Through these Eyes Part 3

The final camp to which I was sent for a week's time during two consecutive summers, was a King's Daughters Camp. I never relished the idea of rooming with people I did not know, yet here I was obliged to do so. Again, the camp was regimented into various activity schedules to which each camper was to adhere.

I was friendly, but not outgoing and confident, and as time crept by at a snail's pace, I became more and more hounded by loneliness. I wrote my family many postcards lamenting my undesirable situation, but time thus spent only seemed to make the problem worse.

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Chapter 2

My Brothers

CHAPTER TWO

My Brothers

My brothers were both considered "good Kids" by societal standards, being law-abiding, and generally speaking, parent-abiding as well.

However, blood relationships do not guarantee a likeness of character or form, and so it was with Norm and Todd. They looked nothing alike, facially or otherwise. Norm was muscular, with unstoppable health, while Todd was taller, thin, and p.r.o.ne to allergies. Apart from such obvious dissimilarities their personalities and interests also differed greatly. Such differences rarely evoked conflict, though, because they were on wholly separate planes. Norm and Todd were not incompatible in an obnoxious sense; they merely followed their own dreams. A coincidence of their respected circles of interest occurred mainly through their great love--and respect--for nature; thanks to Dad. They also shared a consuming interest in the chug and maintenance of the woodland trails and bridges on which they would ride. Basically, though, Norm and Todd were as different as apples and oranges. My memories of and love for each of my brothers varied greatly from the other, and changed with the pa.s.sage of time, for I, as well as they, underwent transitional phases. Thus, as characters were modified and outlooks were altered, relationships, also, transformed through the years.

My fondest memories of Todd, who bested Norm by roughly three years, were those of our early interactions. Todd had a wonderful ability to entertain children. He seemed to sense the exact type of gesture and manner of conversation which enthralled a young audience, and as a result, was rarely able to rest once a child noticed this value. He possessed an unbelievable attention span and tolerance for a child's endless and often irrational demands.

I found Todd to be an inexhaustible source of amus.e.m.e.nt, as he was quite adept at conjuring up names and personalities for my motley array of stuffed animals. He would then provide an endless flow of nonsensical banter for the animal of my choosing, which delighted and held captive my attention for countless hours on end.

I had two favorites, the first of which was an alligator; Todd would shake the green amphibious creature, emit a gravel-throated roar, and proceed to chase me about the house until I could no longer escape and irreversibly served as the alligator's dinner.

The second was a beloved bear whose eyes were so asymmetrically adhered to its face that it appeared to be immersed in a drunken stupor. Todd christened the bear "Coors Bear" in reference to the beer of the same name, and projected its character as that of a b.u.m in desperate need of another drink. He would make the bear twitch and shake with obvious delirium moaning simultaneously, "Whe'm I?....Whe'm I?" This would continue unless the bear was administered an ample swig of Coors beer from a small bottle; the bear was then content to laze back into a dream-like sleep.

Both of my brothers teased me. It was the inevitable result of being the youngest member of the family and, of course, the least educated and self-sufficient of the entire group. They were not ruthless in their teasing; they never insulted my intelligence, only my ignorance, which was not as serious since ignorance could be reversed in due time.

I felt transparent; they seemed to know what would bother me, from my petty insecurities to faulty rationalization.

I well remember the family excursions, in which I generally sat in the back seat between Norm and Todd. Like clock work, they would serenade to me in unison, "Souvenir, bathroom, bottle-of-pop" while we drove past the flat and blistering hot corn fields toward our destination, claiming that these were my three favorite aspects of the summer vacation; I would seethe and boil, but could do nothing, as I fully realized that they were probably right.

They would also grab Coors Bear, and, holding him at an arm's length out of the window while traveling 70 miles per hour, threaten to throw him into the fields. I panicked at the possibility, my eyes fixed on the battered bear as the wind fiercely buffeted its floppy arms and legs. The bear was always hoisted back into the car after an ample display of hostility from me and never suffered the cruel injustice.

(Coors bear was eventually disposed of in the garbage can, a more humiliating, but less violent, retirement.)

Norm especially loved to tease and mock my childish idiosyncrasies; he derived immense satisfaction from quizzing me, and because he used words which were far beyond my capacity to understand, smiled uncontrollably at my frustration. He always called me "illiterate,"

and while I had no conception of the word's meaning, I knew it was something which I did not want to have as a permanent attribute.

Norm also enjoyed pelting me with the a.r.s.enal of pillows which the bas.e.m.e.nt couch housed. As he fired away, making direct hits with each pillow I would gather the pillows and try, in vain, to throw one in his general vicinity. I rarely made contact with his body, let alone his head, as I hurled pillow after pillow at my a.s.sailant, only to be blasted again in rapid succession after he picked up my futile scattering of pillows from the floor and behind the couch. Finally, I would intentionally spill all of the pillows on the floor in front of me in overt exasperation and yell "The end!" I wanted no further conflict. After several such instances, he decided to mock my ultimate reaction to bombardments and he himself threw all of the pillows on the floor with an accompanying, "The end!" He then looked at me with one raised eyebrow until he received his reward; a screech of anger.

Other conflicts which evolved in the bas.e.m.e.nt's TV room concerned the programs themselves. At 3:30 "La.s.sie" and "Star Trek" were aired, creating a daily duel between Norm and me. Mom settled the argument, declaring that every other day we would be able to see our preferred show. The system worked well, except for the fact that, on the days in which "La.s.sie" appeared, Norm would raise his hand in La.s.sie's dog-like gesture and emit a mewing howl similar to the one which characterized the dog. Liking the show, but rather embarra.s.sed by that fact due to the show's incredibly rosy view of life, the mimicry bothered me.

Luckily my taste changed and I soon truly preferred "Star Trek" because of it's science fiction appeal, and thereby eliminated one tender spot through a transformation on my behalf.

Through my early years of life, my memories of Norm surrounded not so much the things we did together, but the way in which I saw his character. Norm seldom actually played with me; that was more Todd's arena. Except when he teased me, I was not conscious of being a child in Norm's company. I felt on equal terms with him more than I did with many other people who constantly maintained a distinction between my age and their own if only through a somewhat laughable change of pitch in their voice or a determinedly more animated style of speaking.

I always had a great love for Norm. He was easy-going and un.o.btrusive, and his presence was never unwelcome. He avoided unpleasant situations whenever possible and lacked aggression in areas where, for the generally accepted definition of success, that sometimes obnoxious trait was necessary. He rarely sought attention and money was of little consequence.

Norm valued simplicity and serenity; high-scale achievement was not among his priorities. He saw that "success" was a race which never ended, for another conquerable realm always presented itself. The race was everywhere; whether it was the attainment of placing oneself on the honor roll in school, or gaining promotions at work, or prestige and popularity in social circles. People allowed headaches to germinate in their minds simply because the thought of tasting success dominated their values. Why was "good" never "good enough?"

Norm was a virtual dynamo with regard to accomplishing a task. It had to go fast or Norm's patience would dissipate into the air. Whether it was a ch.o.r.e around the house or a dose of homework, he persevered until his work was finished and then retired to the front steps to sit.

A job's completion did not always signify a flawless result, however.

For instance, compared to Todd's smooth, taut version, Norm's bed was a haven for lumps, with the pillow stashed hurriedly beneath the twisted and rumpled spread. In school, Norm was a solid B student. He did not strive for his grades because perfection, to him, held no rewards.

Norm did his work rapidly and fostered no hideous nightmares about tests. A slightly above average mark did not obliterate his happiness.

When under the employ of a firm, Norm was trustworthy and conscientious. Whether delivering newspapers or landscaping a yard, he made certain that the job was done well, from his punctual arrival through the day's end. Doing an honest day's work was less complicated than expending energy to connive a way out of it; he knew that he earned his pay and never had to look over his shoulder in apprehension when the boss strode by.

Norm did not worry about being good enough. He was confident and proud of who he was and what he wanted in life. Average grades or average jobs did not signify average intelligence and he felt no need to apologize for his position in terms of societal importance.

It was a refreshing outlook which suited him perfectly.

Norm was very athletic; one could tell by the way he walked. Sports were a source of entertainment, and he succeeded in almost everything he tried. Only two aspects of his personality stood in the way of his being selected as "team material" for many sports. First, he felt that a game was a game; although he did his best, he could not take a game as seriously as did many of the others who became enraged by losing.

He wanted it to be fun, and compet.i.tion was fun only as long as the game remained free of hostilities. Secondly, he disliked sports demanding body contact; he was conscious of his own s.p.a.ce and avoided being touched. Norm despised wrestling, but since it was required in physical education, he handled his distaste by promptly pinning his partner and thereby ending the match. Taking notice of his ability, the teacher eagerly teamed him up with the heaviest, sweatiest guys in the cla.s.s. Sickened by their stench and gla.s.sy-eyed fervor, Norm determined to purposely shorten the match; he allowed himself to be pinned.

The sport which fit Norm's ideal was baseball and he served as pitcher for various teams. I recall hazy images of his ball games, especially those during which Mom and I crouched on the bleachers beneath a newspaper to ward off the rain, while she proudly feasted her eyes on the pitcher's mound with an inaudible, "that's MY boy" inscribed on her face. Dad's employment kept him from attending some of the games, but Mom always went, a fan until Norm lost his attraction for the game.

Mom savors the memory of Norm being chosen to pitch yearly for the All-Star games.

Todd never went to Norm's games. He didn't have much interest in sports. It's difficult to know whether or not being good at something makes you like it. I happen to know that liking something does not make you good at it, for I love to bowl, but once bowled a 16--amazing by anyone's standards. (I was in high school at the time.) At any rate, Todd preferred to forego physical activity of the compet.i.tive nature, electing instead to pursue his penchant for gadgetry, electronics and in general, anything that would spin or balance. When drying the dishes he was not content to simply lay a lid on the table; he first had to give it a hearty whirl on its rim, whereupon the kitchen would ring with a wavering "wong, wong, wong"

until the swiftly fluttering lid collapsed onto the table with a final, resolute, "wop." Mom forbid such treatment of gla.s.sware and china, of course, or undoubtedly many items would have sustained irreversible damage.

In effect, Todd was the mad scientist of the family, having to take mechanical objects apart to view and study their internal workings, and obtaining chemicals for his experiments which ate holes through his bedspread. He had infinite patience and stuck to an idea until it worked, even if it took all night. Todd was a licensed ham radio operator and collected all the necessary equipment to seek and find countless stations as well as other operators. Much of his spare time was spent behind the "rig," although he found equal enjoyment in playing with or annoying the huge spiders in our garage. It was Todd who tried to power his bicycle with an electric motor, and gathered sc.u.m and algae from the ponds to gaze upon through his microscope.

He was also the only person in the family who could start a particularly cantankerous lawn mower.

Todd loved the extraordinary and took time to notice the small things.

One night, he took a walk down in the woods and found some fungi which glowed in a luminous shade of green. He returned to the house to report the strange phenomenon and together we threaded our way back down the dark trail to the uncanny sight. Sure enough, delicate points of light embellished the damp, rotting logs on the woodland floor, transforming decay into a hauntingly magical scene.

With all of his patience in creative and mechanical fields of interest, one might have thought Todd was unruffled and carefree. Despite his slow and deliberate reasoning, however, his demeanor could rapidly transform into reckless belligerence if tormented. While Norm hurried through his homework to pursue more pleasing objectives, Todd sat behind his books in angry defiance, as if the homework which he declared "unreasonable busy work" would somehow shrink before his abomination. As the night peeled away, he wasted in vengeance hours which might have been spent behind his radio. Though he was an achiever, he wanted to go about it in his own way.

Graduating from high school in the 60's greatly affected Todd's outlook and he adopted the prevalent anti-establishmentarianism att.i.tudes with intense vigor. He also embraced the ecology movement as a worthy cause and between the two modes of thought, plus the fact that he had attained the cla.s.sic age of rebellion, nurtured a rigid hatred of cars which, eventually, blossomed into anything but a delicate flower.

Fuming internally about the inherent necessity for cars, despite their polluting effects on our society, Todd would actually vent his disgust upon the automobiles themselves (which produced simultaneous protectiveness and anger from Dad, who was uncertain of the safety of his car in Todd's hands). Ironically Norm bought a car which Todd sometimes used that was incredibly pollutive, yet Todd would angrily flop into the car and rumble out of the driveway, its m.u.f.fler belching a toxic cloud of gray carbon into the air that followed him up the street as he drove to his ecology meetings.

Sometimes I felt as if Todd was like a spring aching to be sprung.

In driving, it was obvious that Todd released frustrations behind the wheel. This trait, however, was not directly related to his anti-establishment/pro-ecology stance; other pressures, whether conscious or unconscious, were to blame for that. Moreover, Mom recalls that as a youngster Todd would ride his tricycle precariously down the hill behind our house, balancing on two wheels and cackling with enjoyment throughout the wild trip. Despite his history, one generally persisted to a.s.sume that Norm, sports-oriented and having little patience for the fine-honed arts, would have been the terror in the driver's seat. The fact was, however, that Todd was the reckless one, using cars in a hard, decisive way which demanded their utmost performance. I might add that his safety depended on such performance, for if brakes failed, or mechanical workings malfunctioned, results could have been disastrous. The rampaging tornado, however, was never involved in "the big crash" and continues to parallel park vehicles with one, exacting maneuver (a feat which, in my eyes, demonstrates brilliant skill). Perhaps I worried too much. Perhaps I still do.