Day Twenty

The ages of nine to fifteen were the toughest years of my life. I left off on Monday where the ground started to crumble under me. Well, obviously life became even tougher. Nine to twelve was really bad. I can tell you a story about a nine-year-old boy on his bike on the sidewalk at the bottom of his driveway. His dad packed up his 1971 Chevrolet, said his goodbyes, backed down the driveway to the end of the block and out of the neighborhood. Some of the kids came up to the boy and asked him where his dad was going. He didn't answer, got back on the seat of his bike, and rode off in the other direction.

Two years later my parents officially divorced, in May of 1975. By that fall, all my siblings had either moved out or were attending college. Suddenly it was just my mom and me. She could not afford to stay in our house, not because of the mortgage payments but the upkeep. The heat and electric bills were more expensive than the mortgage. (Can you imagine that?) So we moved a couple of blocks away to a house that should have failed a house inspection and in today's real estate market it would have failed miserably and might have even been condemned. I walked into this new house and it smelled like cat urine. (The woman who owned it previously hoarded cats and they "liked' her carpet.) The carpet was the first thing to go. There were many more things wrong with this house which actually looked like the house from Amityville Horror. But my mom worked her tail off along with myself and my brothers to make it into a home. And we accomplished that over a couple of years.

Suffice it to say that whatever cracked ground I had under me was now completely gone. I felt like I was stuck in the Six Flags ride where you spin around and get stuck to the wall while the floor drops out from underneath you. I went from having a large family to only my mom, a single working mom. I felt so alone it was like someone tore a hole in my gut and then gave me another person, which was the depressed obese version of me, to carry around on my back.

I was not easy on my mom. I look back on those days with great pain and embarassment. Part of the issue was that I was a young teenager, and the other part was that I was a very sad and angry boy. My mom was an angel. She took it. I certainly would not take it. If I was her, I would have whipped me silly until I showed respect. She showed me that she had a huge heart and incredible patience. But it took me four years to figure that out. No matter how much torture I put her through she continued to love me. She never uttered any mean words to me or a bad thing about my dad, and he never said I bad thing about my mom.

So how did I cope? I ran to food. And Mom let me. I was given an allowance and I could do chores around the house for extra cash. And I would visit Williams Pharmacy like a junky visits the dealer. I would eat bags of chips, candy bars, whatever was my whim at what I could afford. One of my favorite things was Old Vienna Cheez Snaps. Old Vienna is a local bakery. Those cheese snaps blew away Cheetos. And I would consume the entire bag in one sitting. Of course ice cream was another big comfort. Mom would also buy Velvetta Cheese. I liked Velvetta cheese and toasted English Muffins. I would put the cheese between the toasted muffin and wrap it in a paper towel and poof a toasted cheese muffin. My brother Bob fell in love with that invention when he came home for the holidays one year. I would also make whipped cream and eat the whole thing. I would eat entire pots of popcorn and sometimes two or three pots. What I write and list here is only the tip of the food mountain that I created for myself.

I loved sports, too, like any young boy. I was into all sports. And sports saved me in many ways. I grew during these years both in weight and height. I loved to collect sports cards and play imaginary games with them. Without the gift of sports, I would have just fallen deeper into the hole of depression. It was my lifeline. I used to tell myself that I had a happy childhood and it was not until I was much older that I realized how sad I truly was. I always pictured myself laughing and having a good time. Which is true, I did have some fun, but underneath I was a seething, churning mass of molten, oily sadness.

But there was a voice in me that said I was better than how I appeared. There was a voice in me that knew I was loved deeply by my father, my mother, my grandparents, my aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings and so on. There are so many stories I could tell you about these years. But this voice is the most important thing to remember. I like to think it was grace, always singing to me that love was in my life no matter how bleak I may have felt. And that my life would improve. In fact I remember playing pool in my basement one day, alone, and I fantasized that I was a great pool player and that I found a love by the name of Susan (pronounced with a z). And now here I am married to Suzanne. But I am not a pro pool player.

I think I ended up with the best part of that fantasy that actually came true.

Yesterday's meals:
BRKFST--protein shake--1/2 cup of Greek yogurt 0 fat, one scoop protein powder, cup of blueberries, 1/2 bottle of Naked Blue Machine Juice, 1/4 cup Red Mill Oats.
Banana for snack.
LUNCH--Caesar Salad with chicken, no croutons, two diet Pepsis (don't like the water at Our Lady Of Snows).
No afternoon snack
Dinner--Veal Picatta, 5 small red potatoes, steamed Broccoli.
Desert---1.5 scoup of protein powder. 12 oz of Almond Breeze, unsweetened, handful of blueberries. 4 pcs of ice. Hit the spot.

Exercise: 50 min on Gerbils again. No weights. I will do that today.