4 Chapter 3: Protective Innocence of a Child Fading
It was 1999, and I was powerless over my parent's relationship. I don't remember a loving relationship between them. I'm sure there were moments, but mostly I just remember my Dad sleeping on the couch. The fights in the evening when my Dad would leave the confrontation to cool off. The tension in the household when my Mom would do shiftwork. I can almost feel the anxiety right now.... My sister and I are making our way down the stairs and if we are too loud the "shift work monster" will come out of her dwelling and wreak havoc! (Sorry Mom, but it's basically fact).
—Introspection—
Alot of our personality traits, if not all of them are formulated within the first few years of our life. The first years of my life on this earth I don't really remember much. I know I pooped behind a couch and kissed a girl named Alyssa in a small hedge on various occasions (my first kiss). There were other things, but that's beside the point. From observing my parents through coming to terms with my own downfalls, I think it's safe to say that both my parents are anxious people. Do I struggle with anxiety because of heredity or because I was exposed to anxious conditions as a child? I'm not sure, as previously mused I assume it's a bit of both. Now, with that being said, I found out early on in recovery that a lot of these "why's" (not all) are not definitively answerable, but I know if I found out conclusively, it certainly wouldn't do a thing to eradicate the disposition. So, I surmise that the solution is more important than the problem. Let's try and focus on some solutions then, but not now.... that'll come later. Back to my formative years.
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As you can probably assume, my parents got a divorce. My Dad moved out to our cottage on Indian Lake about forty-five minutes outside Fredericton, and my Mom stayed put in Nashwaaksis. There's a specific memory that has lingered on in my mind after all these years. My Mom and I are sitting in the basement of our home on a large pale, L-shaped sectional couch. We sit there stewing in a heavy silence, until I punctured the air and asked her " why did you and Dad get a divorce?" To which my Mom responded defeatedly "I'm not sure Honey". I could feel her hopelessness, but I had no words...We both sat there and cried for a bit, filling the space with emotion that overwhelmed, and then came flooding to the surface. I think I cried more because my Mom was crying. Seeing a parent cry is a shattering experience, thoughts scatter every which way until you rupture into a chasm of despondency. After that incident I never cried again over the divorce. And if truth be told my Mom and Dad handled the separation with integrity and grace.
I've been to a couple of psychologists over the years and when I bring up this chapter of my life, they will often delve deeper into the residual affects this episode may have had on me. I'm sure it was moderately traumatic, but my parents made the transition about as easy as it could have been for us kids. As a result of the divorce I don't believe there have been any lasting affects; other than maybe a broken idea of what marriage is all about.
My Dad eventually moved to a subdivision close to my Mother's. My home base was still in Nashwaaksis, but I could go to my Dad's for the night whenever I felt like it. There was a bit of unseen pressure to make both parents feel wanted. I balanced this out fairly well, trying to appease both of them. Dad and Mom probably felt unwanted from time to time, and from what my Dad has told me this was an extremely lonely and guilt-ridden time in his life, I can only empathize with how he must have felt.
On a random note my Dad bought a cat when I was in Grade Seven. I started calling him white
ie because the hair around his dong was white (he was a black cat). Dad insisted that "Whitie"would not be his name, but overtime as I continued to say the name "Whitie" with earnestness and mischievousness, the name stuck, much to my sadistic delight. Dad also insisted that Whitey would be an outdoor cat. The neighbor's cat was an outdoor cat, his name was Thomas and he was intelligently afraid of everything, if you looked at Thomas the wrong way he'd dart under the stairs or run for his little furry life!. Not Whitie, he was prideful and pretty stupid all things considered. He would fight raccoons in the evening, and huge tomcats in the wee hours of the morning.
While Whitie was roaming the neighborhood, some morally disturbed person decided to shave Whitie's neck and drug him with a needle. We could tell because his neck was shaved and when we perched him up in his favorite spot on the windowsill he'd slump over and roll off, kind of like a drunk slinky. Whitey was one transient pussy cat, he would come home each night with a new set of cuts and scabs, and one day he just never came home. I assume he died. Part of me thinks he's in the jungles of Brazil dancing to the song "cake by the ocean"(this song annoys me. Also, it makes me laugh to think of him unleashing some dance moves to the sound of this corny mainstream hit). Animals around him look on with disgust and a certain level of horniness.
After the divorce faded into the backdrop of life, the world turned and I found myself standing in the center of a middle school hallway where a lot of dynamics began to change. Ever since Grade Three I was pretty open with my interest in the opposite sex, but middle school and all the hormones that came with it made women pretty much the most important thing going, that and athletics of course. I was a fairly gifted athlete and was super excited to have the opportunity to represent my school in various sporting opportunities. In Nashwaaksis Middle School I played: Soccer, Basketball, Volleyball, Badminton, high jump/long jump and the five-thousand-meter race. Ohhhhhhhhh boy!
It was such a magical time in athletics from Grade Six to Grade Seven. My usual routine consisted of eating a shit ton of sugar in the morning, moving through my schooling hours as best I could, I'd run home and deliver twenty to thirty newspapers, followed by some sort of sports practice. I was a busy bee, and just kept on moving. At that point in my life I wasn't overly self-aware, so I didn't analyze every little thing that I came across. Although, actually... I probably did.... just wasn't aware of its toxic nature at times nor did I possess any objective awareness concerning my own perspective, and certainly wasn't working on self-actualization. I was carefree and spent most of my time moving, exercising, socializing.... doing what makes me feel alive, and it brought a lot of happiness. Sports didn't carry with it a disgusting amount of expectation and pressure. Therefore (for the most part), I felt comfortable on the court, on the field and in most social situations. I was content; in my purest form of expression and loving the healthy competition.
Although Middle School for the first couple of years was a glorious experience overall, there were some "under the radar" social pressures and changes that began to take root. To rewind and pick up at the beginning of Middle School, it was evident that as soon as my friends and I arrived at Nashwaaksis Middle School (NMS) there was a social divide. At first it was made up of friends that had come from the same elementary school. From there I started to hear comments made from other people about clothing, beautiful girls, sex and masturbation amongst other modalities. These things were foreign to me at the time, but soon I learned how to fit in, I learned what was considered funny, and how I would manage socially.
Just on the topic of masturbation; I had learned how to perform this prestigious act in Grade Five. My buddy told me that if you stroke your penis long enough it would start to feel really good. On an obscure day in Grade Five I was working away on my Johnson and all of a sudden, I had this magical feeling that only lasted a few moments, but was the most earth-shattering thing I had ever experienced. I had brought myself to orgasm for the first time. From then on it was decided that I would sharpen the pencil on a nightly basis.... because I was one horny hooligan.
Anyways back to the social dynamics of NMS. I began to make new friends, "the cool kids" formed their own clique, and I desperately wanted to be a part of the "in group". What served me in this pursuit was my uncanny sense of humor, the fact that I was moderately comical, and my natural athletic ability. Although I made friends easily, I didn't really ever have a definable group of buddies. Usually I had friends scattered across multiple cliques.
During the odd lunch hour, I'd spent my time moving from group to group in the NMS parking lot, it was awkward in moments, especially when you felt like you didn't fit in or had nothing to say, so, to avoid the discomfort I spent most lunch hours at the gym playing basketball. And as the months rolled by our original Grade Five group from Park Street Elementary began to break apart as we found our own social gatherings.
In Grade Seven I was nominated for "Male Athlete of the Year". It was magical because the other nominees were all in Grade Eight, and I felt prestigious having my name next to several great athletes. When my name was called to receive "Male Athlete of the Year" I was flabbergasted and somewhat perplexed. Ah you mean me? The grade 7 student? I walked up on stage and received my award. I'm sure the Grade Eight nominees were a little upset, but honestly, I was too shocked to notice. Grade Seven was an enchanted year, I played varsity soccer and volleyball, could have played varsity basketball, but truthfully was afraid of the coach, so I played JV ball instead. I also did track and field and badminton. Just basking in the sweaty juiciness of my competitive nature. Up until this point my athletic life was riddled with awesome coaches. They were usually quite knowledgeable, as well as supportive. Even if these coaches weren't overly knowledgeable, they were supportive. A supportive coach is a good coach in my opinion. If I felt like these mentors had my back, I thrived on the field, or on the court.
Finally, when my Grade Eight year had stumbled upon me, I felt eager to make it jam packed with prodigious memories of blooming relationships and triumphant moments of athletic glory! I was thirteen going on fourteen years of age at this time and the 2001/2002 academic year would be my most stressful one yet. The year started off like any other. I was in great shape from playing competitive soccer during the summer and moved into Varsity Middle School Soccer in stride.
My homeroom teacher was an interesting fellow, and he was given an interesting mixture of students to accent his personality. There was a student in our class who we'll call Alex who was easy to pick out because of his goofy nature. He got bullied and made fun of on a daily basis. He was awkward, short, a bit chubby, and tried incessantly to impress his peers to no avail. Usually people would just get annoyed with him and laugh. During our lunch break in early Autumn while I was chilling with a couple of acquaintances, a friend of a friend came over and said he was going to punch Alex in the face. I remember thinking, "what's the point of that?". Anyways this dude walked right over to Alex and swung a wild haymaker that hit him right in the nose, Alex squealed and cried as his nose crunched under the force of the blow. It was disturbing. I can almost feel the intensity of the moment as I write this. I can see the blood spurting from his nose as he squirmed and gasped for air, choking on his tears as he ran for safety. Alex went home and told his Mom that he had fallen down the stairs. I think he thought this was noble and would keep him from getting harassed any further, needless to say, it didn't. Bullying....there are no words. I myself may have told Alex to shut-up once in a while. Heck, our homeroom teacher told him to "shut-up" on a daily basis. It's a sin when the teacher falls in with the students. I hope Alex found a sense of belonging. I hope he feels loved and has found some measure of peace.
While our teacher would get annoyed easily with Alex, he never seemed to get irritated by my friend Mike and I, he just seemed to ignore us, sometimes I even think he found us funny. When he turned his back to the class, Mike and I would perform body motions that resembled a bird flapping its wings. We'd do fish face (you know where you suck your cheeks into your mouth) and make awkward sexual noises. Mike and I and another student would also go to the bathroom once in a while and twiddle the totem pole (I hope this expression of masturbating has not been used, I want to be unique). We'd only do it when we knew one another could hear our exaggerated noises associated with extreme pleasure. Mike and I came up with all sorts of inappropriate innuendoes and sayings. We also came up with a way to ask each other sexual questions around adults so they wouldn't know what was going on. We did it in the form of acronyms. "DUG" meant "Do U Giz" I now realize jiz is spelt with a J, but it just doesn't sound as good as DUG. "T-POS?" meant "Two in the Pink, One in the Stink" and "PHYSICS?" meant "Paul has your Scrotum in Chris's Sack". We recognized that the meaning behind "PHYSICS" is nebulous and hazy. I trust you'll create your own meaning behind what the acronym "PHYSICS" means. I don't really think someone could possess someone else's sack in their scrotum, it's just not feasible.
Speaking of sex and masturbation, there were a couple of incidents that are of note during Grade Eight. There was a girl (Candy) in our class who would always look at me during lectures and motion with her mouth that she wanted to perform oral sex on me. I would look at her with intensity and excitement. During our afternoon Math class Mike and I convinced Candy to show us her boobs after School and she actually did! I got to feel them too. I was so appreciative of this moment. Later, I would find out that this girls past was riddled with abuse and neglect. Looking back now, it's sad, but not surprising.
Another memory that has boiled to the surface happened during the 30-hour famine. Everyone who took part put their sleeping bag in the gymnasium. If you were in the gym the teachers insisted that you must remain silent and go to sleep; many of us made our way to the auditorium to watch a movie. A young lady sat down beside me whom had been asking me the whole night if she could touch my penis. I was awkward and said, "soon enough". During the film she grabbed my pole and starting moving her hand up and down really slowly; too slowly. It was unreal, but there was no way anything was going to happen. In desperation I ran to the washroom and did my duty in one of the stalls (no grunting this time). When I returned, she started all over again and I was forced to repeat the bathroom assault on my chocolates (the Ganong's chocolates.... get it?) Oh, the hormones of a crazed Middle Schooler.
