I
was the quiet kid in school, and never wanted attention to ever be
directed toward me. I'm not entirely sure why, and even today, I
really don't like to be the center of attention. Now, I'm the guy
that will make snide remarks about the stupidity of human beings that
sits off to the side so you really don't know who just insulted you.
I only go for the center of attention when I need to get a point
across. I am extremely good at public speaking, I hate every second
that I do that, and inwardly I'm screaming to get away. Back in
school, we had to give a speech in front of the class, and this was
enough to cause me to start sweating like a mob snitch under a heat
lamp in the middle of summer in the middle of Death Valley. Fun fact:
I also look like that when eating Jamaican food, like jerk chicken or
jerk beef, it's quite hilarious. And that speech for class, turned
out to be a contest for something, I don't remember. The subject was
on what I considered to be a hero. Others in the class wrote about
the police, military, a nurse, some costumed heroes from comic books
that took it upon themselves to solve society's fallen virtues by
beating up random thugs and hoodlums. And as a comic book nerd, I was
down with that being the basis for many a hero, but instead, I wrote
about my dad.
He
wasn't military, or a cop, or a doctor. My dad didn't go out and save
people, he never made headlines in the paper or appeared on TV. My
dad was just my dad; he worked recapping truck tires. He worked his
ass off so that I could eat three times a day and had clothing to
wear and some video games to play. The job he had was harsh on the
body and he worked twelve hours a day, every day, and I don't
remember him bitching about it either. My dad grew up poor and
remembered how his mom got packets of ketchup and mixed them into hot
water, for tomato soup. I fully believe that is why he busted his ass
for me and my sister, and I have never had to experience that kind of
tomato soup. I didn't get the best clothes but we didn't have to get
them from Goodwill, the stuff was new, just cheap knockoff brands. I
was cool with that, I still have no fashion sense, the stuff fits and
isn't a rag, cool, I'll wear it until it is. This doesn't seem like a
bragging point for a speech about a hero. And I was just trying to
get a passing grade, I was tired of getting detention for having
crappy grades. And I made sure that speech was the required two
minutes. And damn it, the teacher thought it was awesome and I got an
A. But also pushed me along to the next speech stage in a public
speaking competition, I knew nothing about.
The
second stage for that damn speech contest was to give it in front of
the whole school. This school was freaking small too, the seventh and
eighth grades were in the same room with the same teacher, and there
were still only about twenty of us, so giving a speech in front of
the school would only have an audience of probably ninety people. For
the quiet kid, that has a very strong fear of public speaking, I'm
surprised I didn't piss myself on that stage. Luckily, I am the
master of my bladder when public speaking. And I was damn sure I was
not moving on in the contest, and didn't add on the required amount
of props for that round. I did have my dad come up to the stage,
which people clapped for, and used him as my one and only prop, and
gave my speech, word for word, again to a larger crowd. I was
extremely happy that I did not move on, the next speech was in front
of the city council and then probably on to the state level, in front
of a stadium of people, I don't know, and I would have crapped
myself, just to get out of that. And knowing my goddamn luck, I would
have been given a standing ovation for it.
Through
high school, I didn't have to get in front of the class to many times
to speak. At least that is faded from memory, so it must not have
been anything special. But in college, I found out that several
classes required public speaking. Why would they torture people with
that, I don't have a job that requires me to speak in front of
hundreds of people, it's not a skill I need. But I got through those
with flying colors, got a couple friends out of one of those
speeches, and the professor telling me that the next one would not be
needed. That speech on what I learned in a world's religion class was
just a rant on how all of them were wrong, for fifteen minutes. No
notes, just me bashing on the whole thing. It was quite fun, seeing
everyone squirm in their seats, like how my skin felt.
The
reason I bring up the public speaking is for my grandpa, we had his
memorial on what would have been his eighty-third birthday. My mom
and her brother told stupid stories he told to us, many times over,
for their eulogies, which they got laughs for. And when my uncle, he
was the emcee for the whole shindig, said if anyone was willing to
come up and tell everyone a story or a memory of my grandpa, now was
the time. I stood and got up there before everyone. My grandpa was a
well liked person in town. The man never met a stranger, he saw a new
friend in the making, or as I would put it, fresh meat for his
stories. I got up to that podium and saw just how many people were in
that building, the sign for max capacity showed two hundred-fifty
people and since there were people standing all over the place and
outside, the estimated count was close to six or seven hundred. I
said hello, and told everyone who I was, putting emphasis on that I
was the first born grand kid, because not everyone knew who I even
was, and being a first born should be treated as the godly being we
are. Afterward, I was told that a good friend of my grandpa, one he
had from high school, was kinda pissed off that I forced my way up
there, but if I had waited, no matter how many times I said Dune's
Bene Geserit litany against fear (Fear is the mind killer. I shall
face my fear and let it pass through me. And when it passes, only I
shall remain) was going to get my ass up there, after anyone else. My
dad sat there in the front with my mom, shocked that I, the quiet,
non-public speaker, stood there in front of that crowd telling my
favorite memory of me, and my grandpa. And here it is.
When
I was a small kid, possibly kindergarten or first grade, both my
parents worked, leaving me and my little sister to the care of my
grandma a few times a week. Money was tough then so a babysitter was
out of the question. I watched cartoons on the thirteen channels we
had on TV then, every day. Tom
and Jerry and the Flintstones repeats on TBS around
lunch time, then nothing good on until 3PM, and that was Ducktales
and Rescue Rangers. Every day was the same thing, and at my
grandparent's house was no different to me, except for a wonderful
green reclining chair. The chair was one of the best seats I have
ever sat in, and nothing since has even come close to that thing. I
believe it was made by some deity that just wanted to be comfortable.
I would sit in that chair and watch my toons, with some snack my
grandma thought was good for me. And everyday, my grandpa would get
home from work, drop his two ton tool box outside the door, no one
but him ever lifted that damn thing because it had belonged to Thor
before he decided he only needed the hammer. My grandpa was worthy of
the power to lift Thor's screwdrivers and wrenches and sockets.
After
the thundering boom, of that box hitting the earth, my grandpa would
come in to watch the news on KABC. And if someone was watching the TV
first, he would kick that person out of that chair, and change the
channel. To kick me out of the chair, he would try to sit on me
first, and you know, after the first thirty or so times, you'd think
the joke would just get old, and get new material? My grandpa either
thought that was a great joke, which is true for several other jokes
he told, but I think he just thought of only sitting down in that
chair, and only me screeching stopped him from doing so, and then he
played it off as a joke. But any complaint about watching something
on TV first was countered with, “It's my TV.” Every time, he used
that line to trump anything else, he did this when my mom was a kid
too, when there were only the three channels. And missing an episode
of whatever the cartoon was, was devastating to a six year old. But I
lost each, and every time. Tears didn't sway the man, he told me to
buck up, and still watched the news. I viewed this as a war. I wanted
my cartoons.
My
first attack worked to perfection, I was the only one that knew how
to set up the video game player, with out the use of the
instructions, which I made sure the old man couldn't find. So, when
he came in, and just changed the channel, all he got was static, and
he'd leave the room to go work on tying flies for fishing. Score one
for the kid. A few years later, talking sixth grade here, my
grandparents got a new TV, one with an SAP function, so I switched it
to that for his news. I forgot that my stubborn streak came from that
man, and he sat there pissed off and watched the news in Spanish, not
knowing a single word of that language, out of spite.
One
of the other things that happened every day when I was a small kid
would be my grandma's constant vacuuming. I believe she had made a
deal with the devil that not only included that wonderful chair and
keeping her youthful looks. My grandma is nearly eighty years old and
she stopped aging when she got silvery gray hair. My mom barely looks
younger than her. And if she did sell her soul and only had to
vacuum, the devil got ripped off. Or it is a form of OCD, she likes
to run that vacuum. And normally she would start her vacuum run in
the family room working her way to the back of the house where the
bedrooms were. Everyday, the same pattern, until the one time. No one
knows why, but she started in reverse one day, and when she got to
the family room, I gave up watching TV and just played with my Lego
knock offs. My grandpa got home, and went on as usual, and he just
sat down in the chair, not paying attention to where I was, and this
is the reason I think he played that off as a joke. He turned on that
TV, changed it to channel seven and all anyone could hear was that
loud back and forth running of the vacuum. My grandpa was irritated,
being foiled once again from watching the news out of Los Angeles,
and he saw me just sitting there on the floor playing with my toys.
He turned to me and said, “Go tell Ma,” short for grandma, I've
called her that since I was two years old,” to turn off that
Goddamn vacuum.” I use the phrase “goddamn” all the time
because of my grandpa, it was his favorite phrase, and I just carry
it on as a legacy. And when he told me that, I got up, because I was
a good grandson. I went into the family room, and upon seeing her
grandson waiting to talk to her, my grandma turned off the vacuum.
And I told her what I was told to do, I said, “Ma, Pa told me to
tell you to 'turn off that goddamn vacuum.'” Word for word, because
that's what was asked of me.
My
grandma constantly yelled at my grandpa for swearing around the
grandchildren. And to this day, I don't know what caused me to stay
in that room as my red-faced grandmother went into that room and
promptly yelled at my grandpa. I don't know what happened in that
room, I'm sure my grandpa got swatted and smacked and yelled at and
various other things that my six year old mind could not wrap itself
around. But a couple seconds later, my grandpa rushed out of that
room and into his work shop area to work on those fishing flies. My
grandma came back out and put the vacuum away, I'd guess she was too
pissed off to finish. And I went back into the TV room, and to my
cartoons. Checkmate.
