i'll bet if you asked any Italian man, gay, straight, bi,
whatever...what his biggest fault is, it's his neurotic behavior brought
on by none other than, his family. and yes, the church also plays a
major part in the demise of our souls, but it pales in comparison to the
overbearing attention, love and coddling we received as young boys.
me, being the first born in a house where, before me, was eight
miscarriages, made it more impossible for me to be anything but what i
turned out as. a spoiled rotten brat. not only did my mother worship,
adore and praise me every second of every day...and not one of those
days, to this day, has gone by without the same thing happening, she
made me believe that the world would be the same way towards me,
forever. i was perfect. i was chosen. i was great.
that being said, the pressure that that entails is tremendous. it weighs
on your brain like a burden that you, no matter how hard you try,
cannot shake. you walk down the street assuming that the world views you
the way your mother does. it's actually quite shocking to one day,
realize that your entire life has been a sham, and not only are you not
the center of the universe, but, in fact, you are below average...on a
scale of one to ten, you are maybe a four. "hmmm, that isn't what my
mother told me" i remember saying to myself one day. it made my mind
rush, my heart race, my body hurt. wasn't i told, since birth, that i
was THE center of the entire universe? what happened? who took this
title away from me, how? why?
and then, as your mind goes back, back back back to your earliest
memory, you recall the instant it all started. you were in diapers, you
were not yet even eating real food yet, when you recall a whisper in
your ear...it sounded like your mother, but it's probably was God, for
they are one in the same, and it told you that you were the greatest
gift ever. you lit up the world with your smile, you were the only
person that could save society from it's hideous fate, for you were the
golden child, and from that moment on, you walked with your head a
little higher. your nose a little raised, your shoulders back, your
attitude adjusted, your perception altered, your mind, warped. because
from then on, every other word was how wonderful you were. how great,
smart, funny, sweet and talented you were. surely no one else was
hearing these things, because they weren't me, and they weren't the
best. they'd never be as funny, as smart, sweet, or talented as me,
because i am the chosen one...
never before has anyone been as perfect as me...
so you buy into the crap that you will inherit the earth. you will
always be wonderful, nothing will ever go wrong, and you were put on
this earth to save it. God himself sent you here, and for this alone, i
was, and always will be, the one everyone else would be compared to. i
would be the example to live up to, and the one to watch, learn from,
and be like.
my mother would bake a loaf of bread every day for me, timing it to pop
out of the over, hot, fresh and soaked in a stick of butter, just as i
was walking down the steps from the school bus. mind you, on the school
bus and all day at school, i was miserable, not understanding why all
the other kids kept calling me fat pig, blimp and loser. didn't they
know who i was? it never crossed my mind that these underprivileged
children who brought only a sandwich and a piece of fruit to lunch,
really didn't like me. of course they didn't, i was an obnoxious and
overweight kid with wiry hair and a greasy forehead that seeped olive
oil. but, i was also, as i was told, wonderful, funny and important...so
it didn't make sense, and i'd question it briefly as i devoured my loaf
of bread while watching cartoons and having my head rubbed every
afternoon, but i'd forget all about it by 5:00. only two more hours till
dinner would be put on the table, and nothing else but how much of this
delicious food i could stuff into my mouth and down my throat...even
crossed my mind.
to further emphasis my Godlike perception, i was told, every day after
dinner, to go lay down, rest...school work could wait, i was too good to
help with dishes, i was too important to mow the lawn, i was too above
it to do anything around the house...that's what my father was for. i
should just lay down in front of the couch and let those three thousand
calories digest as slowly as possible in my already too big belly. i was
encouraged to be lazy, pushed to relax. it was, i thought, a charmed
life, i thought, the way it was always going to be, i thought, very
wrong...
every night, from the couch, i'd get carried into bed. laid down,
stretched out, had my head rubbed forehead kissed, was brought a glass
of milk, and some leftover desert, of which there was always a ton of.
the lights closed, as she left, turning the door, she'd tell me, one
more time, how she was blessed with me choosing to be her child. of all
the children, in all the world, i, a gift to humanity, was entrusted to
her, and she was thrilled. i'd fall asleep every night, like a rock,
stuffed and gassy, seeing myself as a king standing tall on a hilltop,
my constituents below me, hailing my greatness, screaming my name,
crying as if they were seeing Michael Jackson...(remember, this was the
80's), and he, Michael, was the greatest thing going. the biggest star
ever, so of course, that's the level i saw myself. i would wake with a
shake on my shoulders, open my eyes, and from blur i'd see her, my
mother, beaming brightly, saying something about how happy she was that i
didn't die in my sleep and how thrilled she was that i was still alive.
she installed in my brain, a vision of myself that was so far from the
truth, and so far from reality, that to this day, i still cringe when i
think how far from anything i imagined i was, and how twisted and
brainwashed i had been. no one else, not a soul, could compare to what i
thought i was. but in all fairness, it wasn't really my fault. it
wasn't even my mother's fault. it was just what she'd learned from her
mother and her brother. he also could do nothing wrong, he was golden,
he was special. and if i'd looked a little closer, id have seen that in
reality, he was not the savior she professed him to be. it should have
been a clue. it should have been a sign that something wasn't right. it
coulda, shoulda, woulda been, but it wasn't, for i wouldn't allow myself
to not believe my own hype. everyone else was jealous, they wanted to
be everything i was, wanted to have everything i had, wanted to be me.
it was obvious, it was clear. there were some who had everything, while
the others had none. i was entrusted with powers and greatness that
surpassed mere humans. i was different, i stood alone. i had already
accepted the fact that i would probably never find a woman good enough
for me. there would never be one that was pretty enough, smart enough,
or as interesting as me, to keep me excited. i was too important for
love, i had other things in life that i was supposed to do, take care
of, and conquer. for this reason alone, i felt i was misunderstood,
that's the reason i had no friends, it was because they couldn't
understand me, didn't get me, for i was at such a higher level than the
rest, i wasn't expected to mingle with them...so, i found myself always
hanging around with adults, especially the women, usually in the
kitchen. they'd tell tales of the old country, although none of them
were actually born there. second generation, they longed for the
acceptance of "white" people, never speaking in Italian. the italian
they spoke was so much of it, dialect, and english words were replaced
by their italian slang name. so, i was taught to speak italian, but it's
italian thats so far from what actual italians speak, that it can't
even be understood. but they'd gossip, they'd scream, we'd eat as i'd
sit, glued to their
stories, chiming in where i thought necessary, giving my take on the
situation, like they needed my input, for it was the word of the lord.
then my mother would shake my hair and say how wonderfully sweet i was
to care so much, give me a peck on the cheek, and keep me quiet by
putting more desert in my dish. "would you like ice cream on that?" she
would say, "yes please!" was always my answer. i never said no, to this
day, that's a flaw.
my poor sister has a different perspective of our youth, as she
wasn't the first, nor a boy. she was born three years later, and she of
course, was loved to death, but i still got all the attention. her
memories show her doing dishes, mopping floors, cleaning, etc., etc.,
while i'd lay on the couch. i was now a young man, and young men didn't
work in the house! that's what girls did, and well, if they expected to
ever get a descent husband! who would want her if she was considered
lazy. the man worked all day, brought home money, was the one who
prospered, her job was to keep him happy, keep him fed, keep his home
nice and tidy, keep him satisfied in bed. i recall laying there, on the
couch, with the remote flipping channels as she crossed in front of the
t.v., making the remote not work. i screamed, as i was missing, two
seconds of Land of the Lost. my mother ran in, screaming at my sister,
for interrupting my peace, and causing me to be upset. how did she dare
make me miss even a second of my favorite show that i wasn't even really
watching...it's evident the different ways we were brought up by the
number of photographs we each have in our photo albums. mine is a
leather bound book, inscribed with pure gold, it's filled, from
beginning to end, with snapshot after snapshot of every last second of
my first few years. the day they brought me home, the next day, that
whole week, my first birthday, my first christmas, my first easter, my
first new year, first communion, first whatever, it was documented, and
it was celebrated as if being celebrated for a prince, as you can see in
the photos. everyone is dressed in a suit or a gown, there are millions
of gifts, and i'm giggling as i sit on the lap of my mother, who beams
rays of light that in some shots, i swear, look like a halo.
anyway, back to me, see it's now a dysfunction. all those years that i
spent being fed an illusion, sometimes make me forget and become the
reason for my confusion. it's sometimes hard to imagine, that i'm not
where i should be. it's insane that i'm not, all that i could be. as
hard as i try to remember the fact that until i was eighteen, i was
taught, that i wasn't like others, that i had a place on a higher
ground, somehow, i was better than. but then, when i'd look around, i'd
see everyone else, had friends, and were thin...that i wasn't the same,
and it wasn't that i was actually better than, it wasn't that at all. it
happened like on t.v. when a character realizes something major...it's
bigger than the reaction when a lightbul goes off over your head, it's
more like in the Wizard of Oz when the tornado comes and pushes you
back, knocking you down, it swirls around and around, and you get sucked
up into the vortex, and when you wake, you're in a completely different
world. it's not even black and white anymore, but technicolor! that's
how i felt the moment it became clear...and i opened my eyes, looked
around, and shook myself. a chill ran up my spine, and my forehead
started sweating. i looked down at my fat gut, my bad clothes, and i
realized...it's not them who are less than...it's me! i'm the one. i sit
home with my mom everyday after school, no one calls no one plays, i'm a
loser...
as it came into focus, i remember the very second, i was in the movie
theater with my dad, my other only friend, watching Grease. i had begged
to see it, and eventually won the battle. i remember the instant,
because of course as i watched, and i saw Olivia Newton John sing "look
at Me I'm Sandra Dee" at the end of the film. it's right before she goes
from Sandy to
Sandy! and i knew i had to do what she did. change
myself, become like them, clone myself, and try and fit in with the
crowd. no more would i think i was better than these other kids, from
now on, i'd be humble, sincere, i'd reach out, i'd be cool...i'd dress
in Izod and Wranglers, you know, designer clothing. i would lose weight,
and transform myself, i'd get skinny, i'd play sports! and it actually
happened.
it was the summer of my twelfth year, there's no way i can forget. i
lost thirty pounds in three months by every morning waking up, putting
the Village People on my turntable and playing Macho Man, and i did sit
ups, push ups, and jogged in place for ten to twelve minutes until my
head would get dizzy, i'd fall down, and breath heavy. but i did it. all
myself, and it was hard, but only made worse, because my mother,
protective and neurotic, always thinking i was on the verge of death and
insane as she was, brought me, daily, to the doctor because she was
convinced i had leukemia. i would die before her, her worst fear. as she
cried every afternoon, in the car on the way to the doctor, she'd ask
how and why God could do this to her. what had she done to deserve this?
i was her life! what about all those bad kids that would surely never
be missed! who placed such a curse on our name? why me! i'd turn my
wrist over so they could draw out more blood, and i'd cringe as they'd
jab another needle in me. day after day, the doctor would tell her that i
didn't have leukemia. i wasn't sick. but again, she'd cry...what could
be wrong? he doesn't eat! he's so skinny! why!!
one morning, at about 3am, it all became, again, perfectly clear. i was
going through puberty, which, how they didn't think of that in the first
place, i'll never understand...but nevertheless, relieved that i wasn't
going to die, my mother was also upset at me for putting her through
it, not eating her cooking, and insisting that it was only a matter of
time before i'd leave her one way or another, and she'd be crushed and
probably die alone. drama. always.
after losing weight, returning to school, as i walked in for tenth
grade, i had no idea my whole world was about to change. all of a
sudden, i saw girls check me out. i had guys come to me and say hi, tell
me to join them, laugh and tell jokes, tease the girls, and be part of
the games they would play. i even got invited to one of the guys
birthday parties. i was thrilled, as i had never been to a "friends"
birthday party. cousins, aunts, uncles, my sister, yes, but someone i
didn't really know!? never. when i told my mother, she told me to get
into the car, and we drove to the strip mall to the men's store, and she
bought me a suit. it was tan, with shoulder pads, had a shine to it,
like sharkskin, when you moved, it caught the light and made you
glisten, and it had pants that didn't match. it was trendy at that
moment to wear darker pants, and so this "suit" was actually two pieces.
because i was apperently, now, that i'd matured, so goddamn handsome,
almost as handsome as the guys in that GQ magazine i couldn't stop
looking at, that i deserved and was expected to walk in a room, turn all
heads, and make a fashion statement. let them talk, my mother would
say, they are all just jealous of you, you could be a model! or a movie
star! so when i walked into the party a week and a half later, bearing
gifts and sporting a corsage, which my mother bought and pinned on me
right before she drove me to the party, i was not prepared or expecting
the catastrophe that was about to happen, and change me, i think,
forever.
as i walked up the steps of the house, i felt good. i thought i looked
so handsome, felt so secure, was really excited to be part of this group
of guys who, up until this past week, never said anything but "faggot"
to me. when his mom answered the door, my mind questioned her attire,
for she was in a pair of shorts, and her head in a kerchief, sunglasses
on her head and her blouse was tied in the middle. was i at the wrong
address? my mother honked the horn, for she thought i had the wrong
place too, as this woman was not in a gown...she was not possibly
hosting a party...she invited me in, and then asked me if i had just
come from church. when i said no, she looked puzzled, and asked if i had
brought my bathing suit, as this was a pool party, which, as i looked
past her, i noticed, but more shocking than that, was the fact, i saw
girls...this was a mixed party...co-ed, oh my god....i was not at all
prepared to be seen half naked in front of guys, let alone girls.....i
panicked. started sweating, and said no. so she walked me to the pool,
where all the kids were. they all stopped, turned and giggled. who was
this geek? so i put down the gifts and walked calmly into the house with
a smile, i didn't want them to know i was upset. i asked his mom where
the restroom was, and then when i found it, locked the door behind me,
and sat on the toilet, desperate for time to fly by, praying for an
earthquake, something, anything to get me out of this awkward
party...until literally, about an hour later, his mother came knocking,
screaming for me to get out. i had a bloody nose, i exclaimed, and she
banged even harder, open up! she yelled back, and then i heard my friend
scream to open the door. it was done, i had done it, made a mess,
caused a stir. when i opened the door, my heart sank again, as i saw all
the kids from the party, circled around the door, laughing and pointing
at the crazy italian boy dressed in a suit on a ninety degree day, at a
pool party. when i looked up at the clock on the wall my heart sank
again. what had seemed like two hours turned out to be only ten
minutes...and so i asked to borrow the phone, and i called up my mother,
begging her to pick me up, crying. she said no, she said that they
would realize, how they should look at me for advise, for i was
obviously more mature, definitely more handsome, and talented and wise.
then she hung up the phone, and my brow started to sweat, when i looked
up i saw that my friend was standing there. he looked confused, and
bewildered, he didn't know what he should do. so he asked me, real
sweet, if i wanted to play a game with the "gang", i said sure...and
followed him to the living room where everyone was sitting in a circle,
and in the center of that circle was a bottle...spinning. now, i had
heard of this game, and knew that what i had heard told me that this
game was bad news...again, my brow poured down sweat, as i realized this
was a boy/girl party, and this was a SEX game....i almost, literally,
shit my pants. as i tried desperately to remain calm as the bottle spun
and spun in front of me, i prayed as hard as i could that the bottle
never stopped on me. and i was safe for about three minutes, until my
friends sister, who had been rolling her eyes at me and giggling
everytime i said something, spun the bottle, and it slowed down and
stopped before me...and my heart started racing, i thought i'd piss my
pants, she screamed "oh no, not him!" and the kids laughed and laughed.
but as if this wasn't enough, it got worse, because my friend started
screaming at his sister to shut up and go! she got up from the circle,
crossed it, and grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the closet, where
she threw me in, and shut the door behind us. what's going on? i mean,
really, i was about to die, this was the worst thing hat ever happened
in the history of the world...and she kept quiet, then without warning
she said "i'm not kissing yo, your gross". that at least was some
relief, and when she opened the door and let us out, she made it clear
that we did NOT make out. i decided to sit the rest of this game out,
and returned to the bathroom, where they let me sit, alone for the next
three hours until my mothers car was heard beeping outside on the
driveway.
to be continued...
with superstar, David Dalrymple
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