Second half of my Junior year. I had pulled out of my fall rebellion but was still generally not a totally happy camper. A year or so earlier I had found I could say "damn" and "hell" and a few other 'bad' words and the big thumb in the sky did not descend on my head. Oh boy. Cussing became a whole new method of self-expression! But never in the hearing of the parents.
Boys seem to learn this faster so Charlie Mike and I soon invented a word or two of our own to plug in when there were listeners. One was "grut." It sounded gross enough to be pleasing to teenagers and tweens as we were then and became our go-to as shit and the F word did a few yeas later universally.
Feb 7, 1961
Aye que dia! School wasn’t bad. I was still stubborn and didn’t dress out for PE. I sat and talked with Linda C and Verna. I think I passed the chem. test--did about as well as Vickie anyway. Well, I lost 2 cents. Fred Coleman did come. He rode my mare, in my saddle etc. and I’m still riled. They say he’s not so hot a hand, either. Damn, Some half breed dude wranglin’ SOB on my mare with my gear. I could flip. It ain’t fair. Nobody has ridden her except the family and old Charley. That was supposed to be a special privilege reserved for my special friends. Might as well put a placard on her and me saying “Welcome dudes and wranglers. We’re here for you to use.” Oh. I’m not as riled as I sound but there are no real cowboys under 50. Maybe my Buster was. Quien sabe? But he’s gone. I liked him, too. Wish I knew where he was. I wrote some letters tonight. If I had homework, I didn’t do it. I feel like hell and that is a flat fact. Son of a bitch with the seven year itch. As you can see, I’m in a cussin mood. Poor Shane; he’ll be disappointed in me. I still really don’t know what I am. It’s a rather awful feeling. I’m too weak, too easily swayed and I can’t set my mind on anything. I think I’m gonna go crazy or take a whole bottle of aspirin or something. Shoo. What I need is a strong shoulder to cry on. Well, guess I’ll have to use my pillow. Bye, “Doll”
At this time I was just short of eighteen and becoming very displeased with my overall life. Teenage years are tough anyway and I had a slight case of arrested development since my parents had fought against my moving past the docile and biddable child stage with everything they could. Puberty threw them a curve and now I was six years past that!
Names again. When I was writing this I had no idea it might become semi-public someday or that memories would dim and many readers would have no clue who these folks were. So much would change between 1961 and 2022! So in PE: Linda was Linda Crose (Heydorn) and Verna was Verna Moser (I am sure a married name but do not know it) Vickie was Cranmer-again probably a married name years ago. She and I were both in Mr Clark's Chemistry class; normally she did much better than I dd there! Math and all related was never my strong suit academically! And Shane was one of my pen-pals, the one who sent the black gaberdine and and did leather work.
And moving on. Ah, Freddy Coleman--one of the 'notorious' Coleman brothers from the Sedona area. I do not recall why he came and rode with Dad at that point. I had bet either Charlie Mike or maybe Dad that he would not show since his brother Vern had not when the mule saga was beginning but Fred did. And that he rode my Tina and in my saddle which was set up for her without the mule rigging did trip my trigger. Had I been there I might have agreed or allowed but it was done without my permission and I was not pleased! Touchy, wasn't I? And rather defensive!
I was not happy with myself and knew I was mixed up to some extent. I was not serious about suicide at that point --there were some times a few years later but we are not there yet. The restrictive and enmeshed family situation, though I had no names for those things then,was chafing a lot. I knew I was in many ways 'brainwashed' but what to do about or how to overcome it was not shaping up. I expect more kids and teens have gone through something along these lines than I would have guessed then or even thought of until fairly recently. The study of family dynamics and dysfunctionality was in its infancy in the early 60s.
There are few relevant photos so let's see what kind of fits. First, Charlie Mike and I with a mule probably laughing at some silly thing. "Grut this stuff!" This shot of me was probably the previous year. Now and then Dad would get a wild hair and decide to take portraits. This was one of three at one time. Not too appalling. And last, a sketch I did about that time--one of the Colemans I am pretty sure; most likely Vern,who I recall was huskier and older than Fred.
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