Blueberry - Part 1 of 4

Her: “Hey, who’s in here”?

Me: “Jon, who are you”?

Her: “Blueberry. How old are you”?

Me: “16, how old are you”?

Her: “13”

Me: “I’m just kidding, I’m only 14.”

Her: “Then why did you lie”?

Me: “I dunno, I guess cuz you sounded older”.

            It was such a simple, 30 second conversation. But it would end up spiraling into a series of events that would have such an enormous influence on my life.
            I had this exact type of conversation probably a hundred times with a hundred different people since I had first been introduced to the party line. The party line was a local telephone number that you could call and be connected to to several people at once. They actually still exist, (www.talkee.com) although I haven't called it since I was a child.
            It was May of 1997, so the internet and their assortment of online chat rooms were not yet the norm. The party line provided a primitive platform for different chat rooms and social networking via the telephone. It was a way to connect with total strangers at anytime of day, and I became instantly addicted. Suddenly, I began to spend hours upon hours on the telephone. My parents were either at work, the bar, or sleeping, so they never noticed any change in my behavior. The party line was a great time waster, and it was a lot of fun. There was something mysterious and intriguing about having no idea who you were chatting with. It was kind of like reading a book instead of watching the movie, because you could use your own imagination a bit. The conversations were entertaining because you could pull no punches. Just like in modern online chat rooms, there were no consequences for your words.
        
            This particular, by chance conversation with Blueberry, ended up lasting for about a half hour. The next day, I ended up connecting with her again by chance and chatting for a few hours. The party line had a number of chat "rooms", so you could bounce around into an assortment of conversations at any time you wanted. If the people in one particular room were boring or uninteresting, you could quickly switch to a different one by the touch of a button. There was also a feature that allowed you to chat privately with another user. And before I knew it, Blueberry and I began chatting privately everyday. Now, one might wonder why we wouldn't just call each others house if that were the case. Well, the party line was connected to other party lines, so all of the users were not necessarily local.  
       
            Blueberry lived in the Syracuse area, about an hour and a half away from me. Therefore, if I were to call her house, my mothers phone bill would have been charged long distance fees. This would have turned into a big problem because our conversations ended up becoming longer and more frequent. My mom would have killed me. Our phone bill would have skyrocketed through the roof if we hadn't been chatting through the party line platform.
           As the spring became summer, I was on the phone chatting with her more and more frequent. Although I was chatting with her in private rooms on the party line, I was no longer addicted to the party line. What I had become addicted to was chatting with her. There were times when we basically chatted on the phone together all day.
         In my mind, she was just the most perfect girl that god ever created. She was sweet, hilarious, quick-witted, caring, and honest. I talked to her on the phone for hours every day because she was always entertaining. It never mattered what we were talking about, usually it was just silly nonsense. As the days turned to weeks and months, school had started back up again, so we only chatted after school.
          I have always had a ton of friends, so it was weird to have such a close friend that I never actually hung out with. As our friendship continued to grow, almost a year had passed. I had fallen in love with her, and I would tell her and she would say it back. It wasn't a 'romantic' type of love, it was the close friendship type. We just had a bond where we could tell each other anything without being judged. This is an invaluable asset to have at your disposal, especially for teenagers with the challenges they face due to growing pains.
         My love for her wasn't some type of superficial love based on looks or popularity, it was her personality alone. That was the beauty of it and that's how I knew it was very special. I had no idea what she looked like and I didn't care. "A beautiful girl will one day lose her looks. But I good woman will always be a good woman".
        We would sometimes try to describe what we looked like to each other. However, based on her self descriptions, I could never tell if she was ugly or just very self conscious about herself. One day we decided to send each other pictures of ourselves in the mail. I was very self conscious about my looks back then too, so I was really worried about it affecting our friendship. Secretly, I was hoping that she was going to be unattractive so that I wouldn't be so ashamed of my own looks when she seen my photos.
       
         I remember the day that I received her letter in the mail, my hands were shaking so bad. Even her hand writing was cute, I was terrified to open the letter. I ran with the letter up into my bedroom and closed the door. After speaking to this girl for over a year, I was finally going to get to see what she looked like. My breathing stared to speed up quite a bit as I started to very carefully open the letter without damaging any of the contents. When I pulled out the photos they were turned backwards so I could only see the back of the first photo, there were 2 total. On the back of the photo it said "This is a picture of my friends and I that I roomed with in Toronto. I am the one in the blue shirt furthest from the right. Sorry if you're disappointed". As I slowly flipped the picture over, I could feel my heart beating like a piston through the vein in my forehead.

       

           

           

The Friendly Feline

            I have debated with myself back and forth for a while, whether or not to share this story. It is a tale that will certainly cause even those with an extremely open mind to be immensely skeptical. Those who question the legitimacy of this story need to understand a few things. First of all, I do not blame you one bit. If I were to read it myself, I would certainly not believe it either. Secondly, understand the fact that I have absolutely nothing to gain from being dishonest. And finally, honesty is a characteristic that I value above all else. The credibility of any person is in direct correlation with their character. Credibility is extremely important, and yet it is immensely fragile. It is like a priceless glass sculpture in mint condition. The artist may have spent years to erect his masterpiece, but once it is damaged or broken, it is impossible to restore it to its once pristine condition.

            When I was 12 years-old, I got my first ever job as a paper boy. At first I was really excited to take on the responsibility and to of course make money. My route consisted of Hazel St. and the section of Glenwood Ave up to its intersection with Prospect St., in Binghamton. It only took me a few weeks before I got into a good routine. I would wake up at 5, fold the papers, and then deliver then in about 45 minutes. Then I would shower and get ready to walk to school.

            I began the job during the summer when the sun would rise early, but by the end of fall I was working in the pitch dark every morning. After school, I would go to my customer’s homes to collect money owed. This aspect of the job quickly became a huge hassle. It seemed like my customers were never home, or else they would ask me to come back at a later date. Before I knew it, I was out attempting to collect almost every day.

            Once a week my boss would come to my house to collect money from me. There were several weeks when I would have to pay the man out of my own pocket. This would occur because my customers had often failed to pay me on time.

            It was also around this time when I realized that I was only making around $20 per week, which just wasn’t worth it. Getting up at 5 am was really beginning to wear on me. Also, considering the fact that I would walk an hr to school every day, it was tiring. It didn’t take long before I began to hate the job. Not only was I hardly making any money, I was also working every single morning. It was impossible for me to stay up late or to spend the night at a friend’s house. But, because I had accepted the job, I didn’t want to be a quitter and let people down.

            During the winter, performing my route only became more challenging. Walking around with the heavy papers (especially of Sundays) in the cold and snow was such a pain in the ass. I can remember a few times when I had slipped and fell on the ice.

           

            Anyways, one winter morning I went to the second house on my route. The customer lived in an upstairs apartment behind a tavern. While I was walking up the snow covered steps in the dark, an orange, tiger colored cat ran down the stairs like flash and scared the living shit out of me. My heart was pounding out of my chest and I almost fell down the steps. It took me a few moments to regain my composure and deliver that paper. After that incident, the rest of my route went as scheduled. That is, until I got to the second to last house on the corner of Hazel St. and Glenwood Ave.

            This particular delivery was also at a back door. While I was walking through the snowy driveway towards the back yard, I was suddenly frozen in place. That same cat that had frightened me so badly earlier, was sitting right in my path. I don’t know why he didn’t run away this time, nor did I know why the sight of him frightened me. But, there we were, starring each other right, waiting for the other to make a move.

            Now, the next part of the story is by far the most bizarre moment of my life. I don’t expect anybody to believe me, but I promise on my life that this is exactly what happened.

            The cat just sat there and wouldn’t budge, and neither would I. If I didn’t have a paper to deliver I would have just walked away. Finally, the cat said; “Hello”. The way he said it was exactly how any human would have said it. He didn’t speak with any type of kitty accent and it was not a possible ‘meow’. I literally seen his lips move when he said it and I was speechless. I was not on any type of drugs or alcohol either, I was 12. There was no possible explanation for this phenomenon, and my reaction was exactly was exactly what you would expect.

            I have seen a hundred scary movies in my life when people are running terrified, they keep falling down. I am here to tell you that this is something that really happens. It is not just a fabricated reaction manifested by scary movie directors. When you are completely terrified and running away as fast as possible, you will probably fall down. Then you will bounce back up immediately and run some more. You will run with every bit of energy you have and you might fall down again, and again.

            After my second fall, I ditched my newspaper bag and just ran straight home. I was living with my dad at the time. He had passed out drunk the night before, so waking him up is something that I would have normally never have attempted. But, considering the circumstances, I felt that waking him up would be certainly justified.

            I burst into his bedroom and shook him violently. He woke up half way and I quickly explained to him this terrifying series of events. He just rolled back over and gave me a resolve; “Just take Gator with you and finish your route”.

            Gator was my 3-legged pit bull. He had gotten hit by a car like 6 months prior and his leg was broken, I was balling my eyes out thinking he was going to die. The driver had never even stopped after running him over. We brought him to the vet that night and long story short….we ended up being a 3-legged dog.

            I was very frightened as I began walking with gator on a leash in front of me. It was still dark out, but I quickly found my bag of papers still lying in the middle of the road. I scooped them up and very slowly and cautiously delivered my final two papers. Thankfully, we didn’t encounter the cat.

            After school that day when my boss came to collect money, I told him that I was done delivering newspapers. He asked me if I could please continue for the next 2 weeks until they found a replacement. I didn’t even allow him to finish asking me the question; I told him that I couldn’t do it. I apologized for putting him in a rough predicament, but I had no choice. Of course I did not elaborate on the situation, I’m sure he would have just thought I was nuts. Heck, I wouldn’t have blamed him one bit for thinking I was nuts either. I mean, come on, the story was absolutely unbelievable.

            Anyways, as the years passed, I have told this story to countless people. And of course their response is always the same. They think that I am a complete lunatic, a liar, or they come up with some abstract, logical reasoning.

            It has been almost 20 years since this experience, and as I look back at it now, I kick myself. I might have been witnessing a miracle of god. Maybe I could have stood there and had a full blown conversation with a talking cat. Maybe he was some type of magical manifestation of god, and he was going to reveal to me the secrets of the cosmos. But instead, I just ran away from him like a fricken coward. Who really knows?

            All I know for sure is that if I ever meet him again and/or another talking cat, I will certainly embrace the experience rather than run from it. Oh, and one final thing, if you ever happen to meet him, tell him I said “Hey”.

Tribulations of the youngest son

            When you are the youngest of 3 boys, you live your life with a bullseye on your back. It is inevitable; the older boys will always make you the brunt of their jokes. I took more than my share of beatings over the years, but that’s fine, it just made me tougher. At the time, some of their gags were horrific, but looking back at it now we can all laugh.

            I remember one time; they stripped me naked and locked me out of the house. Then they started hollering out the windows to get peoples attention. They were brutal at times. But the worst part of the situation is that the jokes don’t end just because you become adults, at least not in my family.

            When I was getting ready to transfer from community college to a 4-year school, my oldest brother Dave coaxed me into applying to SUNY Fredonia. His job had transferred him to western NY and he didn’t really know many people in the area. He had gotten a really nice apartment directly in the center of downtown Fredonia, and I got one a few blocks away. Since we were both new to the area, we ended up spending a lot of evenings together.

            His apartment was on the 3^rd floor of a building that overlooked a large parking lot. I can remember at least 10-15 occasions when I would be just about to enter his building, only to get drenched by a bucket of water he threw out the window. This type of stuff never got old to him. By the time I would get into his apartment he would still be dying of laughter. Then, I would change into some of his clothes and we would have a few beers or play some cards. I had never really gotten to spend much time with him over the years. He is 8 years older than me so he was always out with friends or away at college. It was the first time that we actually got to be friends, and I loved it.

            Anyways, this one day we went to Applebee’s for dinner and drinks. While we were waiting for our food, we heard some commotion across the restaurant. All of the servers had assembled at one of the tables and were singing “Happy Birthday” to some bashful little boy. He had reddish cheeks and a slight grin; you could tell he was happy, but a little uncomfortable.

           A few minutes later, our server passed our table and my brother stopped her. He quietly whispered something to her; she nodded and began to walk away. Now, knowing my brother and his games, I knew damn well what he had just said to her.

             I quickly stopped her again and said; “Listen, I know my brother, I know he just told you it’s my birthday and to sing to me. It’s not my birthday, I promise.” I quickly pulled out my wallet and produced my driver’s license. “See”, I said “It is not my birthday, please don’t sing to me”! She laughed, agreed, and then walked away. “Nice try Dave”, I said. He just started laughing, as always. You always got to keep your eye on that guy, he’s sneaky.

            Anyways, about 10 minutes later I start hearing a bunch of clapping all around me. The entire server staff had assembled at our table and placed an ice cream sundae in front of me. Then, they proceeded with their normal, humiliating ‘Happy Birthday” song.

            I was extremely pissed off. Why the hell would this stupid server still allow this to happen, even after I showed her my I.D. and pleaded with her? I sat there with my arms folded and a furious look on my face the whole time they sang. My brother was sitting across from me ready to explode in laughter. I didn’t understand how he had still pulled this off. As soon as the servers left our table-side, my brother burst out into laughter. He loved it, his face was all red and he couldn’t stop laughing.

            Then, a couple minutes later, one of the other servers approaches our table. She has an angry look in her eyes and she gets right in my face and says; “Next time you want a free sundae, just ask! So we don’t have to fucking sing to you”! She stammered away and I was left sitting there completely bewildered and appalled. I look over at my brother and he again begins whaling in laughter. He almost fell out of his chair laughing so hard. The tears were streaming off his cheeks; I’ve never seen him laugh so hard.

            A few weeks later I realized that I needed to get a car to get back and forth to campus. Problem was, I didn’t really have any money. I ended up getting a 1983 Buick “clunker” from a garage sale. Yep, a bought a car from a garage sale for $300. It was the ugliest thing I had ever seen, but it drove. It had an 8 track player in it and it smelled like old lady. I remember it breaking down before because it ran out of oil. I would make sure to get to campus at odd times and park far away; it was really embarrassing to drive. Dave would make a fake, car alarm ‘locking’ sound when I would get out of it, he thought it was hilarious.

            Anyways, this one time I was leaving his apartment and he missed me with the water, I had caught on by then. I’m glad I did too because it was like 2 degrees out that day. I was walking towards my car when I seen this really attractive girl walking towards her car. Of course she had to be parked right next to me, how embarrassing. Suddenly I hear Dave holler from his window; “Hey Dan”!

 I turn around and reply; “Yea”?

“Nice car”! He yells.

           

             

            Whenever I would try to play a joke on Dave, he is such a poor sport. I was at his apartment one day and he didn’t know it. He would be getting home from work soon and I had a big bucket of water waiting for him at the window. I was so excited to finally get my revenge, I was giddy. I waited by that window for 20 minutes before I seen him pull into the parking lot. He began walking towards the apartment and I had the bucket all lined up. Then, for some reason he stopped. He turned around and went back to his car. Finally, he emerged from his back seat with a large amount of clothes, fresh from the dry cleaners. I knew that if I dumped that bucket on him it would ruin all of his perfectly pressed work clothes…and he would probably kill me.

           

            Some people say that being the youngest has its advantages, but I’ve never noticed any. All I ever got was 2^nd hand clothes and black eyes. And now that I’m big enough to fight back, they don’t want to fight me.

Professor Prick

            During my 1^st semester at BCC, I was taking this basic marketing class. There were about 75 students or so in the class, which was quite large compared to some of the others. However, they had accommodated and given us a large, modern, university style classroom with stadium seating. The teacher was really sharp in several facets. He was very quick-witted and always dressed like a 19960’s fashion icon. He was really intelligent on the material that we covered and always had a way to make it interesting. He would also crack hilarious jokes on a regular basis; usually it was related to the coursework, but sometimes at the expense of a student. The guy had a real cocky; “I’m much smarter than you”, type of persona that he gave off. He was a true orator and linguist; therefore, getting into a debate with him in front of the class would always end unfavorably. His class was pretty entertaining compared to some of the other business classes, but the guy also made people nervous. When you didn’t know the answer to a question, he always had a degrading response. Also, we would go over our homework assignments at the beginning of every class, so if you were called on for a response, you were immediately the center of attention for 75 students.

            It was because of this reason, which I always made sure that I was prepared for class. The homework questions were always designed for open-ended answers. Everyday when we were going over the homework questions, there was a sense of tension in the air. It was as if all 75 of us were walking on egg-shells even though we were seated. After we would go over our homework ritual, the tension would ease a bit and his jokes would just become funnier. It was as if we no longer feared him anymore for that day, and we were just relieved.

            On a number of occasions he had called on a random student to answer a question from the homework. Sometimes, the questions for the homework were difficult and complicated. I would get frustrated and nervous while doing my homework, because I would automatically picture a series of events in my head. These events would include him calling on me for an answer I did not have, and him making a spectacle out of it. It was such a fear of mine because I had seen it happen to others, and while it would be happening to others it would make us all cringe. Therefore, over-thinking these open-ended answers that were sometimes non-existent in the chapters would cause me a lot of stress.

            Anyways, one class we were going over our homework and I was praying to myself that he didn’t call on me. He never called on people in alphabetical order or by the place you were sitting, or with any type of order. He always had a list of all the names in the class, and he would always choose one at random.

            I remember stressing over one question for literally hours, and still ending up with a horrible answer that I knew was incorrect. I was just hoping that if he were to call on me for that question, he would at least see that I had tried and give me a pass. Anyways, when we got to that question and I knew that I still hadn’t been called on for a while, I was shaking a bit.

            The magnitude of the relief that passed through my veins when he called on someone else was invigorating. But then the student responded with; “Sorry, I didn’t get that one”. It was a logical response, like I said; I worked at it for hours only to get a bad answer. But, we all knew what was going to come next.

            “What do you mean, you didn’t get that one? You see people; this is what I’m talking about. When you come unprepared for class you are not just wasting my time, you are wasting everybody’s time;” the professor responded. The student looked very uncomfortable, and the professor continued. “I don’t think you realize, they don’t pay me very much to teach this class. My time is valuable; it can be spent in much better ways than with students who don’t even take the time to do an assignment”.

            Everybody was very tense and just hoping that he would move along, but he didn’t. “What are you going to do in the future when your boss gives you a project to work on at home? Are you just going to show up to work the next day and tell him that you couldn’t do that one”?

            We all thought he was going to keep rambling on but this time he wasn’t. He was waiting for a response from the student. The student was very stressed out at this point and I began to feel bad for him. I knew that it could have just as easily been me sitting in his seat, and I know what I would be going through. Finally, the student said; “I don’t know”.

            The teacher giggled to himself slightly and mocked the student; “I don’t know”? He continued; “You would just tell your boss you don’t know? What do you think your boss would say to that”? Again he was waiting for a response, but he wasn’t going to get one from the student, he was going to get one from me. I was so fired up and sick of his bullshit by this point.

            As a child I had struggled with anger issues, (Thanks Dad) but I had gotten them mostly under control. The only thing I could never get past and still cannot is when I see people getting taken advantage of. Whether it is me, or somebody else who is unwilling to stand up for themselves. I simply will not tolerate it.  

            “You are the one wasting the time”, I blurted out. Immediately his head turned, just like a frightened deer. “Who said that”, he responded. I raised my hand. He looked at me and said, “What did you say? What did you interrupt my class to say”?

I responded; “You are the one who is wasting time. The kid said he didn’t know the answer, so leave him alone. Move on to the next student, maybe they will know it. But instead you go on a rant about wasting time? We are the ones who are paying you to teach the class, so how about giving us a little respect. You are the only one who is wasting time. Don’t you think that is ironic”? The class was dead silent. The professor then asks me; “What’s your name”?

Me: “Why? So you can give me a failing grade on the next exam? My name is not important”

Him: “Well then I will see you after class then and we can talk about it instead of interrupting my class.”

Me: “Nope. Sorry. I can’t, I got places to go. My time is valuable”. I heard a few chuckles from the class, which I am positive hurt his ego.

            Finally, the professor moved on and looked on his attendance sheet for another student to call on for a response. Surprisingly, he only called on male students for the remainder of the class. I could tell that he was trying to find out who I was, and he kept looking at me. It wasn’t difficult to tell that he still had a vendetta to resolve.

            Anyhow, I just left the class as usual that day and things went back to normal. The guy was an arrogant prick and he needed somebody to put him in his place. The next class he had called on me and so he eventually found out my name, and of course my grades suffered a bit because of it. I ended up getting a C in the class, but I didn’t regret my actions one bit. He did turn into less of a jerk as the semester went on so I guess it worked out a bit. Needless to say, I didn’t sign up for anymore of his classes in the future.

            It is so wrong to take advantage of people and to try to embarrass them. We need more people who are willing to stand up and say “fuck off”, regardless of the penalties. Much of the time, if you don’t, things will only get worse. The people who get off from belittling others are some of the biggest cowards out there. 

Gram

         It’s amazing how you can view something so completely different while at two separate points in your life. Maybe you remember a movie that was a childhood favorite, but as an adult it just doesn't have anywhere near the same appeal. Or, maybe you made a decision as a child that you would have never made as an adult. It is a phenomenon because you are viewing the exact same object and/or experience as the same person with the exact same eyes, only the mind has changed. As we age, our perspectives and values changes as a result of our experiences. Although we are still the same person, the way in which we see things often changes.        

            For some reason, I often remember an example of this type of change in perspectives from an event that occurred when I was 13 years-old. It was Halloween day and I had recently gotten off the phone with my friend Shane. We had made plans to go trick-or-treating together over on his side of town, in the upper-class homes neighborhoods. During our conversation, we had mapped out a timeline of exactly when and where we would be going. Our plan was to maximize our candy intake by visiting the best homes in a close proximity, in as little as time possible.

            My costume was nothing special. All I had was a wig and a flimsy Halloween easel containing some different color face paints. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to “be”, I just planned to look silly. So, I had went to the mirror and used all of the different colors on my face and put the wig on. I looked ridiculous. As soon as I showed my mom, she immediately said; “you gotta go downstairs and show gram”!

           For my whole childhood, my grandmother had always lived just below us. Our house had a basement apartment in it. Although my grandmother actually owned the house, she let my mom have the upstairs because she had children and needed the extra space.

            Anyways, as soon as I walked into her apartment she began to laugh. She always had the cutest laugh, especially when she would get really excited about something.

“What are ya a Jester”, she said?

“What’s a Jester”, I responded.

“Like a clown, a Jester”, she said.

“I dunno, I was just trying to pain my face up and look funny” I replied.

“Well, you look like a Jester”, she said again.

         Then, she went on to tell me how she was on her way over to the church. She said that I should go with her and how she was sure that the others would get a kick out of my costume. She said that there would be a lot of kids my age there and that they were having refreshments and handing out candy.

            I knew that there was no possible way in the world I was going to go to church on Halloween. Like I had said, my friend and I had a great plan in place. Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays and we had been planning it for some time. I kind of laughed off her invitation and told her “sorry”. I had been to church with her a bunch of times in the past and it was almost always pretty boring.     
            At the time, the thought of going to church with her on Halloween sounded like such a ridiculous idea to me. Never for a second did I even consider actually going with her. I went and met up with Shane and we made a killing in the candy business that night.

            At the beginning of this story I mentioned how we can perceive things so incredibly differently at different points in our lives. At the time, nothing in the world could have made me go with my grandmother to church on that night instead of going trick-or-treating with my friends. But looking at it now, there is nothing in the world that could make me happier than to be able go to church with her. It turned out that she was right that night, I was a Jester…I was a clown.

            If I were to attempt to describe my grandmother to someone who had never met her before, the task would be very difficult. The magnitude of her selflessness alone would make it impossible; the words simply do not exist. Besides, she would not want me to anyways. You see, she was always an extremely humble angel. But for the sake of my story, it could never be complete without trying.

            “The true measure of a man can be found in how they treat those people who can do them absolutely no good”. I’m not sure to whom this quote belongs, but my grandmother exemplified the truth in it. She was always very kind to strangers because it was in her nature. Helping people was simply what she lived to do. People would sometimes try to compensate her for her generosity, but she would never allow it, not in a million years. She didn’t have much, but what she did have there was certainly a lot of. She had a strong desire to help people at any chance she got. Her reason for living this type of lifestyle was that she always held her bible close to her. The lord was her savior, and I am certain that if he were to allow anybody into his kingdom, it would be her.

            My grandmother was a magician with her sewing machine. Even though a name brand version of blue jeans held no importance to her, she would create them for us. It was simple; she would just cut the expensive brand name patches off of an old pair, and sew them onto a new, much cheaper pair. When summer would arrive, she would then turn that pair of jeans into shorts.

            I remember several times when she would wash our clothes. During laundry she would find jeans with holes in them. A few days later when we would pull them out of a drawer, they would have large patches sewed into them. She could never understand how it was in-style to have holes in your pants. It was impossible to get mad at her for 'ruining' your clothes since she had done it only with the best intentions. The era that she was from, a man with holes in his pants was a sign of poverty.

            One Christmas when I was a child, the big ticket item on a lot of kid’s lists was Pound Puppies. It was a stuffed animal puppy with a heart shaped insignia of its hind leg. She sewed a whole bunch of them from scratch that Christmas and gave them away. She had worked tirelessly for months at her sewing machine. And in the end, it was almost impossible to tell the difference between her creation and the expensive store bought ones.

            My grandmother was always extremely thrifty and clever in her ways. She never had much money, but it never bothered her one bit. Her coupon-cutting always equated into a full cupboard, even if she had to walk a few extra miles to a different supermarket. Somehow it always seemed like she lived in abundance. Her refrigerator always had ice cold kool-aid, and her cookie jar was always full for us kids.

            Our family was always just barely squeaking by to make ends meet. But as children we never felt like it at all. We always felt like we had whatever we needed, and that was because of her. Anything that my family needed, or whenever we had a problem, she always had a solution. She could always fix whatever problem we had. I remember one time when she had somehow bought my brother a car. Whether it was a big problem or a small problem, she was always just a floor tap away. You see, we shared a phone line with her. So if we needed to ask her a question, we would stomp on the floor and wait for her to pick up the phone. And when she needed to talk to us, she would bang on a pipe. Those were our “cues” to pick up the telephone. I can recall about a hundred times when I would bang on the floor and ask Gram to make me a sandwich, or a bagel. The response was always the exact same; "Come down in 5 minutes".

            When we were little, my brother Ian and I would fight over who got to sleep downstairs with Gram. Whenever I would stay down stairs with her we would watch “Wheel of Fortune” and “Jeopardy” together. She would always make popcorn and let me sleep in her bed with her. I always felt really safe and comfortable with her, she just gave off that aura. Being around her was the "cure-all" for me as a child. And having her around and in our lives was simply invaluable.

            My mom and step-dad often worked weird hours and often stayed out late. So she was the one who looked after my brothers and I. She was the one who looked after everybody. She would do laundry, cook, clean, and whatever else had been neglected around the house that day. She was the glue to our family and I never realized it. I was just too young to interpret her greatness.  I didn’t realize the importance of her kindness and what she really meant to us. Sometimes when she would get frustrated with us she would tell us; “Ya know, I’m not always going to be around. You guys are going to have to learn how to do for yourselves”. But in our youthful ignorance, we always just shook it off. In our naïve minds she would always be around.

            She was in her 80’s but she was in excellent shape. Her grocery shopping would take her all over town to get the “deals”. She never owned a vechicle so she would get quite a bit of exercise on a regular basis. I remember seeing her all over the place pushing her little cart or carrying bags. When I would be out on my bicycle and see her out, I would take some of the heavy items and ride them home for her. She was more than capable of doing it on her own, but it always made me feel good to help. My grandmother never had any health conditions except asthma, even as she aged. Her only medication (that I recall) was her inhaler. They were always raising the price of her refills too, so she would try to make them last longer.

            It wasn’t just her physical health that was surprisingly great, her mental health was always outstanding as well. Sometimes when people age their mind begins to deteriorate. They forget things or they do something silly here or there. But, that was never the case with her. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she lived to be 120 years old the way she was going. With her as my role model, I thought life was going to be a breeze. But the truth of the matter was that she just made it look that way. She was a genius in so many ways, she just had life figured out a long time ago. 

            One time she was walking home from the senior citizen center and she got mugged. Some man had ran by her and stolen her purse and knocked her down. She ended up being pretty banged up from that ordeal, but I don’t think she even went to the hospital. They never caught the guy either, but she forgave the man immediately. That was just the way she was. I remember my brother being so angry about the incident and promising revenge, but she wouldn't have any of that. We were pretty shook up after it happened, but she calmed us all down and said she would be fine. It seemed like such a short time after, she was all better again. She never let it bother her and she quickly returned to her old ways.
          Here is a woman who would literally do anything for anybody, and she gets mugged? The coward only got away with about $2 that she had in her purse, but the burden from the incident was one that was hard for my family to shake. It bothered us so much more than it ever bothered her. I'm willing to bet that she was probably angry about what happened to her for about 5 minutes after it actually happened. But like I said, that is just the type of woman she was. Her personality and kindness is impossible to generate into proper comprehension because there are few to compare her to. There are certainly none whom I have ever encountered, and I would be surprised if that ever changes.

            When I was 15, I had come home one day and nobody was there. My mom arrived a little while later and said that they were at the hospital with Gram. I had no idea why since her health had never been an issue. In fact, I had just seen her walking on Main St. earlier in the day, so I just assumed it had to be something minor. My mom said that she had went downstairs earlier and that my Gram was acting really weird. She said that she seemed really confused and really bizarre, so they had taken her to the hospital. She said that they released her and that my step-dad was bringing her into the house. As soon as they walked in the door I realized that something was very, very wrong.

            My step-dad was helping her walk and he set her down on the couch. She had a very confused and wide-eyed expression on her face. This was completely out of the ordinary for her. Like I had said, she was always completely normal. I began to talk to her; “Hey gram, whats wrong”? She kind of looked around for a moment before she looked over at me. I could tell that she was very spaced out. I said; “Gram, I just seen you earlier on Main St. walking and you were fine. What happened to you”? Finally she looked in my direction and responded; “I don’t know. I was probably going to the drug store”. Her facial expression and demeanor were completely out of the ordinary. I could tell that she really had no clue what was going on. The tears began to flood down my cheeks. If she was this sick then why the hell would they discharge her from the hospital?

            This sight was too much for me to handle, the tears just kept flowing. I didn’t know what to do so I went outside and just ran. I ran all the way to the park and played basketball with some friends. I was trying to get my mind off of what I had just seen and hoping it would all go away. I was hoping that it was just some terrible nightmare that I would soon awake from.

            When I went back home a while later nobody was there. I walked into the dining room and seen a note on the table: “Come to the hospital, Gram got worse”. My heart began to race as I walked back into the living room feeling woozy. I seen the answering machine light blinking. Usually it would have a digital number on it to indicate how many messages were waiting. But when there were more than 9 messages it would just blink. I hit play and heard my brother Daves voice in hysterics; “Will somebody please call me! What is going on, please”! I could hear the tears in his voice and I knew that things must be very bad. He continued; "Why will nobody answer the phone? Please"! The message ended and went onto the next. It was Dave again with more pleading for a return call. He was away at college and I could tell he was a mess. I thought about calling him back, but I didn't have any answers for him.

            I ran out of the house, over to the hospital and right into the emergency room. As soon as I went into her room I seen a doctor performing compressions on my Grams chest. This is when I completely lost it and the whole world began spinning. I was crying but I couldn’t breath at the same time. I ran out of the hospital and dropped to my knees in the ambulance bay screaming at god and cursing him. I simply could. Not. Breathe.

            My step-dad came out a moment later and said; “Hey man, are you ok”? I was at a loss for words and kept trying to catch my breath. Am I ok, really? “No”, I said. “I am not OK at all". I was still trying to catch my breath, but it kept getting more difficult. The tears just continued as I sat there on my knees and started punching the concrete. My step-dad tried to console me but I just got up and left. Everything around me looked different, everything looked like shit. I remember seeing strangers with smiles on their faces walking down the street and wondering how? How in the world could anybody in the world be happy right now?

            The next thing I remember, I left the hospital and started walking home. I was so upset that I just wanted to fight somebody, anybody. Anybody who would look at me I would immediately curse at them. This was the worse part of the worst day of my life.

            We would later find out that she had a stroke earlier in the day and possibly a few more later on. They kept her on life support for a week or so and then just let her go. I have always wondered that if they didn’t discharge her after her preliminary visit to the ER if things could have ended differently.

            Anyways, as the days, months, and years have passed since, the grieving process slowly got easier. But what has never gotten any easier is life. Life is a pain in the ass. When she was just a floor tap away, life was easy. When life would kick me in the ass, I could always run into her arms for help. She was the rock that my family could always depend on, and went she went down, so did the ship.

            When my grandmother passed away, everything and everybody changed. A lot of the smart decisions we made in our lives were because we wanted her to be proud of us. So when she wasn't there, people stopped making sacrifices for the family. When she died, everything got worse, a lot worse. 
         But, looking back in all honesty, we didn't deserve her, we never did. She was like the one "good" thing that our family had. She was the wild card. She was the sun and she was the light. And none of us ever appreciated her for what she was. Unfortunately, I was too young and far too foolish at the time to understand just what I had. If you were to witness a miracle every single day, would they still exist?
           If someone were to live a full life being wealthy every day of it, they could never appreciate it as much as someone who was once poor. However, if this is true then it must work both ways. It is only once you experience the greatness of somebody that you can recognize the magnitude of the void that exists without them. In this case, the void that was left in our lives was insurmountable. It is one that can never be filled. "You don't know what you got until its gone."
          This story was difficult to write at times because of how much I miss my Gram. If you have somebody in your life whom reminds you of my Gram, then give them a call, right now. Give them a call for no reason at all and tell them how much they mean to you. Tell them how much you love and appreciate them. And then reminisce with them about some happy memories and the joy that they have brought you. You never know when that opportunity will no longer exist. So go tell that special person just how special they are.....do it for my Gram.

Senior Year HS Basketball

            About a month and a half before my senior year in high school started, my oldest brother came home to visit. He was currently enrolled in classes at SUNY IT and living in Utica. But when he came he didn’t come alone; he had brought his friend Matt along with him. I had never met him before, but he seemed pretty cool at first. My brother used to play on the basketball team there but he ended up quitting because he didn’t like the coach. Anyways, most of his friends at school were players on the basketball team. Matt was no exception, he happened to be the starting shooting guard for the team. As soon as we got to talking I realized that he was very cocky. He boasted about being a 4-year starter and the teams leading scorer and what not. I was not impressed; I told him that I would take him down to floral park right now and whoop up on him. He was a real arrogant guy so he immediately took offense to it and laughed at me.

            Now, at the time I was only 16, so I hadn’t really grew into my body yet. He took one look at me and said; “Your feet are way too big for your body, you could never keep up with me”. I took this as a major insult. My whole life, all I had done was play basketball, especially at Floral Park. I didn’t care who this guy thought he was, there was no way he was going to be able to compete with me, especially at my park.

            Anyways, the trash talking escalated very quickly and we ended up on our way down to the park. He told me that I would be lucky if I even got the ball once. We were about the same height but he was a lot thicker than me. It was evident that he lifted weights quite a bit and that I didn’t.

            As soon as the game began he immediately utilized his physical advantage. He used his sheer power to get me down into the post a few times and got a couple easy lay-ups. On the next possession he missed a foul line jumper. That was the last time that he would have possession for the rest of the game. I massacred him 16-2 and it enraged him. If I didn’t have my brother there with me, he probably would have wanted to fight me.

            However, even after getting beat so badly, his trash-talking only intensified. He chalked it up to luck and challenged me to a rematch. This time I think he might have scored 4-5 points. The guy wanted to kill me. He couldn’t believe that a 16 year-old was just handling him like that.

            The third game he just powered his way down low time after time. And any time he would miss a shot, he would call a bogus foul. The game was getting really physical and I was sure we were going to end up fighting. So I just laid off and let him win the game. After that game I left and told him I was done, I could tell he was still disgruntled by the results. He was still pissed off and felt like he had a lot more to prove to me. Matt was one of those really intense, competitive guys who hated to lose. Anyways, they left a few days later and I never seen Matt again.

            Then, around the time that basketball season was beginning I got a call from my older brother. He said that Matt had told his dad about me and that he wanted to coach me for my senior year. Apparently, Matt’s dad had coached for a lot of years and had an amazing resume. He said that matt’s dad was a phenomenal coach and that he would build the team around me.

            I told him that sounds cool and all, but our JV coach Chilson was beloved by all the players, including me. And I also told him that coach Chilson had already gotten the job anyways. I had assumed that this was the case anyways, the old varsity coach had quit and he was next in line.

            I told my brother that I appreciated the gesture and all, but I was really looking forward to having coach Chilson. He had coached me in JV and he was just an awesome guy to be around.

            Anyways, a few days before basketball season started, we found out that coach Chilson had not gotten the job. Apparently, Matt’s dad had already applied for the job, and with his stellar resume, he named head varsity coach.

            A few days before try-outs began; we had a meeting in the gym with all of the prospected players. Matt’s dad introduced himself to the team, but the team was not very accepting because we all loved coach Chilson. At one point during the meeting he said; “who is Dan Reynolds”? I raised my hand and he looked at me and said; “I know your brother”. The meeting only lasted about 20 minutes or so, and after it ended he asked me to stay and talk to him.

           I explained to him that the team was not very receptive of him because we were all counting on having coach Chilson. Coach Chilson had been involved in the program for a few years already and he had a bond with most of the players.

            A day or two later, Matt’s dad resigned. And by the time tryouts had begun, coach Chilson was named head coach. Everybody was really happy and things seemed to go back to normal.

            I never bothered to tell anybody about my little affiliation with Matt’s dad. I didn’t want anybody to get mad at me, like it was my fault that coach Chilson had not gotten the job. Besides, it was never my idea for it to happen in the first place, and I never approved the situation.

            A couple years ago I found coach Chilson on facebook and I told him about it. It was pretty evident to me that he didn’t believe me, which I didn’t mind. Shoot, he probably doesn’t even remember that Matt’s dad had gotten the job over him. I mean, it only lasted about a week or so and it was a long time ago.

            Anyways, our team ended up having a pretty crappy season. It wasn’t because of our coach; it was because we didn’t have a ton of kids in our school who were serious about basketball. Most of them were mainly into other sports. Plus, some of the teams that we played against had some talented kids on their teams at the time.

            Right near the end of the basketball season I was going through a really tough time in my personal life. My mom and step-dad were getting divorced and it was really affecting me. I ended up acting up in class and quitting the team. I think coach Chilson thought I had a problem with him for some reason, but I didn’t at all. He was always a great coach, and we were lucky to have him.

The Champion of all coincidences

            When I transferred to SUNY Fredonia in 2003 I switched my major from business administration to public relations. This meant that I now had to take about 10 or so communication related classes. Some of these classes were extremely challenging, especially the upper level courses. But there were also a couple that were a joke. This story revolves around one of those classes. I believe the class was called “Mass media and society”.

            80% of your grade was made up from exam scores. The exams always followed exactly what was in the chapters and she always gave us a study guide. Basically, all you needed to do was memorize the answers from the study guide and you would get an A. I think I usually only spent about an hour to study for the tests. The other 20% of your grade was based on attendance. And believe me, we earned that 20%. The lectures were so irrelevant and boring, plus it didn’t help that the instructor spoke like Ben Stein. She spoke with such a mono tone delivery that it was impossible to stay focused. Everybody in the class was always looking up at the clock to see how much torture we had left remaining for that day. Luckily I had become close friends with one of my classmates, so we would just take turns going to the class. You see, the instructor never actually took attendance; she just passed around a sign-in sheet. So he and I would just sign the other one in on the attendance sheet. There were about 60-70 students in the class so it would be difficult to notice if somebody were missing.

            Anyways, one week we were studying the history of mass media. On this particular day the teacher was showing a video. It was a “60 minutes” special from the late 1980’s about the history of the television. At the beginning of the episode, the narrator said something like; “To examine the history of television in the United States we followed the Hudson River to Schenectady, NY.  It was here in 1928 that the General Electric Company became the first to broadcast to a national audience”. While the narrator was saying this, they were showing the Hudson River and some screen shots of the neighborhoods around Schenectady.

            All of a sudden, one of the girls in my class stood up in the middle of class and began shouting; “Oh my god that is my home town! I know all of those places they are showing! This is so weird”! Everybody in the class looked at her because she was so loud and animated about it. Eventually, she sat back down and continued watching the video.

            A few minutes later the narrator said; “We went into this elementary school to ask some of the children how much television affects their lives”. Again, the girl stood up and said; “This is surreal man, when is this video from? I fricken know some of those kids”! Again, everybody was looking at this girl. Some students thought she was just crazy but others were intrigued. I was definitely on board with the ladder.

            Moments later, they went into a kindergarten class and interviewed some children about how much TV they watched and what were their favorite programs. This time the girl went nuts; “Oh my god….that is me”!

            She ran up to the front of the class and pointed at the screen. “Look, right there with the pig tails! That’s me! Oh my god”

            Sure enough, standing right beside the child being interviewed, it was her! She was only a kindergartner, but it was fairly easy to tell it was her. This girl had some very distinguishing characteristics.

            “This is the craziest thing I have ever seen, how do I not remember this”?! She was shouting in disbelief, everybody else was silent. I think it is safe to say that at this point the entire class was in awe.

            I believe I have seen more than my fair share of coincidences in my day, but this certainly takes the cake. The girl was so mesmerized by what she had seen that she left the class. She said she had to go call and tell her mom immediately.

            As soon as she left, all the excitement deflated immediately. This was easily one of the most boring classes I had ever taken, but not that day. I’m happy that it was my turn to be in class that day or else I would’ve missed out on one heck of a spectacle. I can’t imagine if that had been me, I would have probably freaked out even worse than she did.

            Actually, on second thought, it wouldn’t have been possible for that to happen to me. I have far too good of a memory to forget something like that.

Intrepidly dodging prejudices

            When I was 18 years old I was going to community college full-time and working full time. I had a redundant office job that only paid about $9/hr, but I still had a ton of disposable income. You see, I was living at home at the time so I literally had zero bills to pay. Life was pretty easy back then and I felt pretty optimistic about my future. It was because of this comfortable feeling that I had made a decision to buy a new car. Not a brand new car, but at least a considerable upgrade. I didn’t want to get a piece of junk that I would have to worry about becoming a money pit. So, I decided to go to the bank and see if I could get approved for a car loan. I knew that the payments would be easy to make since I had no other bills, and I could probably pay it off rather quickly. I had just established credit recently by getting a credit card, and I had been doing really well at making my payments on time to avoid interest.

            Anyways, I went to the bank and immediately got approved for a $10,000 car loan. I knew that I didn’t want to pay that much for a car, but it was nice to know that I could if I wanted to. I made sure to take my time in my car buying process; I wanted to make sure that I got something that I really liked.

            I had always been a fan of the body style of the dodge intrepid, I don’t know why. But I knew that I wanted a white one with some chrome rims. I had seen them around town and I just liked the way they looked. As the months passed I began looking for one, but with no luck. I really wanted to test drive one to make sure that they drove as smoothly as they looked.

            About a year earlier, my mom had gotten a new car and gave me her old one. It was an older model Buick Century, but I had never had any problems with it. The only reason I wanted a newer car was because I was working hard, I could afford it, and I wanted to look good. I guess I felt like I deserved it, and I knew that paying off a car loan would be great for my credit.

            During my search for my ideal Dodge Intrepid, I had totaled the Buick. How it happened and the events the led up to it are a whole other story. But the fact of the matter was that I was now without a vehicle. Therefore, my car search had intensified. I needed to have a car to get to school and work, and I needed one quickly. I assumed that I would probably have to settle for something other than the Intrepid. But luckily I was approved for the $10,000 loan, so finding a nice car that I liked shouldn’t be difficult.

            It was right around this time when I just so happened to find the exact car that I wanted. It almost seemed like fate. I had found it at a used car dealership on the corner of Carhart Ave and Main St. in Binghamton. I couldn’t believe my luck, and it had a price tag on it for $6,999. When I first seen it I was riding with a friend and made him stop his car immediately. I ran over to it and checked it out, the body was spotless! It didn’t have too many miles on it either, this car was perfect! I probably would have bought it that very second if the dealership hadn’t been closed. Also, it was a Saturday and the store hours indicated that they were closed on Sundays.

            On another good note, the dealership was only about a mile from my house. So I had made a plan to go there Monday to test drive the car. I was so excited the next day that I had brought some friends to see the car and show it off.

            Anyways, I woke up that Monday in a great mood! I ran all the way to the dealership and began checking out my new car. Knowing how aggressive used car salesmen can be, I thought somebody would come right out to assist me. But after checking out my car for about 10 minutes I decided to just go into the office. As soon as I walked in I encountered a decently built man who was probably pushing 30 with very blonde hair.

Me: Hi, how are you?

Him: Good, whats up?

Me: I want to test drive that white intrepid right there!

Him: Ok……. where is your car?

Me: Mine? I didn’t drive here I walked from my house, I live close by.

Him: Sorry, I can’t help you.

Me: What do you mean?

Him: We don’t let people test drive cars that walked here.

Me: What? Why not?

Him: Well, we have had too many instances with people taking cars for joy rides.

Me: Ok, well, that’s not the case with me. I am serious about buying it.

Him: Sorry, I can’t help you.

Me: Look, you idiot. The reason I walked here is because I do not have a car, I need one. And you sell them, right?

Him: Sorry, I cant help you.

Me: So you only sell cars to people who already have cars? Duh. That makes no sense.

Him: Sorry

Me: You are a fucking idiot. I just got approved for a $10,000 loan and would have bought that car this second. Now I don’t want to do any business with you and I’m going to tell everybody I know not to either.

            I stormed out of the dealership extremely angry. I had taken the day off classes today just so I could go and buy that car. But instead, I got judged by some asshole who completely ruined my day. As I was walking back home enraged, for some reason I remembered something that had happened a few months prior.

           

            My brother and I were on our way into a subway restaurant when I seen the guy making sandwiches through the window. The man was white with dreadlocks and just looked dirty. He kind of looked like sideshow Bob from “The Simpsons”. Right before we entered I made a comment to my brother; “Great, I really want this guy to make my sandwich”.

            Anyways, he turned out to be a really, really nice guy. We had a great conversation and he was hilarious. On our way to the car my brother mocked me; “Yea, I really want this guy to make my sandwich”; he said jokingly. Then he goes; “That guy was awesome”. And he was right, the guy was awesome. I felt like such a piece of crap for judging him. My brother goes; “Book by its cover man”. Then he started laughing but I just couldn’t shake the feeling of shame.

           

            Anyways, while I was walking home from that dealership I felt like I may have been simply getting slapped in the face by karma. The car dealer obviously judged me because I was just a kid. He just assumed I wasn’t a serious buyer and it almost certainly cost him a sale.

            We almost always judge people we meet within the first 2 seconds of meeting them. Sometimes we do it consciously and sometimes subconsciously. A lot of us claim that we do not do it, but we still do. However, the truth remains that nobody will ever be any better than anybody else, just like they will never be any worse. Everybody has problems; some just hide them better than others. 

            We are all the same genetic material wandering aimlessly, searching for ways to individualize ourselves. But why? Does it make us feel better about our own lives to devalue others? The same way that we like to compare ourselves to those we admire? I once heard a quote: “The only way to measure the significance of our own lives is by valuing the lives of others”. I believe this quote holds considerable weight, and maybe it works both ways.

            In my personal opinion, the only way to truly progress as a species is to see ourselves in others. Not to just teach the golden rule, but to somehow engrain it into our genes. I can envision what that world would be like, however, I cannot envision how we could ever get there. My eyes are pessimistically blinded by the regression which is reality. 

Silver Lining

            It was about a year after the playstation 2 came out when I went and bought one from Sears. It had come up to about $450 for the console, the second controller, and the new John Madden game. I have never really been into video games; I think they are a waste of time and money. However, my friends and I really wanted to try out this particular game, and I had a plan to do it for free. I had just recently gotten a Sears store credit card with a $500 limit on it. The store had a policy that if the game console was returned within 30 days, I would get the money refunded onto my card. So I figured I had nothing to lose by purchasing it, using it for a few weeks, and returning it. Sure, it was a sneaky little way to try out the system, but I was only 18. My friends and I used to do tricky things like that all the time back then, and I’m sure we weren’t the only ones.

            Anyways, the very first night I had gotten it, the play station was stolen from my apartment. That night I had a bunch of “friends” over for a party, and in the morning it had vanished. I had explored every avenue rather frantically to try to recover the game, but to no avail. The fact that I had just got it that same day, and now I would be responsible for almost $500, had naturally pissed off. Plus, if you know anything about store credit cards, they rape you with interest rates when you don’t pay them off in full within 30 days.

            Earlier the next day, I had taken the receipt with the serial number to several pawn shops to see if it had been sold. They said my only hope was to file a report at the police station for stolen property. I knew that it would be a lost cause, but the pawn shop recommended it. They told me that I needed to have a police report in order for them to do anything if the item were to come in.

            So, that night I asked my friend Gabe to come with me to the police station to file the report. It was right when we were about to walk into the police station when we heard a loud commotion going on directly across the street. A man had a woman pinned against the wall of a building and was screaming at her. Another woman was standing next to them pleading that he let her go. But the next thing we seen was the man hitting the woman several times in the face. We could see him swinging and hear the smacking sounds of hands on flesh. She had curled up into a squatting position with the man still over top of her. He was still yelling at her and pulling her hair. Both of the women were screaming frantically for help. 

            Gabe and I quickly ran across the street to the man and confronted him; “Hey, what the fuck are you doing, man”?

            The guy was decent size, probably in his mid 30’s. He turned his attention to us and puffed up all turkey-chested trying to intimidate us. But Gabe immediately grabbed the man by his arm, went chest-to-chest with him and said; “Why are you hitting a woman? DO YOU WANT ME TO HIT YOU”!?!?!?

           Gabe had screamed it very angrily and aggressively right in his face, I thought for sure that Gabe was about to hit him. Meanwhile, the one lady helped the victim up and they quickly ran off together.

            With Gabe in his face, the man had clearly gotten nervous. But he still told us to “mind our own business”, and “we don’t know what the fuck was going on”. He was still acting like he was a real tough guy, even though Gabe was in his face, and even though he was just beating up a woman. He told Gabe to “get the fuck out of his face”. I don’t know what this guy’s problem was; he didn’t smell like alcohol so maybe he was on drugs? I can’t believe Gabe didn’t hit this guy, he certainly deserved it. Gabe told him that he is lucky the police department is directly across the street or else we would kick his ass. I remember calling him a “fucking punk bitch for hitting a woman”. But he had still responded with some type of smart comment.

            Once the women were long gone, we left the man alone and went out separate ways. While we were walking away our blood was still racing. We were still enraged at that guy for what he had done, and the fact that he was giving us shit for breaking up the scuffle. Once we were about 100 yards away from the man, Gabe said; “Dude, I was gonna fucking nail that guy.”

I said; “yea I know. We probably shoulda busted his ass, huh”?

It was at that exact moment that Gabe stopped walking and looked at me with a sinister grin. I knew exactly what he was thinking, and I said; “Ya wanna”?

            It was those two small words that changed the ending of this story. Gabe had immediately turned around and started jogging in the direction the man had gone. I was right behind him as we scoured the area to see exactly where he had went. Once we rounded the corner and seen him walking through a vacant parking lot, I realized that this guy was about to get exactly what he deserved.

            I was about 5 feet behind Gabe as we approached the man, he had no idea that we were coming. As we closed in on him, Gabe began winding up for a super punch. Finally, he did a little crow hop, and with all his momentum and bent up anger, Gabe threw a meat hook that would have knocked this guy straight into outer space. I say the words “would have”, because just as Gabe was throwing this haymaker the man must have heard him coming. He must have heard something because at the last possible nanosecond, the man kind of turned and crouched in fear. Gabe had completely whiffed with his knock out swing, and when his momentum collided with the man, Gabe did a complete somersault over him and onto his back.

            The guy tried to get on top of Gabe but I hit him with some type of flying knee that knocked him down. Gabe got up just before the man did and grabbed him in an under hook type of headlock while they were both standing. While Gabe had him in this position, I punched him 5 or 6 times as hard as I possibly could in his kidney area on one side. Gabe gave him a jumping knee to the head and then flung him spinning across the concrete.

             Miraculously, the man had gotten right back up. And perhaps even more miraculously, he was still running his mouth. Gabe went after him again and the man took off running in fear. Gabe chased him for just a moment and then let him go. And so, that was how the fight had ended.

            I believe that men who beat up women are amongst the lowest of criminals. I believe that the guy deserved a lot worse that what he got. Violence never does solve anything, but a little poetic justice certainly didn’t cause me to lose any sleep that night.

            Gabe and I went back to the police station and I filed my meaningless report for stolen property. Needless to say, we didn’t mention the scuffle outside to the officers. And also needless to say, my stolen playstation 2 was never recovered.

            As the months passed, Sears continued to send me statements accruing interest that finally surpassed $1,000 before it was sent to collections. In fact, it still remains on my credit report to this day. I never found out who was responsible for stealing the playstation either.

            But looking at the situation from a larger perspective, if it had never gotten stolen, who knows how badly that woman would have been beaten that? Certainly Gabe and I would not have been where we were to rescue her if it hadn’t been stolen. And in the end, I am willing to bet that “god” will judge me more for my good actions rather than my credit score.

Joe Riley and Nick

            I have met a ton of misguided kids growing up, but perhaps the craziest one of all was Joe Riley. His girlfriend lived next door to me so I would see him all the time. He was a friend of my older brother; they were both 16 when I was 13. Joe was really into smoking weed and shoplifting. These were not things that I was into by any means, but I hung around him because it was always an adventure. I never knew what kind of mischief he was going to get into on any given day, but mischief would always ensue. It never once dawned on me that I could get into a ton of trouble just for hanging out with him. I just figured that if I didn't do anything, that I couldn't get into trouble. It was just my own young naive way of thinking, but I would learn.

            Joe would only visit on the weekends because he lived and went to school in Pennsylvania. He had recently found out that his girlfriend was pregnant, but it didn't seem to bother him too much. One weekend I went with Joe and his friend Nick to the mall. We went into Foot Locker and Joe took 2 pair of $50 Michigan basketball shorts into the dressing room. A few minutes later, he came out and hung up one pair of shorts back on the rack and we walked out of the store. I couldn't believe how brazen he was. Next, we went into The Bon Ton and Joe and his friend just picked out several items of clothes and just walked right out the door with them. Once outside, we all ran and ran until we got about a mile away. All together, they had stolen about $300 worth of clothes and they were really excited about it.

            On the way home we were about to cross the railroad tracks when Nick made a bold statement to Joe. He was standing next to a Honda Civic and he said; “Hey Joe, I’ll bet you this (stolen) shirt versus your (stolen) shirt that I can punch this windshield and break it”. Joe laughed at him and said; “yea right, you’re on”. Nick wound up and threw a super punch at the windshield that produced a thunderous ‘thud’, but it didn't break. He had hit it so hard that I was really surprised that it didn't break the glass or his hand. All he did was let out a small yelp and then shook it off.

            Moments later a Middle Eastern man in his late 30’s emerged from a nearby apartment completely enraged. In broken English he said; “my car you fucking hit bitch, huh? You want hit my car you mother fuck? I hit you, huh”! His tone got more and angrier as he said it and began running towards us. Nick began running and the guy chased him up onto the train tracks screaming obscenities the whole time. The guy began picking up large stones and throwing them at Nick while he chased him. I was really scared; this guy was crazy and wanted to kill him. Luckily the guy was short and chubby so he couldn't catch Nick. But he kept hollering at him. It was quite evident that his blood was boiling; “I fucking kill you hit my car you fuck. Dumb fuck you I kill your mother”. His broken English was kind of comical looking back at it now. However, at the time I was terrified of him.

            Once he realized he couldn't catch Nick he began walking back towards his apartment. Unfortunately, the direction that Nick had run was in the opposite direction that we were headed. So Nick had to come back the same way as the guy. When the guy seen That Nick was coming back the same direction, he turned and ran towards him again. He was cursing madly and picking up stones and throwing them at him. A couple times he actually came pretty close to hitting him. But again, Nick was just too fast for the guy to get him. This same sequence of events occurred about 3 or 4 more times. The guy would begin walking home and then turn and chase throwing stones. The guy just wouldn't give up, he was too pissed off. He didn't want to call the cops; he just wanted to beat the shit out of Nick.

            Anyways, I think it was about the 5^th time that the guy was running towards Nick and this time he wasn't paying attention. It looked like Nick was tying his shoe and he didn't see him coming. Joe and I started screaming; “Nick he’s coming again watch out”! Just as the guy got about 20 feet from Nick we realized what he was doing. This time Nick came up with a handful of large stones and began throwing them back at the guy. He hit thee guy really hard with some large stones a few times, and now the crazy guy starting running away. But now Nick was tired of this guy and he became the mad one.  He kept pelting the guy while chasing after him. As he ran away from Nick he began hollering in broken English; “OK man, OK, you win then OK. You OK man alright, you OK.” Nick stopped throwing the stones and the man retreated back towards his apartment.

            I was astonished. Here was this 16 year old kid who had just won against an insane 30-something year old man. This Middle Eastern guy was scary, and he was steaming mad, and he had every right to be. I had never seen anything like this before. Obviously what Nick had done was stupid and the situation was his entire fault. But the fact that he stood his ground and got the guy to retreat, well, I was impressed at his bravery. After all that havoc they had caused that day, everybody somehow walked away unscathed.

            The next weekend when they showed up and invited me to the mall, I quickly declined. I knew that it was a bad idea hanging out with those guys. But then somehow they convinced me to go. I suppose I have always been a sucker for peer pressure. And I have never learned any lessons the easy way.

            It was almost like déjà vu when we arrived at the mall. Again, the first store we went into was Foot Locker. This time Joe took 3 Michael Jordan authentic North Carolina Jerseys, priced at $100 each, into the changing room. When he emerges he places 2 of them back on the rack and the 3 of us get ready to walk out of the store. But this time one of the store employees stops Joe and asks him; “Do you have something underneath your shirt that belongs to us”? I could feel my heart drop and my asshole clench up super tight. Joe shakes his head and looks the guy right in the eyes and says; “If I give it back right now can I please not get in trouble”?

The employee smiles and says; “sorry bud that’s not how it works”. Then he tells us to all sit down on the bench and that he has already called security. I told him I didn’t do anything and I just want to leave. But he said it doesn’t matter, none of us are going anywhere. Within moments a security guard shows up and the employee is talking to him.

            While the 3 of us are sitting on the bench next to each other Joe says; “Alright, when I say now, were all going to run right through that security guard, ok”? Nick quickly obliges but there was no way I was running, I hadn't done anything wrong.

            A few seconds later Joe says; “Now”, and he and Nick run right towards the guard. I stayed put in my seat and just watched those 2 crazy son-of-a-bitches smash into that guard and take off running. I told you at the beginning of this story that these kids were insane, and it wasn’t an understatement.

            Anyways, I was taken down to the mall-cop office a little while later and sat in a chair. A few minutes later I saw a few officers walk by with Joe in handcuffs hollering and fighting with them. The police showed up and took him to jail for processing. Apparently, Nick had somehow gotten away.

            They asked me questions for over an hour and I got tired of it. I remember them asking me if I had any tattoos. I answered sarcastically; “Just one, it’s a Harley Davidson logo that takes up my entire back. I got it last week for my birthday when I turned 13”. I guess those guys were starting to rub off on me. All I kept telling them is that I had nothing to do with any of it. I didn't steal anything; all I did was go to the mall with some friends. In the back of my mind I knew that all they could do was kick me out of the mall and call my parents. I was only 13 and I hadn't been caught doing anything wrong. I told them that I knew nothing about Nick except for his first name, which was the truth.

            A little while later my oldest brother showed up at the mall and picked me up. The mall cop told him I was a real wise ass and was going to end up in jail someday. Luckily my brother never told my parents and that was the end of it. I seen Joe a few days later, he said that he got an appearance ticket to go to court in a few weeks. If I remember correctly, Joe and his girlfriend broke up soon after when their child was an infant. Therefore, he stopped hanging out next door on the weekends and I didn’t really see him anymore.

            I learned my lesson; I never hung out with those guys again. In fact, I have no idea what ever happened to Joe Riley. Sometimes troubled youth are able to turn their lives around, but I have a feeling that this one never did. The same goes for Nick, some kids are just lunatics from an early age. Some kids are just wild from a young age. Usually it has to do with the parents, but not always. Be careful who your children are hanging out with because it’s very easy for them to get caught up in a bad crowd. Even if your child is a smart, trustworthy kid, it only takes one bad apple to influence them into doing something stupid.