A ‘Brief’ History of Timmy, Part II

I attended Mountain View North for Kindergarten – 2nd grade. (They later joined Mountain View and Mountain View North, but it’ll ALWAYS be Mountain View North to me.) My Kindergarten teacher’s name was Mrs. Cassini. I can still remember her face to this day. Starting a tread to come, I loved math and loathed reading of any kind. Brian got held back, and.. we stopped being friends after that? I never could figure it out.

I used to get buzz cuts. My mom would give me haircuts. I remember that feeling of rubbing my head right after it was cut. The hair would stick up. Then after a week, gravity would kick in, and the hair would start to fall down on my head.

We used to have a pool. Ugly round blue above ground pool, but a pool, nonetheless. I didn’t know how to swim, but I learned. I had those arm floaties, and other floatation devices. I remember being able to stand on my tippy-toes around the edge of the pool. Slowly, I learned how to tread water. Then I realized, “Wait, if I angle my body, I can MOVE!” I learned to swim, even if I wasn’t getting points for technical merit. I still had to hold my nose when I jumped in the pool, but it would take me years before I could confidently jump in water without holding my nose, let alone think about a cannonball.

I didn’t really have friends as a child. I didn’t hang out with anybody. Okay, so maybe there was a single person I might share time with. Steven Schrum. Bigger loser than me? Maybe. Paler than me? Definitely. I had a fear of phones back then. Severely. If I ever wanted to “go over” to his house, I’d have my mom call his mom. We played Super Nintendo! I remember playing Mario Kart. He’d use Princess and usually beat me. I later mastered that game. Until the 64 version threw off my timing.

I know, at some point in my life, I pestered Dad. I wanted to play with him. I wanted to be around him. I’m an attention whore, what can I say? But, seriously. Boys typically look up to their dads, right? My dad was on travel a lot, when I was a kid. I remember wanting to play, and my dad would tell me that the news was on. NEVER INTERRUPT THE NEWS. Wendi is more like Dad than she’d care to admit. I take after my mom, in some regards, but there’s still enough traits passed down from him. When I have kids, I want to be a good father. And I don’t care how hard it’ll be, but I will be there, above all else. Wendi, Mom, and I got very used to him not being around. It’s like we had to accommodate him when he was around.

I’d say Wendi and I were typical rival siblings. I’d say Wendi got over her wanting me to have a Vagina like her. When I was learning to talk, I think she talked for me. *smiles* I used to say that I wanted “ookies.” *chuckles* Wendi and I would quarrel, but it would never be anything seriously. As we grew older, I’d say we bonded as a way to overthrow our parents. I mean. Oh, nevermind. I remember in 5th grade, they brought in some counselors to talk to us? Apparently, my class is a bunch of bad-asses. They talked about how we “love” our family. And I stood up and announced that I genuinely hated my sister. *laughs* You had to understand how quiet I was to realize how shocking that is. Quiet little Timmy. “Yes Timmy?” “I HATE MY SISTER.” It’s always the ones you don’t expect. I don’t think I really hated Wendi. It was more… like I was supposed to dislike her. Like normal siblings.

I had a brief stint in soccer in 3rd grade. My game reflected my personality: I wasn’t aggressive. I wasn’t confident. I stayed to the perimeter of the field. The ball never seemed to come to me, and if it did, I fucked up. On the last game of the season, I decided to be assertive. The other team had the ball. I decided to steal the ball. Guy with the ball and two guys on either side. Next thing I knew, I was on the ground with INTENSE pain in my right leg. A week later, it was determined that I had a broken leg. I went a week just thinking it was a sprained ankle. I didn’t know any better. Like I knew what a broken bone felt like. I had a cast for a portion of the summer. I spent a month on the farm. I can’t believe I spent a month there without riding the three-wheeler.

Ah yes, the three-wheeler. Big Red. Don’t give me no damned four-wheeler. I much refer the three-wheeled tracks to those four-wheeler tracks (Which amount to two streaks of dirt). Grandpa used to give rides, back when he actually got off his fat ass. We’d go through the fields, through the forest. And, knowing him, we’d end up talking to one of the neighbors around the area for half an hour. The self-proclaimed Mayor of Day Road. You can’t survive out there without an ATV. There’s just so much shit you can do with it. *smiles* Not to mention just riding around for fun. I was first allowed to ride when I was a mere ten, I believe. I was barely strong enough. This would also be the age I began joining Mom and my grandparents for Pinochle games. I learned fast, and quickly developed my own style. To conclude the thought of the three-wheeler… I know I wore a helmet for a time. Eventually, it just seemed kinda pointless. I don’t ride on the road. I don’t do jumps, unlike one wayward cousin of mine.

My Uncle Jim has three kids, Jason, Adam, and Jamie. I don’t see them nearly as much as I used to. There used to be some sort of tradition where everybody would GOTO the farm around July 4th. That’s died out in recent years, but I still remember. I remember being afraid of Aunt Dorrie. I’m so glad Uncle Jim divorced her. Uncle Dave is a bachelor for life. He used to ride motorcycles. I hope to follow in his footsteps. Nowadays, he’s crippled by MS. My mom also has MS, but she can still walk. Barely. But back then, Dave was as mobile as anybody.

I can’t remember the year I got Chicken Pox. Maybe 4th grade. I can’t believe they have a vaccine for that. Chicken Pox RULE. Free two weeks off from school, and what’s the worst that happens to you? You stay in bed. You maybe get a fever, but nothing severe. You itch a little. (Or a lot, in some places.) I still remember the morning I noticed I had it. I had marks on my back. I showed Mom. *smiles*

Mom was a stay-at-home mom. She was always there when I got home from school. We’d do shit together. Play video games. Play board games. Around the holidays, we’d make cookies together. I can still make some kick-ass Molasses Cookies. Mom got jobs every now and then, to satisfy her urge to do shit. She always thought it would effect me, but it never did.