I know there is a lot of editing to be done, but I wanted to get something on here since it has been such a long time.
It is suspiciously amazing that I turned out to be the perfect person that I am with the kind of childhood that I experienced. It was not that my parents did not love me, they did. It wasn’t even that my parents didn’t try, because they did. But for some unfortunate reason my dad was blessed with intelligence, but no social skills. My mom had an overdeveloped social personality and an unfortunately low standardized IQ score. This combination equated into a very difficult childhood for myself. I inherited my mother’s social brilliance and my father’s high intelligence, but unfortunately for my siblings, they all inherited my mother’s mentally-challenged status. My incessant mumbling actually has a point and that is that it was a blessing for my siblings that they were so slow, and that was that they never realized what an incredibly hard childhood we all shared. Examples: My dad would entertain us on the Fourth of July with road flares; my mom would forget to make dinner a few nights in a row in which case we were forced to eat “leftovers.”
One of my most memorable childhood adventures came at an early age. Dad had recently made a few “modifications” to our little red wagon.
We had just finished eating our “leftovers” which consisted of crusty bread and water when Dad called us out. “Andy! Bryan! Get out here!” he yelled, demonstrating his lack of tact.
“They’ll be out as soon as they finish their morsels,” Mom called back as she lay in her chair with a headache that had been brewing for three days from when my father decided to use gas to polish our silverware. A biography of my childhood would not be complete without a little side discussion about “The Chair.” There are some inanimate objects in our life that are interwoven with numerous memories and experiences, in essence they are a part of the family. I like to sleep in a bed; it does not have to be a comfy bed, a round bed or even a rectangular bed. I have slept in a bed with mice, bed bugs, and even lizards, but I have always enjoyed a normal, healthy night’s sleep. However, every time that I have slept in a chair of any kind I have experienced what most would label a rough night. My mom would argue the opposite, she slept in the chair. It is not as if The Chair had a major role in any of the most significant parts of my life, it was not present when I was born, on my first date, or when I accidently crashed my mom’s car before I had a license, but that chair was a support to the backbone of our family. The Chair, simply put, lived for the sole purpose of supporting my mom.
“Holy horse confetti!” I exclaimed upon seeing our new and improved Radio Flyer for the first time.
“What in the world is that supposed to mean?” Andy asked looking at me with a blank stare.
“Apparently you have not seen a horse with gas bubbles,” I replied while continuing toward my dad’s new creation.
What sat before our eyes in the driveway and used to be our old read wagon, was now something that resembled a UFO more that a shinny red Radio Flyer wagon. The wagon was now covered by a huge, multicolored umbrella. Dad had mounted a steering wheel to the front of the wagon and had placed a beautiful black vinyl seat, complete with a backrest, in the back of the wagon. My dad had also welded a hook to the end of the handle that would fasten to the back of his bike.
“Hop in Andy,” Dad commanded more than requested.
“Why am I always first?” Andy whined.
Off they went flying up and down the street. Andy looked to be having the time of his life, but I was too busy thinking about my own interests to care very much. I knew that I was next and being the important addition to society that I was, I was concerned for my safety. This concern was not some egocentric apprehension for my self preservation, but a genuine regard for the good of humanity; the conservation of my estimable wisdom was vital. Andy returned from his ride. It was my turn. I sluggishly stepped into the special trailer and knew that I had to be one of the bravest people to ever walk the face of the earth. As soon as my fingers wrapped themselves around the wooden steering wheel, my head was jerked back by the speed of my dad’s acceleration. As we hit the bump leaving the driveway, the wagon’s non-inflatable wheel’s had no chance to absorb the force. I flew, but fortunately for my superhuman grip, I managed to literally hang on by the tips of my fingers as my legs flew above my head for a few seconds. With my butt safely back on hot vinyl I concentrated on staying alive. Out of fear that my dad would hit a bump and injure himself, I strategically decided to let out a compassionate, continual scream. People all up and down the street were looking out of their windows and coming out of their houses to see my amazing, X-game worthy skills.
Dad turned into the driveway and pulled me all the way up the hill to the entrance of the garage. Just as I was congratulating myself on surviving my recent horror ride, I realized that Dad’s back tire was shrinking. I grabbed the wooden steering wheel and took my future into my own hands. I turned the wheel back and forth with such force that I was giving myself splinters, but with my high threshold for pain, I didn’t even notice them for a few days. Despite my heroics, I was headed for the road with such speed that even a trained NASA astronaut would have fainted. My custom Radio Flyer hit the lip of the driveway going about 10 mph, the wagon flew into the street with such height that I easily cleared the family squirrel that had heard the commotion and come out to join the fun. Once past the squirrel, I came to a rolling stop in the gutter on the opposite side of the street, as the wheels crashed against the curb my weight became unevenly distributed and I tipped into the stale puddle of gutter water where the local earthworms had gathered to bask in the warm summer sun.
After a couple of weeks I had completely recovered from my injuries and I was cleared by my doctor to once again entertain guests and do my daily chores. Once again, I had used my superior genes to survive a near childhood tragedy. Andy on the other hand experienced many nights where he wet the bed for the next several years upon seeing me, his hero, nearly lose my amazing, unadulterated life.
