Introspection

I think I have mentioned before that the winery I work for is being consolidated into another winery, so we are closing down operations and have to be out of the facility by the end of year. Well, we are getting very close to the end of the year, so the work is slowing down and there aren’t many people left at the winery. The building I work in had a total of two people all day, myself in the wine lab and the receptionist in the opposite end of the building. So other than an occasional cellar worker bringing up a sample, I was alone with my thoughts for almost the whole day. During that time I had a number of rambling thoughts and I looked at myself in a number of ways, so I figured I would let some of them spill out here and give you a little peek into my crazy. I’m a little conflicted about this post, as it is pretty personal, aw but what the hell, you all think I’m crazy already so here goes.

But before I start I first want to say something to my Mother and my Father, who occasionally read this blog, don’t feel guilty about any of this, every kid gets picked on for something at some point. None of this is your fault, I had a very good childhood and I love you both. (My parents divorced when I was young, and they both have guilt issues.)

As I was working away at different analyses, my mind drifted to my “tough guy complex”. I know I have one, and it makes me feel really stupid. It seems like I always have to prove myself, I always feel like I have to prove myself and show how tough and what a bad ass I am. Then I have days like today where I sit back and think about all of this and realize what a jackass I really am. I really don’t like being like this, but I don’t know how to be any other way. Now, let me get out my couch to lay down on and you get your pad and paper to take notes and tell me how crazy I am. I honestly think it really all stems from being picked on as a kid. I was born with mild cerebral palsy, I had a pretty substantial tremor and my hands have always been so tight and hard to use. On a side note before I go any further, I really don’t have it that bad in comparison to many people with CP, I actually got off very very easy and I am extremely thankful for that. People with CP that have overcome their obstacles are true heroes. But anyway to make matters worse growing up I was very skinny, had coke bottle glasses and a bowl haircut. I was always perceived as weak, “special”, or “different” and those were just the words that adults used.

***Another rambling side note as I was thinking about all of this I also started thinking about how mean adults can be and wondered about my step-mother’s family. When I was ten my step-mother’s brother and his family took a vacation to Colorado and they brought back gifts for my sister, brother and I, and mine was a t shirt that said “Cripple Creek”. Knowing them like I know them now, I wouldn’t put it past them to have thought this a clever little thing to give to me and they laughed to themselves about it. I wore this shirt once to school and was subsequently called cripple the whole day, I brought it home and cut it pieces and threw it in the trash.

Children are very observant and just as mean. I was called everything from retard to cripple, and it always stung. I can’t count the times I went to the park near my Grandma’s house to play football and some new kid would whisper questions to my cousins, “You sure he can play? Isn’t he retarded? He’s not going to spaz out and need his helmet, is he?” I remember all of the questions they are seared into my brain. Now those things are just the beginning, then it led to physical teasing because kids thought I was an easy target and retarded to boot, so I wouldn’t be able to defend myself or speak up. My personality let this happen over and over and I didn’t know how to deal with all of the emotions that came with this, so most of the time I came home and cried. Then I had two defining moments in my life, the first outside of school. My Grandmother had moved back into a trailer park.

***Another side note, trailer parks are a breeding ground for aggression. You have a “traditional melting pot”, white, black, puerto rican and they are all poor and pissed off about it. So “boys will be boys” and typically that means we all pound the piss out of each other to determine a pecking order.

So there I was, one of the new kids in a trailer park. I went with my cousins up to the park to play baseball, and a few of the local boys showed up. They joined in and it took all of 15 minutes before they were calling me names and trying to pick a fight to establish their dominance. I was an easy target, and this kid Jeremy L. (I’ll leave his last name out, we turned out to become  friends) came up and called me a “weak retard that can’t pitch” and punched me three times in the face. One of my best assets is that I don’t have a glass jaw, so as he wound back for a fourth shot, I grabbed him by the neck, threw him into a headlock, and let loose a fury I didn’t know I had. I blackened both of his eyes and gave him a huge fat lip, and in that act I made my bones and a name for myself. I was no longer a retard in the eyes of the trailer park, I was one of the guys. Of course I climbed my way to the top of that pack through numerous other fights, and made myself a force to reckoned with that summer. The best part of that summer was my Grandmother, she really knew me and how everything affected me and she kept everything a secret from my parents.

This is turning out to be a longer post than I thought, so I am going to break it into two parts and finish this up tomorrow.

My second defining moment…….to be continued……