Monthly Archives: March 2019

It’ Monday Night So We must Be Having Meatloaf

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My father sits on his faded orange rocking chair in the living room. He is watching the news on our new black and white TV. Walter Cronkite is saying, “And that’s the way it is.”

As he gently pets our dog Andy he absentmindedly stops. And Andy pushes his wet nose up into my father’s palm until he starts stroking his head again.

My father shouts, “Marie could you get me a cup of coffee.”

Marie is my mother’s name but my dad usually calls her Mom. My father is the king of this castle.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table staring at my spelling words. I’m supposed to be memorizing them for a test tomorrow. But instead I’m kicking my sister Karen’s leg and she’s pinching my arm under the table.

My Mother is busily wiping the kitchen counter unaware of the silent battle Karen and I wage just five feet from where she stands. We know better then to make any noise because my father doesn’t put up with any boloney while Walter is discussing the world news.

The problem is Karen is left-handed and I’m right handed. We’re both stubborn and refuse to change seats, so every time we try to write or turn a page, we bump arms. The battle would be on. My mother calls out in her sweet voice, “Be right there Harry.”

She fills his cup and adds three teaspoons of sugar and brings it into the living room wrapped in a dishcloth. My father has diabetes but he doesn’t let that affect what he eats, or drank. He adjusts his insulin shots depending on his blood sugar level.

His drink of choice is watered-down ketchup. My Mom places the cup on the table next to my father and warns him, “Be careful Harry, it’s hot.” Looking down at Andy, she says, “That animal has the life of Riley.”

My father loves Andy and lavishes all his attention and affection on him. Once a week he walks down to the corner store and buys him an ice cream cone. Karen and I sit there with our tongues hanging out wishing we could get a lick in, as he holds it to Andy’s mouth.

My mother would offer the same reframe, “Oh Harry you’re spoiling that dog.” Then she glances over at the two of us with a look that says, there’s not much I can do about it.

After we finish our written homework, my mother quizzes us on the spelling words. If we aren’t sure of the spelling, she’ll give us a little hint by saying the first two or three letters.

That night I have math homework. I hate math, hate it even more because my father tutors me when I have trouble. This is a daily occurrence. He’s very good at math. My father is the Head Bus Dispatcher at PTC. which stands for the Pennsylvania Transportation Company. He’s been working there forever. He created the procedure of scheduling the buses and trollies that’s still in use today.

After I complete my math homework my father says, “Give it to me. Let me have a look at it.” I lived in terror of this moment every day. My father expects nothing less than excellence and perfection. I feel I’m far from excellent. He would go over each problem, while I sat on my hands because they’re sweating. Praying that they’re correct.

He makes me so nervous I can hardly think straight when he asks a question. He looks over at me and says, “How did you get these answers? Show me the work, do this problem.”

I stare at it for a moment, my mind is a complete blank.  I ‘m afraid that I will disappoint him again. He says, “What are you waiting for? Get to it!” I finish the problem.

“Let me show you how you are supposed to do it.”

He shows me how to do it his way. I look up at him, afraid to speak.

“Well?”

“Dad, we use the new math, we don’t use your old math.”

“Old math, what are you talking about, old math?”

“But Dad, that’s the way Sister Joseph Catherine told us we have to do it.”

My father’s is a very bright man. “Alright Susabelle, use the new math at school. But when you need to do math in your life later on, you’ll see that my way works better.”

“Daddy, When Sister Joseph Catherine calls on me, she says, Hey you, and not my name.

“Well Susabelle, just tell her that Hugh is your father’s name not yours.”

My father doesn’t make jokes very often but when he does it would behoove you to laugh along with him, even if it’s at your own expense. After our homework is finished, we all go and sit in the living room to watch TV. I hear, “This is Walter Cronkite and good night.”

My mom sits down probably for the first time all day. She has a cup of coffee, and we watch Matt Dillon on Gunsmoke. My dad’s favorite show. Andy lays asleep next to my father’s chair, snoring quietly.

THE BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH

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I was recruited in my senior year of College at Georgia Tech. My plan was to ultimately get a Masters Degree in Science and Technology. I’m smart; not genius smart but my IQ is somewhere up there in that stratosphere. I’m not bragging, just stating the facts, the facts and nothing but the facts.

But to achieve my goal, I needed money. My family was tapped out. A recruiter contacted me on campus and asked if I wanted to earn some real cash, working at the nearby Apple Store. Would I, of course I would. Any techie’s wet dream. Surrounded by the best of the best, creatives, mathematicians, hardware and software gurus. That’s the definition of who I am. I have been using a Macintoggle computer since I was five years old.

So, hell yeah, I took that job and swallowed the whole party line hook, line and sinker. On the final day of training I was unbelievably buzzed. I couldn’t wait to get on showroom floor and tell, nay educate customers about the latest Mac products including the Mac Super Pro with retinal display.

Just as my team was about to be released to start our new career, we were told on the downlow that there was a programming bug that had just been discovered recently. However, they were still going to launch the Mac Super Pro because so much time and money had been invested its production and promotion.

It was like being hit by a cold dead mackerel in the face. Selling substandard products. I just couldn’t believe it. In addition, if we failed to push Mac Super Pro, we were pretty much dead in the water.

I stumbled and mumbled my way out onto the floor. I felt dazed and bewildered. I needed the money. There was no if, and or buts. I had to do it. Sell product, after all I was just a guppy in a sea of bigger fish, sharks even.

I walked out there with my shoulders back and stomach in, like any good soldier going to fight the good fight. And then I saw her, walking into the store a tall blond athletic looking. Her face could launch a thousand ships. Maybe she wasn’t Helen of Troy, but a second runner up. Her pony tailed hair swung this way and that as she walked straight toward me. She wore a pair of black glasses that kept slipping down her nose. She kept pushing them back up with the heel of her hand. I was in love.

“Good morning, my name is James, how may I help you?”

“James is it? James Bond?”

I stared at her. Her eyes were indigo blue like the sea. I fell right into those eyes, and never wanted to leave. “What? Oh no, James, James Brown at your service.”

“Well, James, James Brown. I’m interested in the Mac Super Pro.”

I gulped, almost felt like I swallowed my tongue. I had to retrieve it before I could speak again. “Of course, it’s right over here. There isn’t anything else on the market that has the speed, versatility, and memory that the Mac has available.  It’s easy to use, really is intuitive. People friendly. Let me give you a demonstration.

She asked me questions that only another techie would know to ask. She wasn’t a techie virgin. I gulped again. I regurgitated everything that I had been instructed to tell a potential customer. I watched her face. She was impressed. I thought I was at the point where I could close the deal.

At that moment she said, “Oh one more thing, I have been hearing rumors on the forums that there is a possible programming problem with the Mac Super Pro, do you know anything about that?”

I looked her straight in those indigo eyes, and I said,” problems, none. This baby has been tested, checked, and rechecked. MacIntoggle has had it beta tested for six months before it was released. You have my word on it.”

“Alright then, let’s bag up this baby, and I’ll take it home right now.”

She walked out the door with her ponytail swinging left to right. I said to myself, job well done. I’m on my way making my mark in the world. I look to the door and in walked number two.

 

 

 

 

VICTOR

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It’s the fourth Friday of the month, and Victor sits at his usual table at Mickey D’s. His father is late as usual, or he isn’t going to show up at all. It happens sometimes. Victor’s father is unpredictable and unreliable.

Victor’s mother dropped him off a half-hour early. Because this was the only night she had to herself, she was anxious to be on her way. She calls it her girl’s night out. But Victor knows what it’s was all about. Because every fourth Saturday of the month, Victor wakes up to a different “daddy.”

His parents have been separated for eight months, and recently their divorce was finalized. Of course, there were years and years of fighting and anger and name-calling. That went on long into the night before the separation. So, it came as no surprise when his father packed up all his belongings one hot and humid night last summer—after one particularly spectacular knockdown screaming fight between his parents, Tammy and Jack.

That’s how Victor thinks of them as Tammy and Jack. He long ago stopped thinking of them as his parents. It wasn’t that he suffers under some adolescent fantasy that they aren’t his parents. And that one day, his real parents will come to claim him. It’s just so apparent that Tammy and Jack have no business being his parent or anyone else’s.

Victor is staring over at the French Fry Man. That’s how he thinks of him, The French Fry Man, not that it was his real name. The French Fry Man has some kind of problem and yells out weird barking sounds or sometimes curse words for no apparent reason. He also loses control of his arms and legs and the muscles in his face. And they tighten up and flay out without any warning.

The restaurant manager comes over and softly tells the French Fry Man that he must stop making noises. The French Fry Man would promise to try. But it’s obvious he can’t stop himself. His odd noises and yelling irritate fellow customers. And kids used to make fun of him all the time. So, Victor is reasonably confident that if he were able to stop himself, he would have done it by now.

Victor feels sorry for him. He often thought of him at odd times. At the same time, Victor is on the bus on the way to school. When he’s at home by himself, he considers how terrible it must be to be unable to control the noises and words that come unwillingly from his mouth. Victor observes him and can almost predict when it’s about to happen. He can see him tighten up his muscles, trying to prevent the spasm. But he isn’t able to control it.

Victor feels a connection to the French Fry Man. He feels the same loss of control about his life and where it’s taking him. As Victor sits there and watches the French Fry Man, his arm shoots out and knocks his French Fries off the table and all over the floor. This was the only thing that French Fry Man ever eats. Perhaps it’s the only thing he can afford to buy. The only luxury he allows himself. As the French fries fly off the table and are sent on their uncontrolled trajectory into Mickey D’s space, a whooping sound comes out of his mouth.

Victor sits momentarily and stares and listens as the inevitable laughter begins. A tear escapes from one eye and then the other. Victor wipes them quickly away and walks up to the counter and orders two large French Fries with extra ketchup.

Victor walks over to the French Fry Man’s table and stands next to it. He is momentarily tongue-tied. Then he says, “Hi, my name is Victor. My father was supposed to meet me here tonight. It looks as if he isn’t going to show up. I have this extra French Fry, and I’m wondering if I can share them with you? I hate eating alone.

At first, the man stares at him as if he is some kind of apparition, and then a smile spreads across his face. “Please sit. I would like that.”

This is how Victor makes his first real friend who always does as he promises and how Victor meets his “real” father.

 

You Ain’t No Miss America Lady

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Well here it is picture day, isn’t that just grand, as my mother would say. All the kids at school are always so excited about picture day. For a couple of reasons; one we go to Catholic School, and therefore we have to wear hideous uniforms everyday.

The girls’ uniform is a wool, maroon jumper with a pleated skirt,  and a button-down white shirt with short, sleeves, and lucky us, a Peter Pan collar. No matter how fat or thin you are, you look horrible in this outfit.

I never get a new uniform because they cost a lot of money, which my family doesn’t have. We have six children instead. I’m the youngest. Sometimes I have to wear the same uniform for several years, and by the time Karen passes on her old uniform to me, the one I’m wearing waist is up under what I suppose what will someday be my boobs.

Anyway, I was saying I never get a new uniform, I get to wear my twin sister Karen’s hand me downs because she is a bigger size then I am. To top off this outstanding look, is the OLPH beanie. Which is also maroon, and has a peak in front, and a little maroon covered button on the top.

Sometimes if it is a first Friday, we get to wear a mantilla on our heads when we are all herded to group confession. A mantilla is a round piece of lace, also maroon. What’s with maroon already? Why pick the ugliest color in the world? We Catholic kids get to wear it for eight long years. Probably has something to do with the fact that we have original sin. And they are trying to get us used to the idea of eternal damnation.

Wow, that’s another story I could write a book on just the whole Catholic Church, Mass, and Confession ordeal. I’ll tell you about it later. Anyway, I was saying, the boys are not blessed with the whole horrible uniform thing, like the girls are. They get off easy with wearing black pants, white shirt and a tie. I’ll tell you life is just not fair. I know this and I’m only eleven years old. So, get used to it.

Back to picture day, everybody was looking forward to it because they don’t have to wear the ugly uniform for one day of their pathetic lives. I knew it was going to be torture for me, and I guess my sister Karen too.

Last night, my mother said,” Susie and Karen, after dinner I want you two to get a bath and wash your hair. Oh, and Susie don’t forget to wash out the shampoo.”

Jeez, one time you forget the rinse part of the hair washing and they never let you forget it. “Yeah, Ma, I know wash and rinse, wash and rinse.” I take my sister aside and say, Karen,”let me go first. You always take too long.”

“ Ok Susie, but if you don’t clean out the tub before I have to use it, I’ll make you sorry.”

“ Yeah, yeah, I’ll wash it already.” I go into the bathroom with my pajamas in hand. My favorite ones with the cats all over them, luckily, they are my favorite because I only have one pair.

I would like to wear them, all day everyday, I love pajamas. I hope someday, people will be able to wear their pajamas all day. I have told my mother this many times. And for some reasons she keeps saying, “Watch what you wish for Susie, you may grow to regret it.”

She has a lot of sayings like that like, keep making that face, and it might stay like that. Keep crying, I’ll give you something to cry about. She sounds mean but she’s really not, she just doesn’t put up with a lot of complaining.

She never complains about anything, I mean never. If she ever got run over by a car, she would just get up and take an Aspirin. She thinks aspirin is the answer for all that ails you, cuts, sore throats, Charlie horses (which I get in my legs all the time.)

If Aspirin doesn’t do the job there is always Vapor Rub, or as a last resort butter and sugar mixture, which is disgusting. Let’s not forget Exlax, God forbid.

I don’t tell my mother when I’m sick, unless I feel like I am close to death, if I see the light at the end of the tunnel. One time I had a really bad toothache, it hurt a lot. It hurt all the way up into my ear, especially after Sister Saint Joseph clapped her hand against it because she thought I wasn’t listening.

So finally, my older sister notices that the left side of my face is swollen up. And says, to my mother, “ Hey Mom I think there’s something wrong with Susie. Her face is all swollen up on the one side. Didn’t she already have the mumps?”

My Mom says come here, “Susie let me have a look. She looks at my face , in my ear, and then, open up, what is going on in there? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she has a big cavity, and an abscess in there. She’s going to have to go to the dentist. Oh God, your father is going to be fit to be tied. Do you ever brush your teeth Susie?”

Next thing you know, I’m at some dentist in  Philadelphia, the only one that my parents could find open on a Saturday. By then, I was in such pain, I didn’t care what they did to me, as long as the pain stopped. And sure, enough he had to pull that sucker out of there. He told my parents that they should be ashamed that my mouth was in terrible shape, and had all kind of cavities, and it looked like I never took a brush to them ever.

My parents were pretty upset with this, and my Mom got a job after that so she could pay for my sister Karen, and I to go to the dentist. I had to have three teeth pulled out, and so many fillings, I lost count. My father was pretty mad at me about that for a long time. My mother checked my teeth  every day after that. I never had a moment of peace.

Back to the night before picture day, I get my bath, and do a quick rinse on the tub. When I come out my mom calls me  to the kitchen and says, “ Susie, I am going to set your hair, so it looks nice for picture day. Good Lord, I’m thinking will the punishment never end? What did I ever do to deserve this? My mother sits me at the table she has long strips of white cloth about an inch wide (probably an old sheet) and starts rolling up sections of my hair and tying the rags in a knot at the end.

The next morning, when my mother unrolls my hair into long curls, she has a big smile on her face and says,” Oh Susie, you look just like Shirley Temple.” I look in the mirror, and I see that I am transformed from my usual straight hair, pulled back in  a ponytail to God knows what!

Then Karen, comes in and my mother says, I have a surprise, your brother Harry bought you two dresses for Easter, but we decided you could wear them for picture day. She shows us twin dresses, yeah, that’s right twin dresses. Identical visions of blue satin, and blue chiffon that are fitted at the waist, have a bow in the back, and best of all big, I mean really big puffy pleated sleeves that come down to our elbows. “ Oh, I can’t wait, go put them on.”

Karen and I go up to our rooms and put these fashion nightmares on, when we get upstairs, we discover to my horror , that there are matching crinolines that we will get to wear all day at school. You just cannot imagine how uncomfortable they are.

I have it on for about two minutes when I realize that until now, I didn’t fully understand what the expression hell on earth meant. I have only my sneakers to wear, or my school shoes, so I opt for the sneakers, at least one part of my anatomy won’t be suffering.

We come down the steps, Karen, is walking like a queen. She always did like being dressed up. She is just not normal! I walk down the steps like I’m walking the last mile to the death chamber. My mother claps her hands when she sees us. I have never seen her so excited, my father has his camera out and takes a picture of us together, in front of our glass fireplace. He says, “you look beautiful.”

It’s almost worth the torture to see my parents look so happy, and my father has a big smile plastered on his face. Which is a sight I have rarely seen. Together we walk to school, I can only imagine the horror that awaits me, and Karen is grinning away.

When we get to our classroom, all the kids are excited. The girls are all wearing their Sunday dresses with shiny patent leather shoes. They have barrettes in their hair, and I could be wrong, but I think some of them have on lipstick.

The boys have on corduroy pants, dress shirts, and bow ties. Their hair is all slicked back with Brill Cream. But nobody, I mean nobody looks like Karen and I, when we take off our coats, everybody looks at us as one. Their eyes are big, their mouths round. Sister says, oh now don’t you two look beautiful. You look like you belong on top of a wedding cake. You two can be the first to get your pictures taken.

I think oh my life is complete. I can never top this experience. The only thing that would top this is if , I have to have to marry Robin Schultz my nemesis!