Kat, or maybe it was akabukowski, once said to me that everyone thinks their life would make a good book.
She is probably right. What do you think?
Here is your chance.
Let's all tell stories from our experiences as we traveled through time.
Ahh, but there has to be rules. They will be pretty loose, but rules there must be.
1. It can be any experience that you want to tell us about.
2. It can be as short as one line. Or as long as fifty. Anything over thirty will be deleted.
3.You do not have to end the story at fiftyy lines, but you have to quit writing at the end of fiftyy lines. You can not post again until at least one other person has posted something.
This ensures that everyone gets a chance.
4.You can continue on the same subject or jump to a new one.
5. Nothing is required to be in chronological order.
6. Very Graphic Sexual discriptions should be posted in the sex talk group. You can direct us to go there if we want to read about it.
7. No one will be checking the facts
8. Additional rules will be posted and implemented as I see fit.
Step right up and post. who knows, the next knock on your door may be Spielberg asking for the movie rights.
In high school I teamed up with two buddies, Mike and Eddie, to create a sketchbook lampooning and skewering our teachers and bullies. It was made accordion-like style ( paper taped together ) so it could be compressed and hidden in our big biology book. I thought up the scenarios, Mike did the dialog, and Eddie penciled the drawings.
Some of the drawings were NASA visiting our school since a fat math teacher was creating gravity pull on rockets as they traveled overhead, me ( the geekiest kid in school ) challenging the pumped up gym teacher to a winner take all badminton match, and the football coach making his players out race a pack of dogs to the cafeteria for lunch.
One day in biology class, as we were passing notes back and forth, the teacher noticed we weren't paying any attention and grabbed the book where the sketches were hidden. Ten feet of paper sprung out and unraveled onto the floor. He read a few and then confiscated it, but the next day the drawings were returned. He even complimented us, saying it was really good.
We talked about continuing our partnership after HS but we went separate ways. Both Eddie and Mike died far too young but I feel fortunate in that I have lived a large part of that comic book story.
You did? hmmm... well, I may have to check it out.
be back later...
Okay, I'm back. That's not exactly what I was hoping for.
But, Robbie, do tell... how'd you wind up in deep dodo?
My first memories and living on a farm in Bell Hollow. My father was a sharecropper. I did not know what a hollow or a sharecropper was then but it is where I lived and what my father did. My older brother and sister would take me to the creek in the summer to swim, although I only wadded. One day while we were at the creek my brother took a hoe that was hanging on a tree and was playing with it. He was to small too control it and it fell and hit my sister in the head. She bleed all over everywhere but we got back to the house and my mother sent for the doctor, who lived about a 1/4 mile away. He came and sticted up my sisters head. I don't remember much else from there.
In 1950 we moved and my father took a job as a electician, he was self taught but worked at that job for the rest of his life. We did not have indoor plumbing until I was in the 2nd grade but I don't remember much about going to the out house.
I was the youngest of three children and the only one that ever questioned anything. I always wanted to know why. We went to a fundamentalist church and I was taught the Bible forward and backwards. At some point I began to ask why and how did we know all of this. It is in the Bible was not enough for me and nobody in my family or close circle of friends could understand what was wrong with me. From the age of 12 I was the member of the family that was different. I still am.
I was born in the south, of southern parents. If I were not the spitting image of both of them I would swear I was adopted.
Early memories I have are from preschool days when my grandfather moved in with us & we had a housekeeper/nanny who looked after me. Grandaddy and the housekeeper were my primary caregivers, as my parents both worked full time. I remember our housekeeper standing me on the lidded toilet seat after my bath, drying me off & singing, "I love you, a bushel & a peck, a bushel & a peck and a hug around the neck; hug around the neck & a barrel and a heap, barrel & a heap and a dadadada, I love youuuu..."
I also remember taking naps in the summer on the couch, with my little dog. I would lay on my stomach, in only shorts or underwear & my grandfather would softly blow on my bare back while gently rubbing my back until I fell asleep. Two early memories of feeling safe and loved.
Like Robbie, I'm an only child. Like Kat, I had an unstable mother. Like Kooner & caseyjo, I suffered abuse. Years after those safe, nurturing preschool memories I discovered drugs, sex, and rock & roll at way too early an age. They fed me & eased my emotional pain & my floundering. I managed to excel academically, despite the distractions. Fortunately, I left most of the acting out behind at a very early age. I had an ugly duckling to swan transformation in my late teens, and becoming quite attractive to the opposite sex served me, but not well. It allowed me to act out, to gain attention, to distract myself for a long time from more meaningful and substantial journeys.
That's all for now.