It's been a while since I've put up a post in the "memories" category.  I was thinking about times I've almost died.  There aren't many, I think, but still something worth sharing.

When I was in high school, I dug up my Uncle Jay's 250 watt 15" Pevey bass amp from my dad's barn.  The funny thing about this amp was that it didn't have a ground wire in it.  It just had a 2 prong plug.  I ended up cutting off the plug since it was damaged and put a new grounded plug on the end, which at least gave me a sense of security that it wasn't going to come out of the wall.

Later on, my Uncle Kenny gave me my first 4 string base.  IT was a black "series 10" bass.  Nothing special about it, but it did the job.  I had gotten it in my head that I'd like a natural wood finish instead of the black matte, so I got some sand paper and started to go to town on the bass.  This was a lot of work.  When it got time to get around the pickups and bridge, I had to undue the strings.  I had the bass plugged into the amp, and the amp on, just so I could hear the awesome tones as I detuned.

So there's me, in a damp basement, sitting in a metal chair, next to a 250 watt bass amp, that's plugged into a surge protector on the floor next to me with a bunch of other devices, and 4 nickel wound, 1/8-1/4 inch diameter bass strings flopping around in my lap.  As luck would have it, something like the alarm clock was barely plugged in to the surge protector, and one of the strings found it way in the gap.  You want to know how I was sure something was wrong?  Because one of the base string starting glowing bright orange.  I jumped out of my seat, which was enough to move the bass string, but after some damage to the surge protector, which I still use today.  Here it is:

 

I think that counts as almost dying. 

This post is classified under "memories" for those facebook readers that don't see categories.  I wanted to write down my memory of the day I found out my brother had passed.  Mom - be warned.

Caleb and I slept in what would be called "Uncle Jay's" room together when we lived at my Grandma's house.  He slept in the queen bed and I slept on the cot right next to it.  I remember that when I woke up, I used to wake Caleb up, talking to him, or checking to see if he was awake.  I got in trouble once or twice for it.  I don't remember what day of the week it was, but I remember waking up, and going downstairs, thinking not to wake up Caleb.  As I sat and watched TV at the table and ate breakfast, my mom went upstairs to get Caleb.  Moments later, My mom was yelling, "Mom!"  I saw her carry Caleb down into the living room and put him down on the couch.  A large EMT lady showed up with ambulance a while later.  I'm 8.  I don't remember any other siblings being home but me.  I remember my dad coming to the back door and telling me to get Pap-pap.  I think there was a little bit of tension with letting my dad into the house, but ultimately, he ended up to being able to come into the kitchen at least.  That's where I remember holding a 2x3 photo of Caleb and crying in the arms of my dad, saying things like, "Caleb is gone", but I can also remember not really understanding what that meant.  I just felt like that is what I should be doing, as if I was just doing it because that's what they do on TV or something.

It was Friday, January 26th, 1990.  Caleb was turning 10 on February 9th.  I assume we had the funeral shortly after.  I remember school at Bentleyville Wesleyan was canceled for the funeral.  I saw a lot of people at the funeral.  I remember Uncle Kenny playing a song he wrote and leaving a casette tape in Caleb's casket.  I want to say I even put in one of his wood cars.  The weird memory is that I remember Jim Henson dying around the same time, and images of all the Sesame street characters showing up at his funeral, and thinking about those same characters showing up at Caleb's.  Jim Henson didn't die until May 16th, but I guess the memories were still fresh enough in my head to make that imprint, or it's been so long that they just seem to overlap.  I remember Jesse and Uncle Tom coming up.  Honestly, I've had quite a few funerals, most at the same exact place, so a lot of the memories I have in my head right now, are bluring together, so I'll stick to the ones I'm sure of...at least, as sure as my memory let's me believe.

Here's a first time truth story for you.  when i was 13 or 14, i was big into BMG music service.  I would sign up at my dad's house, refer "Jay Hall" at my mom's address, and I'd get 5 free CDs on top of the introductory offer.  I think it worked out to 12 CDs for $45.  That's great.  Anyway, one day I got a trial offer flyer in the mail for Playboy magazine.  It had my BMG music info on it for my mom's house.  You had to be 18 or older to sign up for the service, so I guess they're just allowed to send you stuff like that.  I took it in to show my friends at school how cool I was.  Dallas and Travis and everyone were trying to convince me to fill it out and send it back in.  I wouldn't do it.  Then Dallas said he would do it, so he took it from me, but I didn't think he had the guts to do it.  We were at that age where we just taunted eachother to do bad things.  Dallas actually did it though.  If I remember correctly, Travis had a car at that time and he drove Dallas home from school that day and they dropped it off then.

Few weeks go by I guess, my dad and I are out running errands and he says we need to stop at my mom's for something.  I actually don't remember how it all unfolded, but it just so happened that Dallas and Travis and I were planning on going to a concert, X-fest a week or two later.  My punishment was that I would have to leave the concert early.  Total weak sauce.  I missed Green Day, and them lighting their drums on fire, the bassist from Jimmies Chicken Shack running on stage naked during someone's set, and another band or two I think.  I also just missed out on the bonding time with Travis and Dallas.  I didn't even do anything...but sometimes, it's the lack of action that we end up paying for.

When I was in 5th grade or so, the whole Jansport and Eastpak fad hit.  Everybody was using these $40-$60 back packs, and you weren't cool unless you had one.  Josh Smith was really the one that gave me the most peer pressure about it.  I begged my mom to buy me one.  They had a lifetime warranty and if there was anything wrong with it, you just sent it back for repair.  You could also stab a pen through the bag and it would "heal" itself.  How awesome was that?  Anyway, my mom was very reluctant to get me one, but one day, she caved. 

When I picked my mom up to drive out to Philly a few weekends ago, she noticed I still had my eastpak.  I think she was pleasantly surprised that I had stood behind my words and promise to take care of it.  I was surprised she remembered the whole ordeal.

I've sent the bag back for repairs once since I've had it.  The middle compartment zipper had broken and torn.  I think it took a month to get it back, but it came back with all new zippers (they had "JS" imprinted on them...so I think Jansport bought eastpak or something), new stitched leather bottom, and new zipper pulls, when I didn't have any on them when I sent it to them.  Awesome.  I've never been happier with a bag.  Thanks, Mom.

I'll be the first to say I didn't have much of a childhood.  When I should have been loud and curious, I was getting yelled at for talking while Daddy was working.  When I should have been out exploring the woods, I was packing my bags for the custody schedule change.  When I should have been wrestling with my brother, I was in the car riding to his rehab appointments.  So it's not that I had a terrible childhood, it's just that I had to grow up too fast and there wasn't much time left to be a child.  Memories are few and far between, but the ones that stick out are not only a reminiscent form for me now, but they were a reflective time for me then.  Some of my fondest memories are just watching the people around me have a good time.  When we were all kids, we used to go over my grandma Matthew's house and play Nintendo upstairs.  Brady was the oldest and the best at games.  Micah was the next best.  I, honestly, just enjoyed watching them play.  I can even remember saying I wanted to skip my turn so that Brady could play. 

I can also remember times at my dad's house when Uncle Kenny and Dean Roberts were over.  Those guys were just big kids together, and really, I think they still are, they just pretend to be grown ups.  One specific day I remember, it was pouring rain outside.  I can't remember what we were doing outside, I want to say working on the house, but as soon as it started raining, we all went inside.  A few minutes later, we notice that Uncle Kenny and Dean are outside playing in the rain.  there was a downspout missing, and it was basically a waterfall.  We all went out to play too.  No cares, just general horseplay, holding others under the waterfall, splashing around, completely oblivious to the lightning around.  These are the memories I cherish.

Yay, I'm secure enough in my adulthood to tell this little gem.  Maybe a testament to my social awkwards, maybe a propellant of my social awkwardness...who's to say, either way, what a childhood.  So I was in scouts as a kid, and really had a great time all along.  If I remember correctly, I skipped the smallest ranking of cub, but had 2 years of wolf, 2 years of bear, and I think there is a 3rd rank in there before webelo scout...had to google it, bobcat.  Webelo is where all the cool stuff happens, in my opinion, but as you can see, i was pretty well invested in the program with around 7 or 8 years involved.  Towards the end, I started getting less and less involved, perhaps a little disinterest on my part, perhaps some parental differences, perhaps going to a private school instead of the public school that all the other kids went to, but probably a mix of all of the above.  I think there was a time where I had missed like 3 months of activity and one day my dad just said, "You're going." when I wanted out because I didn't know anyone anymore.  Anyway, it was a night where there was some structured lecture thing going on, maybe about 50 kids in the room sitting in a grid of fold out wooden chairs.  I don't remember how old I am, I think 5th grade, but certainly old enough to know when I need to go to the bathroom, and I did know I had to...just not sure of what protocol was necessary to go.  Welcome to my oppressed childhood.  The scout master is up there rambling on and on, and I'm stuck worried about getting in trouble for interrupting if I just got up and went to the bathroom without someone's permission.  I tried my hardest to wait.  I knew it couldn't be long until the end of the meeting.  I don't know anyone here anymore.  I really don't want to be here.  Then I just let it flow.

  I remember now that I was wearing brand new white sneakers too.  I just sat there waiting for the meeting to end...not that I new what to do once it ended...but yeah...I was deer in the headlights mentally.  Then the others caught on.  "Dude, you're leaking" someone said.  I played confused and tried to blame it on a leak in the ceiling...haha, wow.  "I know, this crazy leak in the ceiling is falling right onto my crotch and I just don't know what to do about it since I am chained to this chair and the chair is nailed to the floor" seemed like a good explanation at the time at least.  The scout master said the final words, something that would start everyone to get up and do some kind of pledging, and I bolted in the crowd of movement.  I ran outside, with no destination in mind, I was thinking about hiding in a bush until I saw my mom, but thank God she had already parked the van in the parking lot and was cleaning it out.  Mom to the rescue...again.  I remember balling my eyes out trying to explain what the crap I just did.  I can't even imagine what was going through her head.  She helped me come up with a plan to sneak into the house so that Serah and J'aime wouldn't see.  I think they did though.  That, or my mom told them later.  I know my dad told them later.

You'd think that'd be it though, right?  Nah, dad says I'm not allowed to quit.  Time to go to a weekend camping trip with the troop.  I was not friends with the kids before because I just didn't know them, but now they're not friends with me because I'm the kid who peed his pants.  They stuck me in a tent with one of the older kids, probably so I didn't get beat up.  I don't remember much of that weekend, really it seemed like it went pretty well in retrospect.  We camped at a small airport and I got to fly in a plane for the first time.  There was a helicopter there too, and I really liked helicopters.  The worst part about it though was spaghetti was on the menu for the whole weekend...and I didn't eat spaghetti.  It was ham barbecue for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Since that weekend, I've never been able to eat a ham barbecue sandwich without emotionally cringing.  It has become the embodiment of one of the worst childhood experiences I can remember.

Good ol' Heritage Hills Christian Academy.  Bring your conservative christians, your social outcasts, your vagabond christian school seekers, your public school expellants, they're all welcome.  I met some of my best friends there.  From 3rd grade to 9th grade, I learned a lot, grew a lot personally, and I attribute so much of my life's foundation from lessons and experiences from there.  There's probably some sort of metaphor tying into the fact that it was filled with asbestos and is now torn down, but I live in a world of self-denial.

So many stories I could tell you.  Getting caught in the library with my first real girlfriend by my mother, sliding a table into the stomach of my math teacher who would later turn out to be my step father, being kicked out of class by my english teach who just happened to be my mother because "she couldn't stand to see my face.", how we used to ask our history teacher if we could go to the gym instead of having class; and we would, or how we'd skip the whole asking permission thing and just go right to the gym or to the closed off half of the 3 story ~30 classroom building to explore, or make our way to one of the numerous access points to the roof...Ah, the roof.  Such a huge building...100 feet?  We'd throw anything we found off of it.  One time, we we're running around the many different sections of the roof and one of my best friends, Dallas, nearly jumped into a section with a 30 foot drop to the second floor accidently.

But I'll spare the stories.  The real thing I look back to is what I made mention to in the first paragraph; How much I attribute that place in the forming the groundwork for my life, sense of humor, and attitude.  Could I have been a bigger achiever?  You betcha, but I wouldn't have had fun.  Infact, I probably wouldn't have learned how to have fun.  Life is a series of moments, and that's all you get.  Would the Federalist Papers have expanded my understanding of the government?  Perhaps, but I wouldn't have the pictures that I drew with friends that I have today.  Life can't be a structured, scheduled, organized, predictable thing.  Free thinking and human expression cannot have boundaries and limitations.  There are so many different people that I've been exposed to, and we all have our histories weaved together, so much thicker than just a public school experience of the same faces day in and day out.  We all learned together and grew together.  Maybe some were able to walk away from there without learning or growing spiritually, academically, socially, personally, or even creatively, and to those people, I apologize, but to everyone else, students, teachers, and parents a like: Thank You.

Here's on for valentine's day.  1st grade, I had a major crush on Dana Morich.  Our class probably had a dozen or so kids in it, and I always felt like Dana and I were the smart 2, that we had some sort of connection there.  We were outside for recess, and no one was around, I told her to "look over there" and pointed to the side, and as she turned her head, I kissed her cheek.  I totally forget now is she slapped me or what....heh, I just know we got teased for a while about that.  That was the first time I wanted to kiss a girl.  There was this girl in kindergarten named Sarah that I had a crush on though.  She liked my cousin micah though.  When we had recess, the girls would chase us around the gym, I think they'd try to kiss us...but mostly just micah.  I think I might have been going through my fat salami stage in life...I dunno.  I always had to pull the girls off him and his face would be all red from: 1) embarrassment, 2) not being able to breathe, 3) the girls kissing his cheeks.  Fun times.  I wonder where they all are now....

After my parents split, I got to have a day with my dad by myself.  Thursday nights.  I normally had a boy scout meeting then we'd go home and watch the simpsons.  Sometimes, we'd take a drive out past Malden crossroads and up a hill to the left past a church to a dead end road and watch route 43 being built.  We actually watched roads being built a lot together.  I remember taking Serah and Nathan to watch them build an on ramp from 43 to interstate 70.  I dunno if the smell of freshly poured concrete is my second favorite smell (behind the aroma of a tobacco pipe) because of the nostalgic quality or if it really is just something I like.  I always liked watching the bobcat dig out the basement of my dad's house and the smell of the concrete mix the guys used to build the walls and floor.  But back to those Thursday nights...those were sacred.  I can't think of any bad times on those nights.  I got to hang out with my dad and do something we both enjoyed.  He tried, I know he did.  Sometimes, we'd even go and play raquetball at the YMCA while serah and J'aime would run or play basketball.  I think that if our relationship would have kept going, we would have had some good father-son talks watching roads being built.  We never left that dead end road though.  How metaphoric...

When I was around 7 or so, my parents decided to split.  I don't remember particularly why, but it was decided that J'aime and I both needed to see psychiatrists as a result.  Actually, I don't remember if J'aime started at the same time as I did or not, all I know is right around that time, I started seeing Cindy.  From memory, she was in her 30s, dirty blonde hair to her shoulders, not too over weight, but not overly attractive either.  Anyway, I'd go see her, I think once a week, and she had this black garbage bag (in retrospect, you'd think she'd have a better storage solution) full of toys that she'd let me play with as she played with me and probably used mind tricks to have me reveal my feelings.  I was actually pretty open to this, and want to say I grew pretty attached to meeting with her.  Heck, it was surely better than beating my forehead against the door frame when my parents started fighting...(again on retrospect...perhaps that's why they sent me to therapy??).  I have no idea how long I saw Cindy, but I remember that she came to my graduation ceremony one here.  She sat right in the middle of the room, right pews, first seat in.  I still remember walking down and being so happy and surprised to see her.

Somewhere along the way though, Cindy decided to get married and move to Connecticut or some other New England state.  It was sudden and unexpected, but perhaps that was their plan.  I remember crying at home once; crying to talk to Cindy.  I can remember my mom trying to find her number in the phone book or some way to get in contact with her.  I don't think we ever did.

I think I was done with head doctors for a while, until I went to see Mark.  Mark was a mid 20s guy, slim, tan, wore a thin gold chain, and pretty energetic.  I remember thinking his wife was pretty attractive, so he must have been some sort of lady's man.  He was cool.  Probably too cool for me.  He talked about playing basketball one day with me, but we'd play waste basketball in his office instead.  I think i saw him for a while, and it was good having a guy to talk to, but like i said, I think he was just too cool and energetic for me.

I know I've been to at least 1 other therapist, Rod, but he was more like a family therapist that we all saw at times.  Although I do not have the scientific pleasure of being objective and can only rely on introspection, I feel that shrinks were a waste of time and money, at least for me.  Therapy, by that I mean an act, hobby, or some sort of interaction or escape is invaluable though.  Legos -- Therapy.  Guitar -- Therapy.  Driving long distance -- Therapy.  This blog -- Therapy.