Chapter 2: Adolescent Free Time

Adolescent free time... that's just redundant, yeah? I can't think of anything pressing between the ages of birth and 12 other than needing to use the bathroom and waking up in time to catch the bus. Growing up in Springfield, MA wasn't as terrible as it could have been; I spent a lot of time with my siblings and over relatives' houses, played lots of video games, and steered clear of the heavy gang activity that was apparently rampant in the area. I had a few neighborhood friends like the two younger boys next door and a a few kids on the next street over, but it seemed like I was more a liaison from one group to the other.

Through elementary and the beginnings of middle school, I would go to the train tracks behind my mother's neighborhood and flatten pennies and go fishing on either of the two lakes that were divided by the tracks. Over my Dad's house, my brother and I would venture over to Forest Park and build lean-tos or find the "bubblegum tree" [peppermint black birch] and rob some flavor to chew while we played on the playground by the Forest Park Zoo. Forest Park deserves it's own chapter, but since it plays into so much of my foundation, I'll just keep referring to it instead of setting it apart. Forest Park used to be owned by a wealthy guy named Barney. He had a large lake that he opened a Skate House on and would rent/sharpen ice skates in the winter and rent/maintain paddle boats in the summers. Barney donated the entire estate to the City of Springfield in the late years of his life so that everyone could enjoy it. When I was young, there used to be a collection of water buffalo that would graze in a valley off the main road that runs through the park. There was also a stable for horses that would be utilized by horse trainers and later by the Springfield Police Departments' mounted division.

The park was essentially divided into two parts: the upper register and the lower tier. The upper elevation was essentially a flat span of greenery, which was a collection of about 6 baseballs fields in one giant green plain, a collection of dinosaur footprint fossils, the horse stables at the entrance, and a zoo on the side opposite the entrance. It's the perfect place to do anything from flying a kite to lighting off model rockets and praying they don't get caught in the trees. From the upper fields, there are two roads leading down to the lower elevation which was mainly comprised of the big lake, ducks ponds, an animal hospital, and the amphitheater. This was a manually-terraced hillside that was used for meetings and natural acoustic projection way back. The main road leading to the lower level is about a half mile straight shot down a 4 degree grade hill. The smaller road is about a 7 degree grade with a sharp bend to the left about halfway down. Both are perfect for the bike riding and rollerblading that my brothers and friends and I would do down them. The wildlife of Forest Park is a myriad of species, but once the water buffalo were removed from the inaccessible lower fields, all that remained were a billion ducks and year-round geese (thank you bread-chucking patrons), an equal population of pond fish, a family of 4 giant alligator snapping turtles, and some dog-faced eels. Of course, there are also a bunch of woodland creatures like chipmunks, squirrels, birds, and deer, but with a name like Forest Park, I figured it would be implied, despite the inner-city location.

Growing up as the supreme middle child (the middle child of two different households), wasn't too difficult: My older sister skipped out on the partying/rebellion kick that the eldest child usually paves the way through. instead, she kept with the books, held some decent friends, and was pretty involved in the Girl Scouts as a counselor and, eventually, the waterfront director of the campground all summer. My younger sister was the baby and, therefore, spoiled rotten, mainly by my step-father and mainly on the topic of daily chores. We each were taught the importance of chores and however tedious they were, they were necessary for a clean home... or at least, that was the idea. I suppose it worked in the end, but really what it was teaching me was that if my little sister was assigned a task, I should keep mindful of what it was, because either my older sister or myself would have to pick up the slack. We'd complain about the lack of evenness in the "system", but I realized that we each got our just rewards in the end, mainly in the way of "hey Mom, can I/you"s. If we worked hard, we would get what we asked for, mostly. If not, we'd either have to wait, or if there wasn't anything we asked for, whenever we got in trouble we'd just get the guilt trip of : "And you didn't clean the bathroom like I asked you to yesterday morning!", for instance. I didn't realize how serious my Catholic-guilt was until fairly recently, but it definitely works.

As for my brothers, they were products of my father always being at work and his wife laying around passed out and sloshed on the couch or in bed all day. Despite the lack of discipline from them, my older sister and I kept them occupied as often as we could and they turned out on the straight-and-narrow. Destructive as young boys are, but wholesome, which balances it out, yeah? It also helped that my grandparents on my father's side also lived in a house in between the 6 blocks from my father's house to Forest Park, so we would always go over there and visit whenever we had the time. My Babci [BAH-chee] and Dziadziu [Jah-joo] (Polish for grandmother and grandfather) were incredible. They lived with, and cared for, my Uncle Phil who has a mental deficiency.

Both my Babci and Dziadziu traveled over from Poland with their parents at a very young age, fell in love, and started a family of my father and my uncle. They both worked at the Springfield Union News until retirement. Then, my Babci worked at a daycare called Krickets Korner about 3 blocks from her house (where my older sister and I attended when my mother worked in Hartford all day). My Dziadziu worked at the paper until retiring when I was about 3 and when I would visit in my younger years, we'd spend all day out mushroom hunting in Forest Park, or we'd walk the 6 miles downtown to the paper factory, see the printing presses and hang out in the editing room, then take the PVTA (Pioneer Valley Transit Authority) bus back to about a block from his house. The bus stop was at a Dunkin' Donuts. He'd get a Boston Creme and a Coffee, and I'd get a powdered, vanilla creme filled. We'd eat and walk back to his house. There, we'd watch the Red Sox play, or a movie, or Columbo/Dick van Dyke/Golden Girls/Murder She Wrote while he played the harmonica and my uncle listened to his Polka tapes. Eventually, we'd get around to making toast with butter, honey, and cinnamon. Dziadziu had a sweet tooth and I'm sure I inherited it from him. In 2nd grade, my Dziadziu got cancer and died at 73 after about 7 months in the hospital. Two years later, my grandmother died in her favorite chair, with a cup of coffee and newspaper ready to read at about 7 in the morning. My father told me she was tranquil, like she just fell asleep. In fact, they both seemed to go without pain, which is what they deserved. When they passed, my Uncle Phil was moved into assisted living because the house was too large to manage by himself. The house, unfortunately, needed repairs that were too costly to manage by my father while his wife was sapping his funds for liquor and medical bills, so he ended up selling the house before his own was foreclosed on.

The rest of my time was spent traveling with my mother's day care to whatever activity they were up to that day. We'd go on multiple walks around the neighborhood each day and sometimes travels to the park, the zoo, the Springfield Science Museum, or out to the Southwick's Zoo, blueberry picking, or the Westview Creamery. Each destination offered it's own amazement and activities, but throughout it all, I began to make my transition from minion to mentor. Taking "responsibility" of the younger kids or kids my age that needed some motivation slowly brainwashed me into being more self-aware, and eventually, lead to my current role as a flight instructor. Occupations are a few posts away, but for now, I think this suffices.

Chapter 1: Foundations

I went to school to be a pilot. Not just any school, but the world's leader in aviation. It's not just a phallic title, either; this school has been around since the beginning and the name alone will get you a job based on reputation and sneers from those who "had to work hard for where they are". As if graduating cum laude with a bachelors degree, 100k in loans, and getting a well-rounded view of what you're getting yourself into isn't as difficult as paying a couple thousand at mom-and-pops flying school to get your ratings and getting a job washing planes until your character lands you a spot in some corporate flying gig because some wealthy well-to-do has a "rags-to-riches" complex. 

All of the stereotypes are true, by the way. Smooth-talking pilots who drink too much and have too much fun at work that they end up subconsciously destroying every normal social scene that ever comes to light. It just comes with the wings. Something about being so free and yet so responsible at the same time demands a higher order of professionalism... which in turn demands a higher order of counteraction, be it through scandalous activities, raucous nightlife, or taking on a billion hobbies that squeeze every last bit of energy from you that you are left with no other option than to get a good night's sleep from the 4 hours you leave yourself to hug the rack. 

I'm of the last breed. Not exactly sure why. Maybe I should start at the beginning:

I grew up in a household of 5: my mother, my step-father, my older full-blood sister, and my younger half-blood sister. My parents divorced and remarried other people when I was 3 due to my father cheating on my mom, but I was too young to ever remember them together. My father and his wife had my two younger half-blood brothers. I would visit on the weekends to essentially hang out with my brothers and older sister while my dad worked and his wife drank. Don't worry, this is no pity-tale; she's a lush, an incapable drunk who would attempt to get a little too personal when she was actually up and moving as opposed to the normal passed out on the couch or in bed. Being in New England and of the destroy-stuff adolescent stage of life, my siblings and I were the epitome of the "get some fresh air" phrase. We'd wander around the woods breaking sticks on the trunks of trees, throwing rocks in lakes or the unlucky wildlife that would happen by (unsuccessfully, mind you), and generally being woodsmen. 

Growing up was a pretty dynamic feat in itself; my mother started out as a receptionist/secretary for some law firm in Hartford, CT. She was fresh out of college with a business degree when she met my father. They fell in love and my mother had my older sister and me. Then the philandering happened and she met and married my step-father. When my little sister came around, my mother decided she needed a new venue, so we moved into a modest one-story ranch-style home with a basement in a quaint little neighborhood and she opened her own daycare. It was a genius plan: raise your own children with others in the neighborhood the same age and get paid to do it? Not a bad gig. She would drop us all off at school when the time came, and pick us up in the younger years, or let us all ride the bus home together and watch over each other. Meanwhile, she'd be at home with the younger generations and my sister, feeding, playing, teaching, and napping them. My step-father remodeled the basement so rather than look at pipes and supports, we could have carpet, wood panelling on the walls, and a second fully functioning bathroom. 

The main stays of the daycare were moved downstairs and thats how life was for the first ten years of my life. My parents had a bedroom upstairs, my two sisters shared a room adjacent my parents, and I had my own room in the corner of the house. That was, until my older sister started hitting puberty and "needed her own space". I was moved in with my little sister, and my older sister got my room. Exciting. It lasted one school year until I told my parents I would make them a deal: If I could handle little kids playing in my stuff all day, I would move into the basement. My mother had been thinking of going back to school for a teaching degree in mathematics, so the eventual plan was to phase out the daycare in a year or two. I think I could manage the kids that long. My parents agreed because the next week I was in the solitude of the underground. Wood paneling had covered up the normal windows that would be in the basement, so when the upstairs door and the door to the back stairs and back yard were closed, you could perfectly simulate the pitch of night at any point during the day. It was heaven. I have never had trouble getting to sleep, save for one major incident which I will get into later. 

This was all around middle school when my social life started expanding and life got interesting. I think this is enough for one day.

Have a seat on the couch. Let's begin...

I'm 24 years old. Actually, 24.5 exactly yesterday. Kind of neat, but at the same time, who really cares? Once you pass that ridge of sex, drugs, and alcohol, life calms down quite a bit and you start putting things in perspective. Don't get me wrong, I love a strong drink and some rowdy love-making (drugs aren't an option due to career choice), but I've gotten to a point in life where things begin to slow down, and I'm realizing: maybe all that sprinting out of the gate hasn't really gotten me where I want to be. I'm still in a terrible, confusing, messy break-up/make-up relationship with my ex. I'm working a full-time job I'm well over-qualified for, but it gives me free tuition towards a master's degree that I hope will spring me from this ditch of a city. I can't get a job in the industry I went to school for because of inexperience (how does that catch-22 even work in real life?). I'm stuck in a city of tourists and rednecks who are all in the party and club scene, and yet, they don't welcome strangers or adventure out into any social situations of substance (going to dinner, meeting friends of friends, engaging in conversation that may lead to a phone call or later conversations). It's a dog eat dog world out there, but where do the ones cleaning up the aftermath fit into the equation? I'm not writing this for therapy or to show off to my friends or to help someone out there. I'm doing it to document and organize my life. I was going to attempt a book or memoir, but at an age younger than retirement (let alone under 25), that'd be a little smug.  Here's the rub:
I came here 7 years ago for college, made a billion friends, moved off for me dream job, was laid-off due to the recession, got into some hard times during relocation, moved back for a full-time job at my college that would give me free tuition so I could defer my ginormous loan repayments, and that's where I've been for the past two years exactly. Dating has been pretty ridiculous with sharing a phone plan and a dog with my ex-girlfriend of a 4 year relationship. Friends are pretty much all removed. Everyone is relocated or I relocated from them and the people I like to meet and hang out with are either placating me, or don't congregate in any one place that makes it easy to meet them. But thats dating for everyone, isn't it? I feel like a sane, stable relationship would solve all my problems, but it's absolutely impossible to meet worthwhile people in the vicinity. The ex and I are a whole story in ourselves and unfortunately it continues. I'd like to play the ultra-villain and tell her we'll never get back together, or tell her the truth about how even if we did, it would ever lead to the marriage she wants without some dramatic changes that will never happen. The funny thing is, maybe it would take something like me completely ending things and breaking her heart completely for her to finally relax more about things, become more extroverted, and be happy for what she has rather than complain about what she lacks. I feel like she will be a large part of this blog, but for now, it will begin with me.