I was born when my parents moved to Villa Park.. 20 miles away from Chicago... on some street...
MY parents and my Sister were already having problems. My Sister loved my Dad.. Daddies girl... and she hated her Mom... so OCD like and never giving her a break. My Father always stood up for her and she had an advocate.
MY sister had a bunny rabbit.. don't know it's name... just that it had a cage and a place, a tiny little dwelling that you could put straw in for the winter and it would live there thoughout the seasons. My Dad was into tools... and carving... making things for her. When ever there was an arguement Dad was there for her... for my Sister.
When My Dad died she was heart broken and told me that she wished it was my Mom who had died... not Dad. A life I never knew... on That Melrose Park Road somewhere...
At thirteen after a short stay on some street... They moved to a street called Myrtle... in Villa Park... and that was where my life really began. At two years old... I was taken to a bigger house.
On Murtle...
Everything was basically OK. I was a hyper kid, full of energy... but at two years old I developed something different than most kids. I would rock myself to sleep in my crib. Bottle fed, with not much holding according to my 13 year old Sister, I learned to quiet myself by rocking back and forth, lying on my side shifting my shoulders making my had role back and forth. ANd when I grew to be to big for my crib... I did that before I slept... on the floor anywhere I could find.
They took me to a psychiatrist. "OH, he is intellegent! He needs more stimuli. Just give him toys he can put together." I liked that... not only did I put things together... I took everything around me apart... like stove... the washing machine and anything I could find.. and did this thing I call "rolling." Lie on your side and just keep rocking your shoulders with your head back and forth repeating the same tune notes over and over. (I remember those notes...)
Then, my 13 year old sister left home. She couldn't take it anymore with my over controlling Mother, feeling so sad for my Dad, Having a child... which really pissed them off... my dear nephew... who I love like a dear brother...
I remember... listenening to Hermits Hermits, and the Beatles in "her" room, dancing with her to dances of the sixties... the conversations in my little nursery (5 year old cell) where my sister and I would talk through a grate... a heating duct that supplied heat to both are room, but was a straight shoot from my little room to hers.. talking... just talking... hoping Mom would not here, until she yelled at us to be quite... and that was over... my sister... no longer a sister but now a distant aunt type person...
I was now alone.
MY life consisted of this. My Father? A person who sat in his chair.. reading a paper. If I said something I would get an answer... no iddle chit chat... not like my sister. But, my Mom, full of chit-chat. And... it was all discipline. Nothing else. My advocate was my Mother.
My Mother had a rules.. Really two rules for bringing me up.
The second rule was to be a good man.
The first rule was to be an extension of my Mother's ideas.
My Mothers ideas. Always please the neighbors! First order of business. The neighbors must see you as my perfect child... I don't want any neighbors to come to me and say you have done anything wrong. This is the cardinal rule. So, you must be better than any onther kids.
1. If the kids stay out to late... you come in much earlier.
2. If the kids go into others yards... you better not be with them
3. If I say kid is bad... you will never associate with them
4. No matter how I feel... headache, upset or anything that makes me in a foul mood, shut up!
5. Children Should be seen not heard.
6. Children only belong in the places I specify. The basement in the corner over there, or the den... bedrooms are made for sleeping, and people might see them as untidy... do not touch anything in the dining room, the living room or anyother things I say you can't touch
7. If you go to the bathroom, I have to make sure you went all the way... or I will be angry
8. Anything you hate.. like closets and that spooky one in the basement, if misbehave, I will throw you in there until my headache stops.. a night or so... who cares how long you were in there.
So I, began my childhood... and the rules that were set forth for me.