Orson Wells had nothing on me from an earlier diary
As you know I am not above airing my greatest failures to the open public, so this is the way it goes for my formative teen aged years.
From 1976, to 1984 I was the physical embodiment of oops!
This is but another tale in a long line of BOY LOGIC:
It was my 12th birthday. I had so little to look forward to. Life as I knew it was over, I mean I was 12! The days of playing in the sun were over. No more long days by the creek with Andy and Opi. No more lazy afternoons jumping out of windows with a garbage bag strapped to my back, nothing.
School now took my mornings and afternoons, with homework eating up my evenings. It was autumn, being born in October, it was my favorite time of the year.
This year however, I was not looking forward to anything.
To old for toys, to young to fully appreciate the corduroy pants and Greg Brady wing tip collared paisley button down, stuck in a no where age, in the middle of a no where decade. LIFE SUCKED.
My parents were poor, but they always tried their best to give their kids the best they could, and I bless them for it. My mother would bake a cake, and try to hide it behind the economy sized peanut butter, and my dad would need to buy his Vice Roy’s at least three times a night. (Trying to hide the fact that he forgot either candles, or icing, or ice cream.)
This year, he told me that I was going to be a man soon, so I was able to do some miner man things. He had a special gift for me that year, I was going to see a scary movie.
We had the cake and I got my Greg Brady, fly Johnny Bravo gear and then my father and I hopped into the old Montigo station wagon (Hitched up the horses, for all you kids out there, they hadn’t invented gas yet.) and off we went to the Cineplex, for my first chance to see FANTASIM!
Now remember, it’s autumn and that’s when the really good maniacal mass murderers do their best work, so who was I to be strong on the dark and stormy night.
My father, bless him began to reconsider his decision and being as we were both Orson Wells fans from way back, went to see The Late Great Planet Earth.
It’s a heart warming film based on Naustradomises predictions on the END OF THE WORLD!
That night I saw images of mass destruction. Hangings, assassinations, Armageddon, and to top it all off, file footage from ww2 and Viet Nam, as well as some truly savory stop action dinosaurs.
My little dome was filled with apocalyptic doom and the destruction of mankind as we know it, luckily I was wearing polyester, which as we all know is a perfect radiation deterrent. (Especially the day glow green, and powder blue leisure suit.)
Needless to say, I wept openly in my popcorn and when the atomic bomb scene came I wore most of my Tab. It was the most frightening thing I had ever witnessed. The horror, the horror.
The ride home in the thunderstorm was particularly enjoyable, for each flash of lightening I was certain was an h-bomb and screamed wildly,
“We’re going to die, we’re going to die. ”
My father laughed at me, which comforted me in numerous ways, I can tell you. And all I wanted to do was get home to my bed, where the blessed love of my blankets could block the images and send me into the blessed arms of slumber.
When we got home and left the car, my father felt it necessary to scream, “Incoming!” at the top of his lungs which sent me into a tizzy.
(Tizzy; adj; to freak out. to wet ones pants and run madly for shelter. tizzy.)
I spun and kicked him in the shin and began to tell him just what I thought of his minor man things. I stood dripping wet in a fiberglass, powder blue, John Travolta looking nightmare, telling my father what I thought of becoming a man, as he stood there laughing his butt off at me.
When I ran out of breath and steam, he asked me if I was done.
YES!
Did I feel better?
Yes.
Did I want to do it again tomorrow night?
…yes…
He put his hand on my shoulder and we stood on the porch dripping wet talking about the movie and how being a man was far more frightening than Orson Wells could have made it look, but growing up, doesn’t mean growing old. That was why he had his train sets, and his balsa wood plains and why he and I would spend Sundays listening to his music, from when he was a kid.
It’s important that you remember what it’s like to be young. That way when you have kids of your own, you can have days like today.
My father is dying, slowly and eventually, his body is worn out and falling apart, but in his heart he is still at that age where he can play and romp.
In my heart, my father will still be that man on the porch with me, in the rain…
ADDENDUM:
i wrote this back when open diary was very young…
My father has Parkensons disease, its very advanced.
He knows me as Kevin even though he has never known a Kevin in his whole life…
When i visit, i have to pick him up out of bed and place him in a chair and repeat the process when i leave.
i now tuck my father into bed before i leave the room and reassure him that i will not just love him, but remember him…
what a wonderful reversal of lives…