258. 'FOLLOW THE RULES!'
Unpleasant categories, and
steamy scenes ; that's about
all a kid my age, back then,
was after. The equivalent
would be, in a recording
studio, some guy searching
around for the switch after
what he felt was a great
take, and a voice coming
overhead, saying 'Uh, take
two, Leroy. The mic was
off.' That's what my life
was feeling like - all
mis-steps and poorly-timed
shots. I just wanted to
walk away. I had already
gotten tired of the same
old take, over and over.
My father used to say he
wanted - when in school
- to be an engineer. This
was before he quit at age
16 to join the Navy, having
somehow lied about his
wartime age and gotten
in. The teacher, who had
asked - in a typical
'round-the-classroom'
q/a session - was very
pleased, and began saying
all the wonderful things
engineers do - designing
bridges, buildings, and
the rest. My father
interrupted - 'No, no,
not that. A train engineer.'
That was the feeling my
own life had. Fact is, I
never really wanted to
'be' anything, and never
could figure that out. I
already 'was', wasn't I.
And then, wasn't that
good enough, this me
who was just 'me?' I
couldn't figure any of
that stuff out. Why
should I throw my life
away 'being' something
which, apparently,
amounted to play-acting
daily for a few dollars?
I had no cause, I didn't
even have, really, an
'interest' in anything
worldly. Boy, was I
sunk. When you're sunk
at eleven years old,
trouble looms. I sent
a few letters out; to
the FBI, in fact.
Deciding I'd like
to be that., an FBI
man. Cool white socks,
dark suits, chasing
secretly, crooks and
spies. I kept getting
a bunch of weird stuff
back for a while, all
signed (fake, I'm sure)
by old J. Edger himself
(J. Edger Hoover was,
at that time, the Director
of the FBI - revered,
portly, stern, figure.
It was only years
later it was brought
out that he was also
America's finest
pervert, who dressed
in women's clothing
on the sly, probably
at last half gay (the
bottom half, I guess)
and constantly on
slanderous personal
missions to ruin and/or
discredit ANY perceived
'enemy' of America, real
or not. He probably
killed a number of
people too). Probably
even killed JFK later
on. He kept inviting me,
in these notes, to stay
with my 'studies' and
maintain my interest
in their program so that,
in a few years I could
begin the application
and interview process,
'rigorous' as it was, along
with the standard FBI
training, after which
I would also be asked
to thoughtfully 'select'
a specialty for my
enforcement - whether
counterfeiting, smuggling,
borders, kidnapping;
stuff like that (assassin?).
I thought about just lying
about my age and things,
as my father had, but
figured they'd catch me -
mainly because I hadn't
yet started shaving. Then,
I got interested in Coast
Guard and Merchant
Marine stuff - wanting
to stowaway on a
freighter and get to
maybe Antwerp or
Hamburg or and never
be heard from again.
They never answered.
The French Foreign
Legion, I liked them
too, but just couldn't
stand wrapping my
tongue around that
way-too-precious
French language.
All those words you
had to mess with your
tongue to pronounce.
It was no wonder, I
figured, they'd
invented 'French'
Kissing - always
with the tongue,
all that stuff. None
of that really left
me anywhere -
except then I came
up with this
African-missionary
priest stuff, bringing
Christ to the Zulus and
Ubangis, as it were.
So, eventually, that's
what I went with, and
how I ended up at that
seminary. It was an
easy in, and they liked
me too, well-enough
anyway. They were so
hard up that they'd pay
all the tuition and stuff
and just set me up. It was
far enough from home,
and cloistered too, that
I could just forget the
world and hope it
forgot me. I just didn't
fit - all those 'Iselin
Junior High School'
things, for that one,
7th grade year, whew!
what a scary disaster.
The girls, like that
Laura Bizewsky, already
growing sweater-breasts
and knocking me dead.
She was just one; there
were like 200 more.
Everyday. Then the
cat-swamp thugs
who claimed to be
boys, tromping around
the gym shower room.
All those differing and
varied 'states of
'maturement,' schlongs.
Not for me, thanks.
Nothing to it at all.
Get out! What is it
with stupid boys
anyway, let
alone girls.
-
I needed a respite,
and I'd not even begun
puffing. All I ever did
was read and dream,
scribble stuff and waste
time. I tried to be right
and be what people
wanted. No good at it,
apparently. Mic was
off. The church crap
didn't help. One year
I had to make my
Confirmation, some
weird rite they put
you through, sort of
equivalent to a Bar
Mitzvah, coming of
age, thing. Tribal,
too. Except you
don't have to go
out and kill
something or
fight a bear or
live in the wild
for a week. You
don't even need to
really study scripture,
or chant or learn things
or even recite. They
just give it all to you
- which is only right,
because you're going
to be 12 whether they
approve or not; so,
screw them, really,
in the end. But no
one ever goes on
like that or makes
mention, everybody
just lines up and
does the junk -
Bishop's blessing
(he makes a personal
appearance - in the
flesh, I mean, not like
a vision or anything),
prayers, line-ups.
I forget what they
do with girls at that age
- I guess they have
their own program,
but I forget. It was
best to keep them
away from us anyway.
Especially with those
funny sweaters. The
thing about the catholic
church is, they make
it all painless. They
just give it all to you
- you don't have to do
a thing, no ritual-training,
no deep-scripture study,
not even any real
'philosophical' stuff
about religion. It's all
bogus : 'Here, take this,
it's grand, you're saved.'
You never get any choice
about anything either.
I guess that's why they
baptize kids at like 5 days
old, and throw a cheesy
party too! 'Get 'em before
they can think' - or
however that goes in
church Latin. They
stuff you right into
their bags full of crap
before you know it -
parents, respect, holidays,
all that stupid and
trivial crap, and
then - bam! - they
chuck you into school
and just start yelling
'Follow the rules!'
-
Another annoying thing
- using 'Iselin Junior
High School, 1960' as
a guide, was how stupid
it seemed to be grouped,
in these sorts of new,
George Jetson, schools
- gyms with domes
and translucent,
space-age walls, and
all that. If you go
back to look at that
same school now,
it looks like a
dreadful piece of
used toilet paper -
nothing has held up,
the design looks like
a painful cavity in
the mouth. Everything
seems discolored; those
old tints and the shades
of brick used - someone
should have been seriously
slapped for that. Infectious
bad-taste. To make it
worse, they stuffed
us in yellow school
buses, enforcing the
mixing of sexes and
sorts of people -
idiots, thugs, fags in
the making, mama's
boys, sports-dudes,
the entire gamut.
And that was just
boys - fighting in
the aisles, preening
and posturing,
pretending at
superiority over
others even though
everyone was maybe
12 at most, except for
the real jerks who were
like 23 and still in 7th
grade. They should have
just been shot. The
girls were another
case entire. There
were some already
'in the know', and all
they did was make
sure everyone knew
it. Half the time just
sitting there with
their legs apart,
daring you, just
daring you. There
were always pretty
girls, and dogs too.
Just like the boys,
what can I say? Like
a birthday party in
your house basement,
with everybody on
the block invited.
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