Kids to the south were playing with fireworks. Strange bit is that they had these roman candles or rockets that were screaming like the lost souls of children. I found it to be really disconcerting and the fact it kept going eventually got the better of me, I walked towards the barbeque and saw the corkscrew fire trails reaching towards the moon. The sound was really fucked up. Not to mention that it kept sounding like it was coming closer and closer to us.
My first good friend was Enrico Miguelino. He lived at the top, a rich neighborhood near Summit where all the kids were bussed to school. It's unfortunate that he moved away in fourth grade to Watchung. When I met him next, it was 1989 or 1990. He was in a black Jimmy, you know that sorta SUV thing, and he didn't recognize me and treated me like shit. Sure it's twenty years later but at least say hi. Rico if you're reading this, fuck you and your fat fucking ass. Go suck cock for wooden nickels over at the Blue Star.
We hung around Calvin Schnatz and Vittorio Graziano. Now these kids were really fucked up. Calvin was fixated on Star Wars and had an aryan fetish because he was proud of his German heritage. I remember he always wore this silver racing jacket with black lettering on it. Last I heard about Calvin was that he joined the military and married a girl who seemed a bit slow. The bit about his girl came from my sister because she'd always see Calvin at Rite Aid where the Acme used to be.
Vittorio was a nice Italian boy who was a little slow, he had a tick and would make strange noises. Calvin would refer to Vittorio as "Power Dog" and was really condescending to him. What I remember about Vittorio was the time he signed up to babysit some guinea pigs over the weekend. It had to be for Mr. Stamey's science class. The guinea pigs died and I never found out the real reason why they died. All the other kids said that Vittorio fed them pizza and it killed them. Oh the wonders of the sixth grade wit. Last I heard about Vittorio is that he became really huge. We're talking muscular not fat and he was doing well. I wish him well since he was always a good person, loves his mother, good Catholic and we would hang togther because he's Italian and I was half-Italian. He'd bitch to me about how Spanish was being taught and it was a cut-rate ripoff of Italian. Another funny memory, every time I'd say vafanculo he'd go "Oooh! That's a bad word!"
Anyway we all hung around each other on the playground because we didn't fit in with everyone else. I was the kid who mooned people for quarters and had a raunchy mouth. Heh, my father thought it was the funniest thing when he found out why he had to come to school, pick me up and drive me home. We were outside the Evergreen Deli and he started laughing to himself. Didn't change the fact that I thought I was in serious deep shit. Anyway, during elementary school, if some kid accidentally bumped into me they'd go "Eew, corroded!" and mimic spraying something on the affected area.
Obviously, I hated school.
The one black friend that I did have was Shawn Rhodes. He lived in Newark but his folks sent him to my town so he could attend a good school. Must've been around second or third grade because we would talk about Happy Days. In fact he tried to teach me to dance showing me wild moves that would become commonplace with the advent of the mid-eighties and rap music. His grandmother had a vicious German shepherd that was kept in an eight by six chain link enclosure. One day I went over to play and the dog was out on the clothesline getting some exercise. Being a kid, I figured I could befriend the dog and prove something that animals liked me. I took two steps towards the dog and he leapt at me. Fortunately I only got the right leg of my corduroy pants torn up besides a bruised ego. Never found out what happened to Shawn because he just stopped coming to school but I heard from him once or twice after he was gone.
Also from Newark was Nick Cataldo. He moved to my town when I was in second grade. We were friends for quite some time until about eighth grade. We hung out the most in the summertime. My mom didn't want me and my sister sitting at home like vegetables getting in her way so she sent us to this summertime program at a nearby playground. Nick lived right across the street from the playground and we'd hang out playing knock-hockey or talking on the swings. His little brother Dejohn would join us. Dejohn was a crazy fuck, I ran into him at the library in the kid's section and he called me over to him. "Look what I'm gonna do" then he whips it out and takes a piss on the carpet. Shocking and hilarious at the same time. Thank goodness no one got caught. As time went on, Nick and I and a bunch of other guys would play our version of football after school. They'd always laugh at me because I'd say "blintz" instead of "blitz" during the game. Fuck, I didn't know the difference. Finally in the wintertime after a really good snow, we'd play on the huge piles of snow made by the snow plows at the school. We'd dig out forts and tunnels then have wicked snowball fights with pieces of ice and hard-packed snow. One time the fort collapsed on me and everyone ran away scared thinking I was dead. Shit, I was only playing and it was surprisingly easy to dig out.
There are the girls that I liked back then. Rachel Shapiro was my first girlfriend back in first and second grade. She lived a block or two away from me. Pardon me if I recount an old memory for the millionth time. I was in the bath and she came over to see me. I remember it was a Sunday and a Jerry Lewis movie was playing on TV, he was a space alien so it must've been Visit to a Small Planet. Funny thing for my age is that I wasn't embarassed that a GIRL had come to see me. Most kids think liking girls is really gay. We sat and talked in the den at this big wobbly table and she went home because her dad cycled past and called out to her.
In second grade I showed her my weiner when she asked to see it. When you're eight years old, your cock is a fucking weiner. Yes, I've used the stalker program at work to track her down and I think she's living in Florida. No surprise since she moved away a few months after that intimate event to Florida. I dunno if I'd get along with her nowadays because she was always visiting Israel and had this shirt saying "Israel is Real". GET IT?!?!?!? Two more memories about her. One time in Mrs. Polito's class in June she psst'ed for my attention and showed me that her feet had turned bright orange. Next was when I was telling my mom about her. I always knew that my parents would bitch about Jews and the like and I knew Rachel was Jewish. Thing is when I was seven years old, I was unaware that her name just screamed "I'm Jewish!" Mom asked me how I knew her and I paused and said, "I met her in Sunday School."
That has to be the funniest thing I have ever said, considering the circumstances, when I was a kid.
Now and again I'd hang out with other kids. There was Spencer Panter who played Nerf basketball with me and told me a story about a movie about potatoes from outer space that landed and would pee on people. He hung around Scott Summers, no relation to Cyclops, and Josh Wasserman and David Blum and Richard Yablonski. Richard Yablonski was a fucking nut. He had a high pitched voice, even for a kid, he'd always have a rubber band or a dandelion in one hand that he'd nervously thwap back and forth on his wrist. He had a huge collection of magic tricks in his basement.
Shit, there's so much that I remember and now I'm rambling and there are so many tangents. Like Gry Knudsen the Norwegian girl who I'd chase after school because I had a crush on her. A few years later her mom joined the town's first aid squad. My mom was an EMT at the time. She told my mom about my shenanigans and when my mom asked me about it, I was mortified but she told me that she and Mrs. Knudsen had a laugh about it.
Teachers that I remember: Mrs Pearson my kindergarten teacher who would always have us read Chicken Soup with Rice. Mrs Polito who introduced me to the feminine world of sneezing. Every time she'd sneeze it'd be a tiny, sharp puff of air rather than a good, cleansing sneeze. Mrs. Cataldo, was that her name?, lived across the street from my elementary school near Princes Farms before it was sold and torn down to build high priced homes. Of course there's Mr. Stamey who died of a heart attack in the nineties. Mr. Burkhardt who was tight with Mr. Stamey but not in the slashfic way. Mrs. Curtis who taught music and was known as Mrs. Skirtless. She always reminded me of Janet from Three's Company plus she was bitchy since she didn't appreciate filking in class.
o/~ This land is my land, this land ain't your land, if you don't get off, I'll shoot your head off! o/~ or o/~ Marijuana, marijuana, LSD, LSD, Mr. Fallon makes it, all the teachers take it, why can't we? Why can't we? o/~
Good times.
Creepy Mr. Lonney who ran the library at the school which covered fourth and fifth grade. Even then I knew he was light in the loafers. Whenever he'd point at something in a book, he'd use his middle finger instead of his index finger. Now I don't know if it's because he was used to it or it was his way of flipping off little kids without getting in trouble. Mr. Hannah who taught math and always called the class "folks". He had polio and always used crutches because he couldn't walk.
Man, this is really haphazard and I hope no one has stopped reading because of tl;dr or that it's incomprehensible and unreadable like my dreams (at least according to maribou. Since the hour is late, I'm going to stop and I hope you enjoyed my brief walk down memory lane.
