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Home : About Me : A Brief History : |
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The Beginning Honestly, I don't remember it -- my emergence from the void. The doctor's smack on the ass, the breast-feeding, the "oohs" and "ahhs" of my mother's parents upon seeing their first grandchild. Oddly, I don't even recall the circumcision although the psychic damage of such an event (a celebratory one due to my religion) is doubtless nested among the neurons that conspire to fire in such a way that I am who and what I am. The years after that are all but a blur. I remember getting a Big Wheels™ and being completely awed by the idea that this enormous piece of plastic would respond to my control. It had a hand-brake and, when I was feeling adventurous, I would pick up some speed by rolling down a hill. At the bottom, my right hand would yank the brake as my left turned what passed for a steering while in the opposite direction. With all the grace of Dorothy Hamill, I would end up rotating somewhere between 180 to 270 degrees and coming to a standstill. Still other memories are clearer: the tacky (and very 70s) cowboy shirt that my mother forced on me when we went to a "fancy" event. Conventional buttons wouldn't do for the mother of Long Island's only bonafide three year-old cowboy; my shirt had snaps. Typically, the hungry metal snaps would devour a few centimeters of my skin by the time the shirt was on. I have scattered images of the deck, our dog Max who decided to chew my mini army tank, and of waking up in the middle of the night and seeing the thermostat, not entirely sure of its function. We moved to a quaint town on the north shore of Long Island when I was 5. Although we would move to another part of town a couple years later, it was there that I spent the good part of my childhood and adolescence. By third grade, I was on the traveling soccer team and in the "gifted" program. At this point, I began to think of myself in rather high esteem. I was in the upper ranks of the elementary school caste system and while I was never a contender for "most popular," I was invited to boy-girl kissing parties (typically chaperoned) by age 12. Adolescence Not long after that came puberty, which was both wonderful and dreadful. However, I think adolescence merits an entire book, so I'll briefly touch on some highlights. I began high school a shade under 5 feet and not quite 100 lbs. By year's end, I'd put on over 3 inches and 20 pounds. During that year, Zack Goodman made fun of me when my voice cracked in biology class. Unfortunately for him, he would have to wait another year for his voice to change. Being called "sir" on the phone was good; no longer being mistaken for my mother on the phone was great. During the summer after 10th grade, I noticed a few hairs below my belly button. This was the beginning of what's known to men all across the US as a "happy trail." Sitting poolside in a foreign country, I was oblivious to everything except my burgeoning masculinity. By the end of 11th grade, I begin to make headway with regard to the relationship I had with my parents i.e. we had a few conversations. For much of high school, I was surly and loathe to engage anyone when I was home. In 12th grade, my Latin class read The Aeneid. One of the antagonists (I don't remember whom, but email me if you know) called Aeneas a demi-viro -- a half-man. Although my legs were considerably less hairy than the Italian guy's sitting on my right, I thought of my happy trail -- at this point completely legitimate -- and assessed that I was rather virile. Appropriately enough, virile has the Latin root, vir, which means man. More importantly, I was more of a man than Aeneas. College Unfortunately, for much of college, I was involved in one of those unhealthy, codependent relationships that seem to (at least temporarily) consume the lives of the vast majority of 18 - 20 year-olds. Without getting into details, let's say that mine was a bit extreme when compared to the conventional ones. When I wasn't distracted by it (or physically off campus as a result of it), I really liked Brown. It wasn't a perfect place and probably still isn't. Particularly disturbing was the way different racial groups interacted, something I found shocking after having chosen to go to a school full of "open-minded" people though. College, on its best days, was the closest thing to a Utopian society I've ever witnessed. Imagine being surrounded by 6000 people, most of whom are intelligent, and none who are more than 10 minutes away on foot. The people I met and the stories I heard, I treasure to this day. The strangest thing was that I would meet people in the oddest locations or at the strangest times. 2:00 AM in the laundry room seems like "neither the time nor place" to encounter a stranger and develop a deep, if short-lived, rapport. But, it happened. Many times, the conversations would last until the wee hours of the morning when someone would point to the sunrise through the window and decide salvaging 3 hours of sleep was a good idea. Adulthood It's strange. One day, I received a diploma and a few months later, people started calling me "Mister." And get this, I didn't even have to show them the diploma! I suppose I wore the stamp of a college graduate although I was blissfully ignorant at the time. While having real adults ask for my opinion and consider my counsel pointed to the fact that I was indeed one of them, I couldn't quash the compulsion to heave water balloons or do shots of Tabasco sauce or other similarly inane things. For that reason, I was almost tempted to call this section Adolescence: Part 2. Sequels, sadly, rarely live up to the original and I've come to accept that these "immature" urges are not bad, but are actually important in keeping me grounded. Since graduation, I've done a variety of things including running a business (we actually made some money), moving to Paris on a whim, and living in New York City on $0 per day. Of those, the French experience was the most interesting and profound. After considering the idea and then dismissing it, I woke up one day and went to the travel agent. I came back with a ticket for a flight (on the now-defunct Tower Air) that would leave in two weeks. Fully realizing that this would not be sufficient time to learn French, I decided to just show up. Two college friends were nice enough to host me for two weeks and then it was immersion time. When I returned to the US almost a year-and-a-half later, I spoke excellent French, mediocre English, and noticed a periodic hankering for red wine. In due time, Paris will have its own section on this website. It certainly merits one. As for the rest of adulthood, it's a chapter that continues to unfold, surprising me daily. |
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Copyright © 1999-2002 David Wadler. All rights reserved. |