Love: Serious Sad Sinister and too Happy

Star date: 1969

That's me in eight grade!

A little serious
A little sad
A little sinister

Always contemplating the world around me and probably more than anything else - HAPPY!  Probably too happy - that's what Jeffery's mom, Jeanette Lennon, thought... and always asked me why?

She asked why I was smiling - like it was a bad thing and interrogated me about my incessant whistling.  I really wasn't aware of it until she brought it up and realized that I didn't have a good answer and felt like maybe she was accusing me of  hiding something... like I had buried a million dollars in the backyard or a body or something. But, as I thought about her questions, I felt the answer did not lie in a hidden treasure,  but might have been the fact that I was actually a little retarded!

It seems to me that retarded people are always happy and I didn't have a good explanation as to why I felt so confident at times like one of those young characters in a Disney movie who was homeless and penniless - you know, one of those street rats who enjoyed the difficulty of fending for himself as I moved throughout the neighborhood like the artful dodger, bouncing from house to house, trying to avoid the traps set for me by the Wolf Pack.

Anyway, my brothers (the Wolf Pack) told me that I was retarded and I began to believe them. I suspected that something must have been wrong with my brain cells.
After all I wrestled an alligator click here: Reptile Dysfunction

Lost a battle with the Dreaded Veloci-Rooster Click here Prophet of Evil or Bird
Was buried alive  Kid in a Pit and a Water Hose
Survived the Monkey Fiasco at the LA Zoo Monkey Business

          Had my leg chopped off My death and long-haired hippies



Attacked by a whale... No lie - A Whale of a Tale!
and sent to Valhalla and back in the Hamper of Death Hamper of Death: I took the bait!
Not to mention that was I LEFT BEHIND by my family at Salton Sea Abandoned and LEFT BEHIND







I don't know what was wrong with me - after being shot and buried and attacked and tied up and caged and electrocuted and suffocated - to be left out and always made to feel like I was on the outside - if anyone had any reason to feel sad or sorry for himself - it was me! But, it's like I had this glow-plug thingy inside that burned with some kind of secret knowing.  It might have been the same thing that Joseph (you know, the younger brother in the Bible who had the coat of many colors) had burning in him, despite the fact, he had lots of mean older brothers who picked on him and tricked him, and threw him in a pit and left him behind.

Anyway, I didn't want the kids at Saint Marks grammar school to know I was retarded or had some kind of mental problem, because I was in love with Andrea and wanted to see what this thing that other people had a lot to talk about was all about. Though we had a million people living in our house...no one ever used the "L" word. I never heard it in a conversation and no one had ever said it to me. I wanted to know what it felt like and what it meant to be loved and to feel as though I mattered to someone.

LOVE!
What was it?
What did it mean?
Could that little cutie, Andrea possibly like someone like me - who was damaged goods? I had superpowers that helped me survive and that made me numb to a lot of physical torture and also might have made my heart numb as well. Was it possible for me to find out what love was and wanted to know that I could be loved and was becoming more and more desperate to find out?

Today was the day!  Happy, Smiling, Whistling, Markie D - the artful dodger would dare look up from his his shoes and mismatched socks and say a word to her.  Our eight grade nun, Sister Shultz, set us free for recess and today I would make the big move. During recess I wondered off from the boys reservation to where the girls congregated like the noisy seagulls at the beach and pretended the reason for invading their sacred territory was, because I needed a drink from the water fountain.

There was a little buzz when I walked by... and I felt like maybe they were talking about me... maybe even making fun of me. I hated that feeling. Things got quiet! I hated that even more it made me feel self conscience like they were looking through me with a magnifying glass and were mocking my insecurities and fear of the dark and flaws and shortcomings - like they were seeing all the trash and junk in our backyard as though that was me... Venice Trash Towers .  I doubted myself and my plan but continuing with my ruse, I put my mouth close to the disgusting fixture and turned the chrome handle on the porcelain fountain as if this drink of water was an important reason for being in the girl's corner of the schoolyard.

I took control of the situation and turned that handle with all the vigor I could muster. I would show those girls that I wasn't afraid of them or of afraid of what they thought of me. I was in love or something like that... at least I think I was... and this was my big shot at find out if I was worthy of someone's affection.

Speaking of my big shot - the water shot out with the force of the jet spray of a rocket ship and hit me right in the eye. Michael Boyle was known to take boogers and jam them into the water spickets - just for occasions like this.

Blinded, I reeled up and thought about how one of Michael's fat, gross, boogers had embedded itself in my eye socket, which triggered my vomit sensors and I ended up ingloriously puking my guts up in front of 30 laughing girls and the one I hoped to impress the most. EPIC FAIL!

Needless to say, today didn't go as planned. Sister Shultz scolded me and said, "That I shouldn't have put myself in that position." Like it was my fault that Boyle pasted a green globule of snot in the faucet and that I shouldn't have punched him in the face.

I said to her, "Well, he shouldn't have put himself in that position" which was brilliant by the way.. only it was an hour later on my way home after detention and under my breath a dozen times - wanted to fell like I had won.  

Once again I managed to make a fool of myself and moseyed home like a defeated dog with his tail between his legs, but after a couple rounds of my pretend shouting match with the Catholic nun that looked like Sergeant Shultz (on Hogans Heros) my whistling returned as I rounded the corner by the burned down Fraternity House. I was looking forward to playing with Tommy or Jeffery or Dennis - just anything that would keep me away from alligators, from electricity, from hampers and pits and arrows and BB guns and ropes and the WOLF PACK!  I had already been through enough humiliation for one day and didn't need any more torture from my older brothers.  I wanted to be anywhere, but home and needed to avoid my family at all cost.

With a spring in my step...and a little too happy...in light of the disastrous events of the day... I gladly withdrew into my mental illness - if that's what it is - daydreamed and sang the Beatles "All my Loving" totally oblivious to the ambush that awaited me behind Frank Nargie's behemoth Plymouth.

     
all my loving

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!