I just finished doing my homework for a class in college. I turned it in exactly 1 hour before it was due. I've had a week to get it done. I really need to stop being such a good procrastinator. After doing a little bit of research online, about 5 minutes worth to be precise, I found that it takes roughly an average of 4 months of doing something daily for it to become a habit. Depending on the person and the habit you're trying to form it will often happen faster or slower than that - hence rough average. So I decided to go ahead and write another entry. I will go do my push-ups and sit-ups when I'm done here.
I only remember bits and pieces of my childhood, nothing solid really, it's all kind of jumbled up and nonsensical, in a very M.C. Escher sort of way. I can never really figure out when something happened relative to when something else happened, let alone trying to remember exact dates. And some things I can't remember at all, and when I relate them all I'm really doing is telling the story that my mom once told me, or what I'm pretty sure happened based on the emotions surrounding some forgotten/blocked out event. There are a few exceptions to the rule, but generally I have swiss cheese for a memory about anything further back than the last decade. And sometimes even the last decade doesn't work too well.
I remember the first time I ever got to try a Pop-Tart. The kid who brought it to pre-school/day care/kindergarten (can't remember which it was) got it out of his bag and hid under a table with it to eat it. I saw him, perceptive little bugger that I am, and went under there and asked what he had. He said sure and broke me off a piece of the crust. No fruit mind you because according to him it was poison and you couldn't eat that part. So I helped him eat the crust. The little parts of poison that I ended up with tasted pretty good, but I didn't complain, it was his Poison-Tart after all, so who was I to complain that I didn't get more? After I left he disposed of the poison. I'm fairly certain he dug a hole and buried it under the table since he didn't have the dangerous substance when he emerged a minute later.
I remember the first girl I ever had a crush on. Her name was Maria Santa Cruz. I think I was in 2nd or 3rd grade when I was at the G.A.T.E. program school. She used to play on the playground with her friends, and I would play with them every so often, but nothing ever came of it. I suppose when you're that young it's pretty rare for anything to come of anything, but for some reason I still remember her name, and I think I can kind of still envision her face as it was then. She was Hispanic I think, or maybe Spanish, and quite beautiful to my young eyes, and to everyone else as well, she was one of the most popular girls in school, or at least my grade. I think she may have also been the first girl I ever had dreams about. Of course when you're in 3rd grade dreams about girls aren't nearly as 'interesting' as they are when you're in high school or college. I think the dream was about going swimming with her or playing on the play ground or some such. They say you never forget your first crush. I suppose it's true.
I don't remember being beaten as a kid. My mom remembers it because having your asshole boyfriend beat the shit out of your 6 year old kid, and then throw you up against a wall, and then hold you both hostage for three days, apparently leaves an impression. I remember pieces. I remember getting home and going straight to my room cause I was in trouble. I remember him coming in with his security guard style belt (you know the 4 inch tall black ones) and closing the door behind him. I remember turning around to protect myself after a while of being beat on my backside from my neck to my knees, and I remember that when I did turn around to protect myself, he didn't stop swinging. I remember not being able to stand anymore, so he held me up by my arm to keep hitting me. I remember my mom coming in to stop him, and catching his hand as he swung. The next thing I remember is my mom wrapping me in a soft green blanket we had and telling me to be quiet as she put me in a car. It was night time. I remember the car ride vaguely, and recall hitting lots of green lights.
It wasn't until many years later that my mom told me the rest of the story. Apparently I slept through the next couple days, or blocked it completely from my memory due to pain and trauma, who knows? After my mom came in to save me, he threw her up against a wall and held her there by her throat. He then prevented me from going to school and my mom from going to work for the next three days, I can only assume cause he knew my mom would go to the cops and we wouldn't be back. But then maybe he was just dumb enough to think that the worst thing that could happen was that someone at school might ask why I couldn't walk, and then he'd be found out. Either way, a few days later, while he was sleeping, we snuck out of the house, jumped in a car with someone whom I don't remember, but appreciate immensely, and went to the police station. I assume we never heard from him again.
I also remember playing with my grandpa Jim and grandma Jo and mom at my grandparents house as a kid. My mom, and her mom and dad were the best family anyone could ever ask for. Ever. But we'll save that for a different post. I have push-ups to do.
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