AKA Michael

By Michael Garramone

This is the story of a young boy born to two hard working Italian parents, as an only child, in an affluent area of Queens New York, with a very bright future. That all came to a crashing end the morning his mother shot and killed his father while he sat out in front of one of their stores when he was 12. The story then goes on a multitude

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Garramone
• Release date: Jun 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9780692908358

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A.K.A. Michael

The Story Behind the Headlines

By Michael Garramone

For more information about Michael Garramone

akamichael.com    

[e-mail] 

A.K.A. Michael: Copyright 2001 by Michael Garramone.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in the form of a phonographic recording; nor may it be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or otherwise be copied for public or private use-- other than for fair use as a brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews without prior written permission of the publisher.

Acknowledgements

To my mother, Alma, for birthing me, and forcing me to grow up overnight. I’ll always love you, in my own odd way.

To Mary Schirmer, for helping me to edit my manuscript/montage.  [e-mail]

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

PROLOGUE

After school one day, I decided to stop at Marcus Capeeto’s house on the way home to see if he was there. Marcus and I had gone to school when we were younger but now I was going to private school and I was in the sixth grade. It was 1975. A couple of the other kids in the neighborhood thought he was a little crazy. He wasn’t a little crazy, he was nuts, but he was still my best friend. When I got there I noticed him working on his bike in his driveway.

Hey, Marcus.

Hey, Mike.

What’s up? What are you doing?

I had to fix my bike. Why? What’s up?

Nothing. You want to go for a ride to Bowne Park or something?

Yeah. All right.

Okay, so ride me over to my house so I can change my clothes. Then we’ll go.

After we got to my house and walked into the kitchen, Marcus asked me if I had a soda.

Yeah, there’s probably something in the fridge.

Marcus walked over to the refrigerator stopped and said, Holy shit… what’s that?

What?

That! he said as he pointed up at the refrigerator.

I looked on top of the fridge and saw a handgun. I wasn’t really surprised to see a handgun in my house because I knew my parents owned one or two for the stores, but I had never seen either of them leave one out like this.

Shit, I guess one of my parents left it out, I said.

Wow, Marcus exclaimed. Let me look at it.

Before Marcus would think of grabbing it, I shoved a chair over and picked it up. The first thing I noticed was that it was loaded because it was a revolver. After I got off the chair, Marcus kept insisting for me to let him see it.

If I let you see it, you’ve got to be real careful with it. Ya’ know, we could kill each other with this thing.

I know, Mike. I won’t fuck around. I’ve just never held a handgun before.

I let him hold it but even as I handed it to him, I wondered a little bit about his crazy spells.

Wow, cool! he said as he pointed it towards the doorway.

After that we both fooled around with it for a few minutes, and then I put it in the dining room. When my mother got home a little while later, I told her what we had found in the house.

Where was it? she said.

On top of the refrigerator, Marcus answered.

How did it get here?

I don’t know. I answered.

Well where is it now?

It’s in the dining room, I put it there after Marcus and I checked it out.

Son of a bitch, she said.

Obviously she was mad, but luckily it wasn’t with me, I thought. After Marcus left that night, I did my homework, watched some TV, and then went to bed. The next morning my mother woke me up at 5:00.

Why are you waking me up so early? It’s still dark out. I’ve got school today. I can’t go to the country.

I know. We’re not going to the country. We’re going over to the store to talk to your father.

What the hell do I have to talk to him for?

You don’t. You just have to come with me to talk to him, that’s all.

Man, I knew I shouldn’t have done that thing with the mortgage money. Now I’ve got to be the middle man every time my mother needs money from my father. Besides that, why does my mother have to ask my father for money? He should just give it to her. She’s worked just as hard as my father has over the years to buy the luncheonette.

We got there at about 5:30 and sat in the car waiting for my father. Luckily my mother had taken some pillows and a blanket for me, so I could go back to sleep. After a little while I heard my mother start up the car, so I asked her what was going on. Nothing. We’re leaving. Your father had his employee open the store.

When we got home, I went back to bed for a little while. Then I woke up, ate some breakfast, and went to school.

The next morning we went through the same routine, but my father didn’t show up to open that morning either. During the ride back home, I wondered why my mother couldn’t call my father on the phone for money, but I guess she had her reasons. After we got home and I had a little more sleep then I got up, ate breakfast, and went to school.

The next morning my mother really had her hands full trying to get me out of bed.

Come on, Ma. He wasn’t there for two days. He’s probably not going to be there today either, I reasoned.

Come on, Michael. You’ve got to come with me. Don’t argue.

I could tell that she was serious, but I still really didn’t feel like going, and I actually started to get pissed at my father for making my mother and now me go through this every morning. I obviously had fallen asleep on the ride over there, because the next thing I heard was my mother say, Come on, Michael, get up. Your father’s here.

I’m too tired, Mom. Let me stay here and sleep.

All right, go to sleep. I’ll be right out.

A minute or two later I heard my mother and father start arguing. Man, why the hell do I have to be here for this? I can’t understand why they couldn’t argue on the phone or something. I guess because it was something new they had started doing they needed some time to work out the guidelines.

After thinking for a second or two more, I wondered if I should go in and say my peace about the whole situation. Na, I thought. It’ll be fine. Besides, Nicky looked like he knew what he was talking about the day he warned me about getting involved. I can go back to sleep anyhow. Just before I dozed off, I heard someone blow off firecrackers, and I thought to myself, That’s funny. It’s March, it’s not even close to the fourth of July.

A few minutes later my mother opened the car door and got in. Good, I thought, now I can go home and get some sleep. After a few minutes I hadn’t heard the car start yet, so I opened my eyes and said, Come on, Ma. Let’s go home... I’m tired.

After a few seconds my mother said, Michael… get up. Get up, Michael.

I could tell from the tone of her voice that she was serious, so I sat up. My mother turned around in the car seat to face me, and I don’t know why but when I first looked into her face it scared me for a second. Then my mother looked into my eyes and said, Michael… no matter what happens, Mommy loves you okay?

What…What are you talking about…? What happened…?

Nothing, Michael. Just come here and give me a hug.

As I hugged her, she squeezed me tightly for a few seconds and then started to cry.

Mom...! What’s wrong?!?

Nothing, Michael. Nothing. Then she started the car, and we drove off.

I asked her one more time during the ride home if everything was all right and she gave me the same answer, being that my mother had never lied to me before, I figured everything was okay. I lay back down, even though something didn’t seem right. I woke up a little while later and asked my mother if we were home yet.

No, Michael, we’re not home yet.

Well, ya’ know, I’ve got school today.

Don’t worry, Michael. You might not have to go to school today.

Cool! I thought as I shut up quickly and went back to sleep.

When we got home, my mother told me to go back to bed.

Why should I? I’m only going to get a little sleep.

Don’t worry. I’ll let you sleep longer.

Yeah, but then I’ll be late.

I’ll give you a note. Now go to bed.

About an hour later my mother woke me up, made me breakfast, and then sent me to school with my note.

At the end of the day on the way home, Neil asked me if I wanted to do my homework at his house. I thought about it for a second or two, and then I decided to go home. As I walked up to the corner of my block, I saw three cop cars and two unfamiliar cars parked on my lawn. I walked over to a parked car across the street and sat on the hood, wondering why there were cop cars at my house.

I wondered if my mother had a problem with one of the boarders at my house. Or maybe they were there because of this morning with my father. Na, stop dreaming. Nothing happened last night.

Instead of going inside, I decided to wait and see what happened from outside for now. Because there were never any police cars in my neighborhood, a big crowd had gathered. They all stared towards my house. A whole range of thoughts, and emotions ran through my head. Just as I was about to decide whether or not to go inside, they brought my mother out in handcuffs.

They put my mother into the cop car, and I watched them drive down my street. I sat out there with them trying to overhear any type of information I could, and then I heard Debbie, Marcus’s mother say, Oh, my God, Michael. Come here, as she started walking towards me.

Debbie… what’s going on at my house?

Oh nothing. Nothing.

Should I go over there?

Well, no. Let’s go to my house, and we’ll call from there, okay? she said.

After we got there, Debbie got me some cookies and milk and sat me down with some cartoons on TV. Debbie walked back into the room a little while later and told me to wait for my Aunt Marie to come over.

I sat at Marcus’s house for about an hour and figured that something had to be wrong. After a while, I decided to lie down to rest and prepare myself for the blow that seemed to be coming. When my Aunt Marie got there, she woke me up and took me over to my house. We got inside, and she told Ronnie and Russell, my cousins, that they could go out and play. I sat there with Marie for about an hour, and she wouldn’t or couldn’t tell me what had happened. Then finally my cousin Ronnie burst through the door yelling, Look! Look! It’s in the newspaper! ‘Wife shoots and kills husband!’

Well… I guess those weren’t firecrackers last night, I thought.

Ronnie, you little bastard. Get out of here with that newspaper, my aunt screamed.

I jumped up and grabbed the newspaper from Ronnie. There it was plain as day: my mother’s name, my father’s name, my name, and my address.

I guess I’m fucked… I said.

Oh, my God, Michael. I didn’t know how to tell you. Ronnie, get outside, Marie yelled.

Tears were running down Marie’s cheeks as she held out her arms for me to hug her. I hugged Marie for her sake; I didn’t need to be consoled at that moment while my soul was tearing in half. It was too painful for me right then to comprehend. I was numb. Marie was sitting down, and I held her as she sobbed for herself, my father, her sister and me.

There, there, Marie… it’ll be all right. It’ll be okay, I told her as I rubbed her back.

?!...Wait a minute… I’m supposed to be consoling you, Michael.

Don’t worry, Marie. I’m fine… except for a splitting headache.

Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry, she said.

For what, Marie? It wasn’t your fault. But now it’s over… it’s done… there’s no changing it.

I can’t believe you’re taking it this way, Michael. You do realize what happened, don’t you?

Yeah… I realize.

Later that night there was some talk about where I was going to sleep.

Marie, listen. I’m sleeping in my house in my bed tonight. Now if George wants to beat the shit out of me like I’ve seen him beat the shit out of Ronnie and Russell over the years that’s fine. But he better kill me tonight because I’m not going anywhere.

I could see that George wanted to slap me, but he was holding back his temper. This one time I wish he would have, because I would have definitely ended Ronnie and Russell’s misery with him on this night somehow.

That night I cried for an hour then I forced myself to cry for another half hour. After that, I swore I would never cry about anything, because nothing could ever make me this sad, or hurt this bad. Then I got pissed. I got pissed at myself for not going into the store with my mother. I got pissed at the world for letting everybody own a gun, and finally I got pissed at God.

So what’s the deal, God? I was a bad kid because I didn’t go to church last Sunday? I go to Catholic school. I go to confession, I made my communion. What the fuck for? What the fuck could I have possibly done in my twelve years on this Earth that was so bad that I should deserve this fate? Fine, I thought, you know what? Fuck this. Nothing is the truth any more, nothing is believable, and nothing lasts forever from here on in. I’ll have to jot this one down as a major fucking lesson, too. But that’s it. I don’t give a fuck about rules, fuck regulations, fuck conversations, fuck me, and fuck you, God. Fuck everything. I was blowing circuits left and right. I blew circuits I didn’t even know I had.

After I got over that trip, I started to think about what was going to happen to my own little world.

Oh shit, Mike. Where the fuck are you going to live? What are you going to do with yourself? How are you going to eat? You didn’t even eat dinner tonight. What about tomorrow? What’s going to happen to the house? Fuck it, I’ll quit school and get a job. Oh, shit, what about the business?!? I’ll go to work there. I can run that place. I’ve done it before. We can’t lose the business. I know where to get the supplies for the store. I’ll use my mother’s car. I’ve been driving for years now with her.

Wait a minute- I wonder where my father’s car is. I saw it parked in front of the luncheonette last night. Maybe I can go to the police department and get the keys to it. Then I’ll sneak back and drive it home. Shit, what about the keys to the store? I wonder if it’s locked up. What if people are walking out with everything?? No, wait, Mike, the cops must’ve locked it up. They probably found my father’s keys. Okay… now as far as cooking and selling shit in there, I’ve got that covered. The newspaper guys get paid on Sundays. The food, ice cream and soda guys get paid at the end of each month for last month’s load. Fuck, it’s the end of the month already. Okay… I’ve got about two hundred bucks in the bank. I know my mother bought me some U.S. saving bonds. Maybe I can sell them or sell some stuff around the house. Yeah, I’ll sell the fucking lawn mower I hate cutting the grass anyhow. If that doesn’t add up, I’ll save the newspaper article from tonight and ask the bill collectors to cut me a break for a month or two. Then I’ve got the rent, electric, and garbage pick-up to worry about soon. Okay, I know that the electric company won’t shut off the electric for a little while. That leaves the rent and the garbage; well, these guys have got to cut me some slack also. Shit, I can probably make most of this money in two weeks. I’ve gone in there at 6:00 in the morning, and the place is packed with all the people catching the train to Manhattan. Man, I’m bad in the mornings. Fuck it. I’ll have to sleep there. Maybe I won’t open on Sundays for a while after I make a little money. The house is making money with the boarders my mother’s renting too. Maybe, I could use some of that money. But then I’ve got to pay the mortgage, and bills here. Well, wait a minute… my grandfather can help me with some bill’s, he’s got some money, but what if he can’t live here anymore…fuck…

I juggled all of these thoughts in my mind until it short-circuited again and it shut me down, and I fell asleep.

Michael… no matter what happens, mommy loves you okay.

These words are branded into my soul forever, and they were the epitaph for my childhood… my innocence… and my wonderful, bright eyed point of view about life. I didn’t know it then, but something deep inside me died with my father that morning, like a candle, snuffed out. Being that I didn’t have any siblings, I suddenly felt very alone, and detached from the outside world, and nobody, could console this pain. Trial by fire, my rite to manhood.

So how did this happen… it’s the same question I asked myself. We were a good, hard-working family, was it fate… my destiny written in some ancient scrolls somewhere, or just a tragic mistake that never should have happened.

My father’s death was just the beginning of the events in my life, unbeknownst to me. They just kept coming in like waves thrashing me about. At times I thought I would surely drown, but I didn’t, I persevered, and I lived through them all. Occasionally I’ll see an old friend and he’ll look at me, shake his head and say Mike… you’ve been through it all man It makes the badge I wear on my chest shine a little brighter, but sometimes, I’ll ask myself why I was so lucky.

At times I’ll look at all of the tragic events that took place in my life after my father’s death. My life would be on an unfamiliar road, and changed forever each time, and I’ve wondered whom I would have become if I would have been able to stay on that temporary road for long. I’ve come to assume that life just has a way of smacking you upside your head when you’re not looking, the trick is learning when to duck.

Maybe my story will allow you to see the mistakes I made in my life so you can avoid them, maybe some of you will feel that your life is not so bad after all. Maybe you’ll laugh… maybe you’ll cry, or maybe you’ll just enjoy my story… well… enjoy.

CHAPTER 1

BRIGHT EYED AND BUSHY TAILED

The first memories I have about myself are of being 5 years old, in 1968. Man, I was handsome and strong, I thought; just look at these muscles. I lived in Astoria, Queens, N.Y., with my grandfather, Baisilo Giannini, and my parents, John and Alma Garramone. We lived in a one-bedroom apartment. My grandfather, or Basil as my mother would call her father, would always tell me never to forget that I was second generation Italian. After a little talk about my moral character, like how smart I was, he’d joke with me and say in his Italian accent, Buta you face, it’sa looka like a little monkey.

My grandfather would always babysit me while my parents were out working, they both had two jobs because they wanted to get a piece of the better life. As for me, I thought life was pretty good. The only thing I thought might be better was if my parents were around more often instead of getting a piece of that better life. But being with my grandfather had its advantages. My grandfather let me get away with more things.

By the time I was 6 my grandfather and I would talk for hours about stories from when he was in Italy. He explained to me that he had started to work for a restaurant owner when he was 13 part-time. By the time he was 17 the owner, who had no heirs, had died and left both restaurants to my grandfather.

Really, Grandpa? If you had two restaurants, then why did you leave?

Why!?! Becausa my brother, he’sa get killed ina war and then one week’a later they tell’a me I gotta go to war! He’d say, as he’d slap his knee.

So what did you do, Grandpa? I asked.

So what I do!?! I jumpa ona boat and come over here to America.

He went on to tell me how he started to work in construction for Barnaby Construction Company. Two of the proudest jobs he did with them were working on Astoria Pool and the biggest building in the world, the Empire State Building.

And’a you know who’sa the last concrete man to get laid off!? he’d say proudly.

No… who, Grandpa?

Me! Baisilo Giannini, I’ma do the whole 72nd floor by myselfa. Buta you no gonna do construction. You gonna be a doctore’ or a lawyer.

Really, Grandpa, I can be a doctor?

Sure… you can’a be anything you wanna, Michael.

But by the time he’d try to teach me to speak Italian, I’d insist that I had to watch cartoons.

I really didn’t remember my father’s parents too much because they lived in New Jersey, and my parents never seemed to have the time to drive out to their house. They were too busy. For a little while, my cousin Dino came to live with us, he was my first cousin. It was nice to have him there because I had no brothers or sisters.

Dino was about 6 month's older than me, but I was a little bigger than him. The nice thing about him living with me was having a playmate around all the time, day and night. One of the things we loved to do was to take our big metal Tonka trucks downstairs to play in the dirt.

In a neighborhood with six-story buildings, the only piece of dirt available was a missing block of sidewalk that had a four-inch wide tree in the middle of it. But we were kids, and kids adapt. To us it was as big as a city park. Once we got past the scheduling of whose turn it was to kick, or pick up the shit the city dogs had left on our dirt since the last time, we were fine. Before long, Dino and I were inseparable. Then for some reason, Dino left before Christmas, and I felt kinda bad opening presents without him, especially since I got an electric train set.

The best part about that Christmas, though, was when my father got an idea to lower the dead Christmas tree out of our fifth floor apartment on a rope. The fun part was when it crashed through someone’s window, and my father looked back inside wide-eyed and said, Oh, shit!

I thought it was funny and started laughing until my mother looked at me and said, Oh yeah, it’s real funny, especially since I told your father not to do it!Which made me quiet.

Now go downstairs and see if everything is all right, John, my mother said to my father.

When my father came back up a few minutes later, he was smiling.

What are you smiling about? my mother said.

Well, I went downstairs and nobody was there; so I asked a neighbor if they knew the people who lived there, and they told me that the people had gone away.

So what’s so funny? my mother asked.

Can you imagine this poor bastard coming home and seeing a Christmas tree crashed through his apartment window? He’s gonna think an elf was pissed at him or something.

I felt like busting out with laughter, but I decided to try to hold it in. I did this long enough until I saw my mother smile, and then we all busted out with laughter. After we all calmed down, my father called the super of the building and then went to fix the window with him.

A few days after that, even though my mother told me to wait for my father to come home, I decided to set up my electric trains. I really loved my train set, and I could watch them for hours. I got it all pieced together, but after I plugged it in, it still didn’t work, so I checked the entire track set-up. The only possible explanation was that whatever came out of the wall wasn’t working, so I stuck my finger in the wall socket and felt it. Zaaaaaap! My fingertip was throbbing, and my head felt like someone had slapped it really hard. I sat there and experienced my first migraine headache from the pain, and then screamed out my disapproval.

What’s the matter, Michael? Come in here, and let mommy see, my mother said.

Boy, I thought, if she can kiss this and make it go away she must really be magic. I walked inside and held up my finger while I was crying.

But there’s nothing there, Michael.

Ahh, he’sa tired, my grandfather said.

Tired…! I’ve never been more awake in my life, I thought.

Here, let me kiss it and put you to bed then, my mother said.

Yeah, if you don’t believe that this is serious, than going to sleep doesn’t sound like a bad idea right now, I said to myself.

After my mother put me to bed, I wondered how something I liked so much could hurt me so bad.

The only other strong memory I have of living in Astoria before we moved was the time my neighbor’s dog got a hold of my arm and started to shake me around like a rag doll. These neighbors were friends of ours and, after taking a nap, I woke up and didn’t see my mother around. I figured that she must be next door.

I walked into their apartment, and after the door closed behind me, I started to call out for my mother. The only thing I heard was a low growl in response. The neighbor's apartment was set up differently than mine. Luckily for me they had two doors that led into their kitchen, one through the hallway, and one through the living room. I ran in circles through those doors screaming with the dog chasing me until I was dizzy, but I dare not stop.

Their dog was the biggest, meanest, German shepherd I had ever seen. When the neighbors took him for a walk they used to have to put a muzzle on him. He knocked me down and tried to bite me even with his muzzle on one time. Now I had walked right into the lion's den. I didn’t know where my mother was, but after she heard my screams, I heard her yelling out in the hallway. As I was running in circles I screamed, In here! In here!

To which my mother replied, Where?!?

I decided to try to make a grab for the door handle and looked over my shoulder to see him come flying around the corner for the umpteenth time with a dizzy look on his face. He tackled me into the front door, and managed to grab my arm in his mouth. After hearing the noise of me being tackled my mother realized where I was, but now she couldn't get the door open because the dog, and I, were dancing behind it.

My mother forced her way into their apartment, grabbed a big metal frying pan, and cracked it over the dog’s head several time's until he let go. By then it didn’t matter to me because I had decided to pass out.

I awoke in time to see a doctor try to cauterize my arm. It’s a process where they use electricity to burn your wound closed. It’s a very shocking experience for a six-year-old, pun intended. Needless to say, I volunteered my little kid freaking dance, but I did go through the whole procedure very un-optimistic about the outcome, although it did look a lot better when he was done. Once it healed I could only see where his canine teeth had bit me.

A couple of weeks after that, my mother came home one day and told me that we were going to move into a nice big house we bought. Not wanting to move from our house, I said, Why? We live in a nice house now.

No, Michael, this is a little house. We’re going to move into a big house with a big yard.

Really…? A big yard?

Yes, a real big yard where you can play.

Well, I’d like to take a look at the yard then, I guess.

A few days later, my mother and I went to Flushing to look at our new house.

Well, Michael, come out of the car and take a look at this place.

It was strange. I had never thought I would or could live in anything so huge in my life. The house was actually three stories tall. When we went inside and walked around for a minute or two, I thought for sure we would get lost if we went any farther. After we walked through the basement and all eleven rooms, I told my mother that we didn’t have enough people in our family to live in all these rooms. She explained to me that I shouldn’t worry about it too much, because a lot of people lived this way. The outside was just as mind-boggling as the inside. We walked around the front yard and into the backyard. When we got back there, I saw a little house there.

Wow, what’s that? I asked.

It’s a garage, Michael.

Is it ours too? I asked.

Yes, it goes with the house, she said.

Cool! I want to live in there by myself.

Well, we’ll talk about it once we move in, my mother assured.

What about the grass? Can I play on it? I asked.

Yes, Michael. This is going to be our house. You can play anywhere you want to.

Even the front yard?

Yes, Michael, anywhere in the yard you want to.

My mother and I sat on the grass together, and we started talking about how nice it would be to live there. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but even though it seemed like a good idea, something about this house scared me deep inside. I told my mother how I felt, and she just shrugged it off and reassured me that everything would be fine.

The next couple of days we shuttled between Astoria and Flushing. My father and some friends helped us move on a hot summer day in 1969. By the time we got all of our belongings there, they barely filled three rooms of our new home. We set up a bedroom in the living room for the first week or so until my mother decided who would get which room. The one thing I really liked about the living room was that we could make a fire in our new fireplace. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t ask my mother if I could put the fireplace to good use, but she would tell me that we didn’t need to light a fire because it was still warm out, as if I cared about the weather.

My grandfather also moved in with us, but Dino still wasn't back. I asked my mother why he wasn’t with us anymore, and she told me that he went home to live with his mother again. It’s too bad, because I know he would have enjoyed it there. After we got a little more settled, my mother asked me which room I thought I would like, so I told her I still wanted to live in the garage. She looked at me like I was nuts and said You can’t live in the garage.

Well, why not? It doesn’t seem like anyone else wants to live in there.

Well, there’s no bathroom out there.

Well… I could come inside when I have to go to the bathroom, I reasoned.

What about at night when you have to go?

I’ll come inside then, too, I said.

Michael, the door will be locked.

Why, are you going to lock me out? Is it because you don’t want me to live out back? I asked.

No, it’s not to lock you out. It’s to lock out any burglars, she explained.

Why? Do we have burglars here? We didn’t have any back home.

Yes, we did, she said.

We did?

Well... no, we didn’t. I mean yes, we did. What I mean is.... Listen, I bought this house because of all the rooms it has. Now there are six bedrooms inside, so pick one because you are not living in the garage.

I thought I put up a good fight, but you know how stubborn mothers can get.

I still thought the upstairs was a little spooky, so I decided to take a small room off the kitchen next to the back porch which was a corner room. It wasn't really a bedroom it was more of a pantry, or a breakfast room, but it was pretty large. I figured it was the best location because I had my own door to the back yard, and I could make a quick exit just in case there was a boogieman living in our house. Another door led into the kitchen, where there was a bathroom and a side door to the driveway. There were two doors that went into the dining room, one of them was a swinging door, which I thought was odd.

Before I moved in, my mother decided that we should paint my room. I wanted to paint it purple, but my mother was being stubborn again, so we stuck with white. I thought it was a cool idea because I never painted a room before. My job as it turned out was to paint from the floor as high as I could reach, but as hard as I tried I couldn’t get my mother to let me paint from the ladder. After a couple of hours, my job was done, so I asked my mother if I could paint my fire engine with some red paint that I found in the garage.

Well, I don’t think you could do any harm, and it’ll keep you busy, so let’s go. I’ll open the can for you.

She set me up with the can of red paint and a brush. My fire engine was a metal one that I could sit in and pedal, so it took me a little while to paint it. One thing I did notice was this paint smelled different than the other paint we were using, but I figured it smelled that way because it was old and spoiled.

When I got done with my fire engine, I looked into the can and saw that I had a bunch of paint left, so I looked around and decided that my wooden sandbox would look nice if it was red. After I painted that and a bunch of sand, I figured that now the tree next to my sandbox would have to be red also. While I was painting the tree, I started to feel a little dizzy, but I thought nothing of it as I started on the fence and garage. After I painted a few strokes on the garage, I realized that I didn’t have enough paint for the whole garage, so I figured since I had so much paint on myself anyhow, I would look pretty cool if I was red. I got undressed down to my underwear and used up the rest of the paint. If I had to admit it, I did look pretty good in red.

When I was finished painting myself, I decided to take a little cruise and show myself off. As I started down the driveway, I saw Mrs. Courtard’s daughter, Virginia. They were our new neighbors. Mrs. Courtard looked older than my grandfather, who was about seventy, so Virginia had to be about fifty years old.

Michael… does your mother know that you’re red? she said sweetly.

Oh, yeah. She told me I could paint, I reassured her.

Well, it’s getting a little late. Why don’t we ask her if you should take your little drive now? she said.

I pedaled over to the side door as Virginia walked over and rang the bell. My mother opened the door and took a look at me. Michael! What did you do!?

Well, I painted… you said I could, I explained.

My mother asked me to stand up so she could take a look at me, and then she said, Oh, my God, look at you. You’re covered in it.

Then my mother thanked Virginia and asked her where she had found me.

He was just about to make a left turn out of the driveway. You know, Alma, it smells like enamel paint. You’re probably going to have to use some turpentine or kerosene to get it off. So if you don’t have any, come over because I’m sure we have some. Good luck.

My mother told me to ride around back, and she would meet me there. As I was pedaling towards the back, I heard my mother say, Oh, my God, wait until your father sees this, which stopped me dead in my tracks. I thought for a moment that maybe I should haul ass out of the driveway, but then realized I had nowhere I could go. Besides, my father is a guy; he’ll probably like my paint job anyway.

My mother tried using turpentine, but I yelled like an alley cat and tried to get away because it burned. My mother didn’t know what to use, so she called my father who was at the cab company where he worked.

The conversation went something like this, John, your son painted himself with red enamel paint... No, just about completely. I’m trying to use turpentine, but he keeps yelling that it burns. What else can I try? Huh? Well, yeah… I guess it’s kinda funny, but I’ve got to get this paint off of him. He’s covered from head to toe. No, John, I’m not going to take any pictures of him. Besides, if I made this into a funny matter, he might try blue next time. Oh, you still think it’s funny, huh? Well, wait until you see what he painted for you. No, you’ll probably see when you get home. Just go into the backyard. It’ll be waiting for you there… Gas? Are you sure that’ll work? All right, if I don’t call you back, then that means it worked. Bye.

Well, for the most part the gasoline worked, but my eyebrows and hair were red for a few more days. After my father came home and saw what I had done, he advised me that I had better check with him before I decided to paint anything else around the house, and this is the short version.

My mother had a priest come over to bless the house. I had been to Church before, and the priests were always dressed in white. I was a little leery of him because he was dressed in what looked like a long black dress, and he seemed a little too serious about what he was there for. This didn't seem like it was unfolding the way my mother had explained it to me, he seemed more serious, then friendly. He sat down with my mother and father and explained to them what he would be doing. Then he asked the whole family to follow him through each of the rooms as he went along. He sprinkled a little water in each room, and I thought it was a little odd because I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. I asked my mother if she understood what he was saying, and she told me that he was speaking in Latin.

Latin? I said, How are we supposed to understand him if he’s speaking in Latin? Why doesn’t he speak in English so we can understand him?

My mother gave me a look and said, Be quiet… I’ll tell you later.

We headed upstairs to the bedrooms after we got done with the first floor. We had to wait for my Grandfather because he couldn’t make the stairs so well. After we got done with the three smaller rooms on the second floor, the priest started on the master bedroom. I was pretty bored by then, so I was glad that there were only the two rooms in the attic after this one. The priest started talking his funny Latin again, when all of a sudden, the biggest black raven I had ever seen flew right through the screen window. I got scared for a second and then remembered that I was standing there with a priest. I looked up at him to reassure myself and saw him standing there with his eyes wide open along with his mouth, so I decided to get scared again.

My father started to chase the bird around the bedroom, while my mother shouted, John, don’t touch the bird! Just leave it alone, and open the other window!

My father looked at my mother as he was trying to catch it and said, Alma, it’s just a bird.

As my mother said, John, please don’t touch the bird again, my father caught it.

He looked at it and then showed it to my mother. It’s just a bird, He said as he pushed it back out the window and let it go.

My mother looked at the priest who was still standing there with the same look on his face and said, Father… do you think everything is okay? The priest said, I don’t know. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.

Do you want to bless this room again? my mother asked.

No, I’m going back to St. Andrew’s and talk to the other priests and see what they think, he explained.

I looked at him and waited for him to smile again like he did downstairs, but he never did.

After he left, in a hurry, we all went back to the kitchen. My mother was a little upset and asked my father to wash his hands.

Alma, my father said. Come on, it was a God-damned bird! Forget about it. And they left the conversation at that.

My grandfather was taking care of me while my parents were still working two jobs each. My mother was working at La Guardia airport during the day and at White Castle on Bell Boulevard and Northern Boulevard in Bayside at night. They made great little hamburgers there. My father would work at the office in a cab service during the day and then at night at a place called Bruno and Delayo, which was some kind of paper mill in New Jersey. My father would leave the cab place in Astoria and come home at about 4 in the afternoon, do some chores and go to sleep. He’d wake up about 12 in the morning, and then he would drive out to Hackensack, New Jersey. When he got there, he’d get the truck he drove and go to Manhattan to do his route. He would get done about 7 a.m. and then drive back to Jersey, get his car, drive home, take a shower and go to work at the cab business. I’d get to see my mother a little more during the day, because she had shorter hours, and then I’d get to see my father during the weekends while he was doing house chores. I guess they had a reason for working so much, but sometimes I would miss them.

On one weekend my father told me that I was going to have to start doing some chores around the house to help out. I didn’t like the idea until he told me that I would get paid to do them, which sounded better. Oh, well, I guess it was only a matter of time before I was going to have to go to work around here anyway, I thought.

The money had sounded good, but since it was such a big house and having no brothers or sisters to help out, it was a pretty big job. I had to take out all the garbage in the house from the kitchen, bathrooms, and bedrooms to the big garbage cans outside, and then take them to the curb. I had to cut the grass once a week, with a push-mower, trim the bushes every two weeks, with scissors clipper's, and sweep out all three floors of the hallway once a week. My mother and father took a bedroom for themselves, but not the master bedroom. She didn’t want to sleep in that room after what took place with the priest. All the other rooms were empty. Because I didn’t get to see my father much, he would put a note under my door that would lead me to three, four or five other notes which would all get me closer to my money until I would find where he hid it that week.

I was out playing in the front yard one day and, while I was out there, this funny little blond girl kept yelling, Hey… Hey you…

I figured she’d stop in a little while if I didn’t answer her, but she didn’t. She kept it up for about another ten minutes until I yelled, What! What do you want?

What’s your name? she asked.

You mean to tell me that you called for fifteen minutes just to find out my name?

Yeah, but you weren’t answering so I kept calling you, she added.

After I told her my name, I thought that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t. Do you live here now? How old are you? Do you have a dog or a cat? Brothers or sisters?

Awwww jeez, I knew I shouldn’t have answered her, I thought. After about two minutes of answering her questions, I lied, and told her I had to go inside now.

Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, she answered. Not if I can help it, I thought.

One day I was in the basement, and I found a bunch of kid books like Huck Finn and The Wizard of Oz. I asked my mother if she could read them to me, and she said, Do you like these books? Well, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to get you a dictionary instead, and you’re going to read them yourself.

That night my mother showed me how to look up words in the dictionary and how to look up the meanings of words I couldn’t understand. After a few days, it was almost like I was in a trance. I could hardly put the books down.

A few days later my mother said, Michael, you need to go outside and get some fresh air. Why do you think we bought this big house with the yard and all?

Yeah, I know but I’m enjoying myself, I insisted.

I know you are, but you need to go outside also, she explained.

Well, all right. Whatever, I answered.

Hey… where are you going with the books?!

Outside.

Where?!

To read.

Michael, leave the books inside!

I put the books down, shrugged my shoulders, and went outside to play.

My mother took in a tenant; his name was James Doig. She told me that he came from the Midwest, wherever that was. I asked her where he was going to live, and she said that he was going to take the master bedroom with its own bath on the second floor. I gasped and said, The raven room?

My mother looked at me and said, Don’t you dare tell him that story. Besides, I already had another priest come back and bless this house again.

Where was I? I didn’t see him. I asked.

I don’t know. You were probably outside playing, she said.

Yeah, but Ma, the first priest was even scared of that room.

The priest was not scared of that room, there’s no boogie man in there, and don’t tell him that story, okay!

I agreed, but I couldn’t help looking at Jim like I might not see him again for a long time each time I saw him.

The summer was just about over, and I was seven years old by now. My mother mentioned that I would have to start school soon, so I asked her what school was.

Well, it’s a place you go during the day, and they teach you things, and you do school work.

Work? What do you mean? Like you and dad? I said.

Yes, kinda, she answered.

At first I didn’t like the idea, but then thought to ask, Well, what are they going to pay me?

They’re not going to pay you anything, Michael.

Oh, so I have to work for free?

No, it’s not that kind of work. It’s like when we read together, and you’ll do some adding and subtracting like I showed you. Then sometimes they’ll give you homework.

Homework… Jeez, don’t I do enough work around here?

Not that kind of homework. Don’t worry, you’ll like it.

Well, that’s okay… I don’t think I want to go.

You have to go.

Well, who's gonna make me?

I am, she said.

But I thought you loved me. Why are you going to make me go to a place like that?

I do love you. You’ll like it. Now go outside and play.

I went outside and thought to myself, boy, I didn’t think my mother was going to send me to work at another job already. I thought I would get to be a kid for a while.

My father started to do some work around the house in his spare time, as if he had any. The first project was to put up paneling on the hallway walls. I decided to watch him, but after I sat there for about ten minutes my father said, What’a ya’ doing?

I’m watching.

Huh? Watching your ass. Get over here and help me.

I’m going to go to work? I asked.

Yeah, he answered.

Well, what’a ya’ going to pay me?

Oh, you want to get paid, huh? Okay, what do you want to be, a helper or a carpenter?

A carpenter makes more money, right? I asked.

Yeah, he does. So I guess you want to be a carpenter then right?

Okay, I said.

All right wise guy, go get the tape measure and that pencil. Now mark the piece of paneling where we’re going to cut out a piece for around the window. I need 3 1/2 feet up and 2 1/2 in, then 4 feet up and then 2 1/2 back out to the edge.

When I looked at the tape measure and saw all these little lines on it, I turned to my father and said, What are all these little lines in between the numbers?

He stopped what he was doing, walked over to me, pointed at the little lines on the tape measure, and said, Well, these are eights and these are sixteenths.

I sat there for a moment and wondered if I should bluff my way out of it because I was sure that carpenters made more than helpers, but decided that I didn’t want to mess up the paneling. So I said I didn’t know what he was talking about.

Well, you know what just happened, don’t ya? You just got demoted. You’re now a helper, and helpers make two dollars a day.

Boy, I thought, that’s a bummer. I almost had a good paying job.

We finished up the hallway in a couple of weekends. My job didn’t turn out to be so bad, though. All I had to do was hold the paneling while he cut it, and then help my father hold it against the wall while he nailed it. By the time we had finished the hallway, my father had showed me how to use the little lines on the tape measure, and he even helped me to cut a piece of paneling or two. I was pretty proud of myself. My grandfather would say, That’sa good. You learna construction. Makea you strong likea bull.

Yeah, I would think, I do feel pretty good. I get two dollars a day working with my father, and I get my five-dollar allowance for doing my chores. That’s almost ten dollars a weekend.

Sometimes I would walk to the toy store with my father. Once there I would walk up and down the aisles and decide which toy I wanted to buy for myself. I would walk up and down the aisles at Eisenstat’s Toy and Hardware store for almost an hour trying to make a decision. It really felt good to know that I could buy almost any toy on the shelf with the money I had saved up in my pocket. Especially when I saw another kid my age come in with his parent, yipping and yapping like a little puppy waiting to get a table scrap. Now it felt good. I was actually standing there like a man, deciding what I wanted to buy and how much of my money I wanted to spend. After I bought what I wanted, I would start walking back home with my new toy and I guess I figured out why my parents worked so hard themselves.

Mom took me shopping; she bought me a bunch of nice dress clothes. She said that they were to be school clothes and that I couldn’t wear them to play in. I was to change my clothes after school. She told me that I had a week left before I had to go to work in that school thing. My mother got another tenant; he was a pretty young guy, it seemed. I thought he was pretty cool, because he had on Army pants and boots. He told me that he had come from Vietnam. I asked my mom where Vietnam was, and she said that it was a long ways away from here.

On the last weekend before school, my mother took me over to the stone pool, on 20th Avenue by the Whitestone Expressway. We called it the stone pool because it was made out of concrete that hadn’t been painted. The stone pool wasn’t very deep and wouldn’t become a pool until the big kids would stop up the drains with their shirts. Until that, it only had six big sprinklers that would shoot up into the air. That day I was over there, and for some reason I started to spin myself around in circles with my arms stretched out and my head looking straight up in the air, looking at the sky. I started to get dizzy, so naturally I kept doing it. I mean, hey, I'm a kid, and I was supposed to do these things. My mother yelled over to me that I had better stop because I was going to get dizzy, and I yelled back, I know. That’s what I’m trying to do. When I stopped, I started stumbling around in circles, looking for myself, and then I fell down, hit my head, and blacked out.

When I woke up and opened my eyes, I was looking at a small white ceiling. My mouth felt a little numb, and so did my knee. I looked down and saw the backs of people with white coats on and my mother standing there with her girlfriend MaryAnn from Whitestone facing me. Then it felt like my knee was being tickled, so I sat up and placed my head between the shoulders of the two people with white jackets on. I looked at my knee and saw these people working on me with a needle and thread. They were sewing up my leg like my mother would do to my old pants!

Whoa! What the hell are you doing?!? I yelled as I tried to yank my leg away from them.

My mother tried to console me by saying, you’ll be all right, don't worry, which of course made me worry.

MaryAnn on the other hand started saying, Now you’ve got a real man's cut. You’re one of the boys now, which was a step in the right direction and calmed me down a little bit. But the problem was when the doctor went to stitch me again, I would see my mother close her eyes and make a bad face, which made me think about what was about to happen. Now each time the doctor would touch that area of my knee, I would rehearse my specialized little kid freak. I did this until Maryann, who had babysat me a few times said, Michael, calm down. Why are you freaking out? You already got some stitches in your lip, and you weren’t yelling then.

I did…? I wasn’t…? Where…? Right here? I said pointing to my numb lip as I asked.

Yes, right there. You got four of them, she answered.

Wow, let me have a mirror. I want to see, I said.

Maryann said, If I give you a mirror, will you let the doctor finish his work? I was so intrigued by the stitches in my lip that I didn’t have time to worry about my knee now, so I said yes.

The doctor finished his work, and then we went outside and left.

My father was home when I got there. So, he said, "I