Help! Wolf Pack and the 9-year-old Junkie

Whenever Mr. Steadmen (my neighbor across the street) looked out between the slits in the blinds of his front window and saw us Dahlins grouping in the front yard - he always reported to his wife that the "Wolf Pack" was on the prowl. To which she always made the same snide comment from wherever she was in the small wood-framed house. "Well, no wonder lions eat their young!"

Being, that this ritual was broadcast so often and the uninsulated walls did nothing to hinder her screeching voice this mocking metaphor was no longer a secret.  This is how I came to affectionately call my brothers "The Wolf Pack."  I'm just not too sure that Mrs. Steadmen quite understood that lions and wolves were completely species. And, I'm not completely sure - that when Mr. Steadman announced that the Wolf Pack was on the prowl and she responded with her diddy about lions eating their young that she fully understood that she and her husband were talking about two different things.

Lions like to hunt alone!
Wolves, on the other hand...well, they do hunt in packs and are very conniving, but best when working together as a team.

One time I was across the street playing with Ellis Steadman - their only offspring (I felt sorry for those "only-child" kids, because they miss so much sibling torture that I have come to enjoy so much) and forgetting that I was there, or that I was one of them, Mr. Steadmen gave a blow by blow description of their activity as though it was like something from one of those wildlife documentaries on TV.


Speaking of enjoying - being squeezed in the temples, and buried in pits, and shoved in hampers, shot with arrows, electrocuted in the pool, tied to trees, caged and hunted with BB guns...adults in my life, recognized that there was something gravely wrong with me. For me, the answer was quite obvious and was rather simple. I was the last born and starving for attention. My parents had checked out and left us to ourselves and if punching and volunteering to subject myself to what-ever torture might be on the menu, then I relished it as a form of touch I so desperately wanted. In the third grade, (Some time after the embarrassing Pee-Pee incident Blog Post 6/18/13) my mom's sister, who is a nun, took me up to Loyola University to make sure that I wasn't retarded. I managed to put all the square blocks into the square holes and the round ones into the round holes and they really couldn't come up with anything - by way of diagnosis...other than the fact, that I was an anomaly! (I think that's "big-people" talk - for weird), but I'll tell you what I think.


I think it has something to do with that thing that happens to you when adrenaline kicks-in, which they call "Fight or Flight." I think that because I live my life on the edge - always having to be on high alert with constant surges of adrenaline pumping through my veins, that by the age of 9 I was totally addicted to it. My little body needed the physical conflict to get my drug fix and my brothers obliged. And, as I've alluded to before, this might be the Lord's way of helping me make it through all the horrible stunts that I somehow enjoyed - but shouldn't have! Capisce?
   
 Anyway, Mr. Steadman had each one of the Dahlin boys and other "Harding-ites" precisely pegged into certain well defined roles that fit into the order of this  "Wolf-Pack" thing that he like to talk about. When my older brothers stood on the porch and whistled their intentions for some mischievous plot, he would stare through those slates and narrate everything to Mrs. Steadmen like that announcer on one of those TV shows. 

This is how he narrated the time the older boys dressed up lured the next door grouch out of her house by staging a kid under her front tire and proceeded to steal avocados from her "precious" tree. She had forbidden us from picking the avocados that hung over our side of the fence.

(You have to lower your voice and speak really deep... and slow.... and clear for this next part -  Pretend you're saying this or hearing the voice of narrator of that Wild-Life documentary as you read this next part).

"The Wolf Pack in on the prowl. For wolves, a successful hunt depends largely on making careful preparations. The Wolf Pack controls a specific area of land known as a "territory". This territory..." Mr. Steadman continued, "is known as Harding Avenue, but this particular Wolf Pack has been known to track its prey in a greater area known as Venice." 

As the oldest Blaser boy next door and Booty and Primo and Chewy and Four-eyes, and Tom and Walter and a couple others responded to the whistles the motley crew began assembling on the Dahlin front lawn.

He continued his sarcastic narration of this event.

"The individual wolves must constantly refine their techniques so that every member is more than ready to play their part when required"

Gustav (my oldest brother) sent Madeline (my sister who was only a year older than me, but much more in-tuned to her position and ways of the Wolf Pack) to gather costumes and the necessary supplies to pull off the caper.

"The alpha male gave orders to the the alpha female, who is approximately 25% smaller than the average male wolf, yet highly considered a specialist huntress of the pack." Mr. Steadmen continued.

Madeline came back with a couple of her girl friends and distributed the costumes for this particular avocado stealing escapade. discussing the plot, Gustav and Chewbacca and Puke-breath and several of the other boys began pointing at Edna's house house next door. It was obvious to see that  poor Edna was the next victim of choice. 

"Having stalked the territory carefully, the alpha detected a weak member of the neighborhood. Usually they prey on large animals like white-tailed deer and caribou and in this case it is the old grouch next door - Edna!"

After staging the body under the front tire of her car, 12-year-old Madeline went to the front door to let Edna know that something terrible had happened (and boy, did she try to sell it). 

"When ready..." Mr. Steadman kept his wife apprised of the progress, "the alpha male sent in the huntress to single out the weak and sick among it prey. Most animals flee when confronted but the grouch next doors stands her ground."

Edna, didn't take the bait at first and didn't budge from her porch when Madeline pointed to the kid with ketchup under her front wheel. So Gustav kicked Dooh-Dooh Pants in the butt - initiating part two of the plan and made him walk by her car like he was going to scratch it. Dooh-Dooh Pants was a little apprehensive about his part in the plan, but Madeline pushed him in the right direction.

"As the risk of injury for a hunter is high, the alpha male is too valuable to the survival of the pack and must send out lower ranked males. This is often difficult and the alpha female will excretes an odor and use her body to direct "Dooh-Dooh Pants," a beta male in the right direction."

"Uh...Huh?" Mrs. Steadmean was amused, but had heard this commentary so many times that she was immune to it and keep on reading her novel and looked up obligingly with a few "uh-huh's" from time to time.  Ellis and I, however, enjoyed the show.

Edna opened her screen door and ran to her precious Buick and fired up the motor. Then took off squealing just like the time I was crammed underneath in the "Baby-Diaper-Pail of Death" (Blog Post 6/5/13). When Edna disappeared down the street in her behemoth automobile, the costumed boys hurried up the carport roof... hurdled themselves into that luscious avocado tree and began throwing down those green hand-grenades of mouth-watering goodness-of-protein to the waiting arms of the wolves below.    

"During such an ambush, the pack is split into two or more groups. As one group agitates its victim, another group is usually hidden away using bushes, trees and old junky cars as effective camouflage."

The time window was short, but when it was all over the boys returned to the font porch and divvied up the avocados - as if spoils of war. Gustave was only in for the fun of it because he hated avocados... Dooh-Dooh Pants the other hippies loved them, especially when there was no food in the house.

"Excitedly, the wolves return from their kill and begin to divide the spoils in a orderly manner. Though it may surprise you the alpha doesn't eat first. The 'betas', the rank below the alphas are usually made up of the largest wolves and act like enforcers in the aftermath and are rewarded by helping themselves to more food than the lower ranking individuals."

When it was all said and done everyone had a great time... except for Ulrich who was cheated out of his share and got especially mad when Booty and Primo used their avocados to pelt me with...when I returned from the Steadman's house. I dodged a couple...got hit twice...ran for my life and got a really NICE adrenaline fix that kept me happy and would keep me going for a little while longer.   


Next time I might just have to confess and share the naked  truth!
 

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...