home. I ran out back to finish the fort Tommy and I were working on. She finished her work...and took the bus back to Watts. This gives new meaning to acrostic; TGIF!
   

In the profound words of Dr. Seuss, in his deep theological dissertation "Horton Hears a Who," just because people are different or smaller than you remember what Horton learned, "A person is a person no matter how small."  

"It's Friday, but Sunday's Coming"