Life on Argon Part 10
Current mood: angsty
Things We Lost in the Fire
Picking up where we left off in part 9. Cathy and I were hell bent for leather (well bent banana?...private joke) speeding our way East on Apache Blvd, heading for the lazy black plume hanging in the sky. "That's us".
We pulled onto Sycamore Street and glanced down toward Argon. Police cars are dotting the landscape, the yellow tape is strewn. Every now and then when we would return home from an errand, I would quip to Cathy "No yellow tape, guess all is well in the neighborhood."
I giggle nervously and comment to Cat that this time, there really is yellow tape. Morbid Levity my specialty, always.
We can't enter onto Argon proper because of the barracades, so we leave the van parked by the curb. We enter into the circus that a housefire quickly becomes and start heading for what's left of our house. Sure enough, Debbie was spot on. There must be at least 5 firetrucks filling the street. Firefighters are scrambling in and out of our home, several are on the roof cutting venting holes. The top of our house is starting to look like a flaming checker board. One firefighter is using a pole with a large hook on the end to pull down the ceiling in the carport, and quickly gets a cascade of flaming boxes of christmas ornaments for his efforts. 15 years of Hallmark up in smoke. The collector in me starts to calculate the value of the melting ornaments like the meter on a taxicab. Ka-ching.
At this point several of our neighbors realize that we have come home, and start comforting us immediately. No one was home when it started. The kids are safe with Grandma. A lot of "Thank God"s get muttered as neighborly support I never quite realized we had makes itself known. These people actually care about us. That's nice to know.
About this time, the media shows up and starts interviewing the crowd. "Are the homeowners here?" One of my neighbors gently guides me behind him and tells the reporter that no one has seen us return home yet. Makes me a little misty, they're still doing their best to protect us during the crisis. Cool Beans indeed. For once I'm not really in the mood to be on camera and interviewing about how I feel about my life going up in flames. Knowing me, I'd probably have responded that I was going to Disneyland. (Ironically enough, that's one of the things I did do with the family in the aftermath of the fire...)
Cat and I finally make our way to the fire chief and identify ourselves as the homeowners.
The chief informs us that the house is pretty much a total loss. "I'd call it a 98 percent burnout" says he. I immediately think of my buddy PC at the post office, whose father is a retired NYC firefighter. "Which means that about the only thing that will be left is the foundation", say I. He smiles and nods. "It's going to look like a lot of things survived the fire, but trust me, anything that was plugged in when we started pouring water on it is fried. TV's, appliances, video equipment, even the frickin' AVON Frosty the Snowman. Hell of a power surge goes through the whole electrical system. And what the fire doesn't get, the heat, smoke, and water will finish off. Look on the bright side though, in 8 months you'll have a brand new house to live in". By this time, most of the major flames are getting under control, as the neighbors start to regale me with tales of just how high the flames were shooting at their peak. Several tell me tales of the sounds of two major explosions in the attic. Sounds like flashover to me. One of my neighbors is a retired firefighter and concurs. He gives a fascinating breakdown of what's going on as Mesa's finest is chasing flame back and forth through my attic, trying to finally get it knocked down. It will turn out that this was what made the house fire so tough. The fire investigator would later tell me that as soon as the fire was put down on one end of the attic, the other end would flare back up. Oddly enough, the damage doesn't look so nasty from the front of the house. The back side, however was a totally different story.
One of my neighbors, Cesar, tells me about the start of the fire. We don't know how it began, although that would be made known soon enough. Anywho, one of the kids in the neighborhood came banging on Cesar's door..."Danny's house is on fire!" Cesar took off down the street to see if he could help. He told me that he went around to the back and saw that the entire backyard was already in flames. The plastic raingutters that I had installed were melting right off of the eaves, dripping little bits of molten petroleum product on the back porch. The whole back half of the house is engulfed. Thankfully, he realized this was much more than a gardenhose could handle. I tell him that I'm grateful he tried to put the fire out, but I'm even more grateful that he wasn't hurt.
About this time, I'm guided over to Connie's house, where I make a few phone calls to let friends and family know that we're all okay. The house is history, but we're alive and well.
As I wander back outside, family starts to show up. Several of my nieces and nephews appear, looks of concern and relief that we're okay on their faces. Smiles and tears start to blend as they embrace us.
The fire chief lets me know that we will be able to access the house soon. The fire is out, the electricity is shut down, which is good, 'cause the water is almost knee deep right now throughout the house. Well above the electrical outlets. The ceilings are pock marked with gapping holes and pink insulation is everywhere. The holes reveal the charcoal wonderland that is my attic. The chief repeats his warning about the condition of the inside of the house. Things look like they might be salvageable...they're not. Wooden furniture will soak up the water like a candlewick. The smoke smell gets into everything. Glasswear has been fired like it was in a kiln and becomes extremely brittle. The list goes on...
Larry asks Cathy what's in there that's most important. "Our Wedding rings"
The boys dive in and on our guidance, find Cat's jewelry box containing our rings. Nita works with the girls, passing some of our clothing through a bedroom window. She figures if she can get it cleaned soon enough, maybe some of the stuff won't be ruined. Some of the items include the Christening clothing for our kids, and as it turns out, she is able to save them! The importance of family really hits home that day. I've never been prouder of all of them, than I was that day. My brother is quite a bit older than me, and his kids are closer to my age, so I tend to think of some of them as siblings, and some as my own kids.
Today, I'm very grateful for their love and concern.
The collections, alas, are mostly toast. My complete run of X-Men from 1 to present day, as well as 20 some odd comic long boxes were at ground zero. Most of my post war Lionel, American Flyer and LGB garden scale trains are unrecognizable blobs of bakelite and plastic and wires. The heart of the fire came blasting through the arcadia glass doors like a blowtorch, incinerating the two huge bookcases filled with books and Princess House Crystal. The glasswear exploded from the extreme heat, and shards are embedded in the opposite wall.
The carnage is fairly complete.
As I finally get a chance to talk to Dallas, our fire investigator, about the origins of the fire, he informs me that it was arson. I'm floored. "You're shittin' me!"
He explains how they examine the patterns of the fire, trace the origin points, follow the path that the fire follows. The fact that I'm such a big collector of things removes suspicion that I started the fire. "Really?" On yeah, you didn't remove anything before the fire began. You lost quite a chunk of your collections. You still had all your family pictures on the wall. We see this all the time. If you had anything to do with the fire, you would have removed most of your collections in the first place. The thought had never crossed my mind.So who the hell started this mess? Dallas has his theories already. "I'm pretty sure the kid next door is behind it." John Michael? The mind boggles. "He's the little guy that alerted your neighbors down the street that your house was on fire. He's telling a story about seeing three teenagers jump over your fence and light some cardboard boxes on your back porch. I think it's bullshit. I think he did it."
I really don't want to believe that John Michael is responsible. But I remind myself that Jim and I had to fence off part of the side yard next to his house, because we caught him building little bonfires and burning them under our citrus trees a few months back. Mayhaps the little shit was responsible after all. He is a bit of a demon seed already at six years of age. He butts heads constantly with my son Danny all the time.
And, as Dallas points out, the kids parents were home at the time of the start of the fire.
Why would he run down the street, to alert an adult that was 10 doors down instead of his parents right next door. Wouldn't getting help as fast as possible be the most logical step, unless you were trying to cover your ass because you knew you were behind it in the first place? I liked the way Dallas thinks.
Years later, the little shit would taunt my sons constantly that he burned our house down and got away with it. My youngest, Andrew, would remind him that not only didn't he get away with it, his family got sued by our home owners insurance company since John Michael was deemed responsible. That, and the statute of limitations was still within the 7 years, and our family could still bring a civil suit against his family for the amount of contents lost that exceeded the cap on our insurance. (We lost over $225,000 in contents...who knew we had so much crap? The insurance only paid up to $75,000) That usually shut JM up for a while.
In retrospect, we should have sued them anyway. We didn't at the time, because of the good feelings that the neighborhood had instilled with all the concern and help that was offered initially. That was about to change.
Having your house burn down, and then rebuilt, furnished with all new contents...it's a real adventure. That's my family's motto. Every bit of adversity thrown at us, it's just one more challenge, one more adventure. In a warped sense, it was almost like hitting the lottery! Things We Lost in the Fire...not necessarily the material goods, but the changes that were about to impact our life on Argon Street. We lost a whole lot more that day than we would realize for some years to come. Stuff, well, you can replace that easily. The insurance company gives you a nice check and you go shopping! But the paradigm shift that was about to hit with most of the people that we associated with on Argon Street?
I never really saw that one coming.
To be continued...
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Life on Argon Street Part 9
Current mood: nostalgic
Burning Down the House
Cue Music
Watch out
You might get what you're after
Cool babies
Strange but not a stranger
I'm an ordinary guy
Burning down the house
Hold tight wait till the party's over
Hold tight we're in for nasty weather
There has got to be a way
Burning down the house
Here's your ticket pack your bag: time for jumpin' overboard
The transportation is here
Close enough but not too far, maybe you know where you are
Fightin' fire with fire
All wet
Hey you might need a raincoat
Shakedown
Dreams walking in broad daylight
Three hun-dred six-ty five de-grees
Burning down the house
It was once upon a place sometimes I listen to myself
Gonna come in first place
People on their way to work baby what did you except
Gonna burst into flame
My house
'Sout of the ordinary
That's might
Don't want to hurt nobody
Some things sure can sweep me off my feet
Burning down the house
No visible means of support and you have not seen nuthin' yet
Everything's stuck together
I don't know what you expect staring into the TV set
Fighting fire with fire
I always enjoyed "Talking Heads" back then. I just never realized how big an impact one of their songs would have on our lives during our tenure at the Argon house.
New Years Eve 1996. Another day like any other in our life. Usually Cathy and I would spend the evening at home with our kids, celebrating the New Year together, instead of hiring a babysitter and making it a night on the town. I was hesitant to leave our kids with sitters in the neighborhood anymore, ever since we used to leave Lori and Danny to the "Tender Mercies" of a teenaged neighborhood girl (Henceforth referred to as "The Creature"…) The stories that the kids would tell years down the line about the abuses they tolerated at her hands horrified me. I will address the tales of The Creature in a future blog.
This year would be different. My sister, JoJo, would call and suggest that the family come to her place and celebrate the new year together with her and Mom. We were due to come over for dinner with them on New Year's Day anyway, so the thought of an impromptu party at their place the night before sounded like fun. We'd drink Adult Soda Pop (Wine Coolers) Pop popcorn and play board games while we waited for Dick Clark to do his thing in New York City. It sounded like a good time for all (And I realize it probably sounds like a regular snore fest for most of my readers…I'm a man of simple pleasures who is easily amused. I love spending time with friends and family members…) so the plan was made. We packed up some goods from our house and made plans to go to Mom's. Now, no matter how well I plan, you can count on me being in line at a grocery store the day before a holiday. In 28 years, I have yet to miss a Thanksgiving that didn't end up with me going out to obtain that one last thing we need for dinner to be complete. Usually cranberry sauce or whipping cream... New Year's Day dinner would be no exception.
New Year's Eve '96 came and went. The wine coolers were cold and delicious (blackberry….YUM!) The bagel bites crispy and cheesy, the popcorn salty and way over buttered (just the way I like it) and many rounds of Trivial Pursuit enjoyed as we all tried to impress one another with our wealth of useless knowledge and information. We opened many bottles of cold sparkling apple cider and toasted the New Year 1997. Then off to bed, for a wonderful dinner was in need of being made the next day. New Years dinner is not quite the affair that Thanksgiving is in the Gervasio household, but we are a clan that loooooves to eat good food. Any casual inspection of our collective waistlines will attest to this fact.
We arose much earlier than we normally would on January 1, 1997, especially considering how late we had all been up the evening prior. Cat and I decided that we needed to obtain a few things from our house for dinner, and perhaps a VHS movie or two from our collection to watch that evening with mom and JJ. So we jumped into the van and headed back to the Argon house. We arrived around 1:00 pm. We went in and grabbed a couple of bottles of wine that we wanted with dinner and got the movies we wanted to watch. Some discussion was made about leaving the kids at the house while we ran over to Albertson's across the street. The kids wanted to play with some of their neighborhood friends, but I had a bad feeling about leaving them alone. In one of those rare moments when I actually listen to the inner voice in my head yelling "Danger Will Robinson!" I decide I don't want to leave the kids home alone. So I bribed them with an offer to stop at Blockbuster and rent a new game for the new Nintendo system Danny had just gotten for Christmas as well as a movie or two. The kids were totally on board with that idea, so we got back into the van and headed for Blockbusters and then off back to Grandma's house for a terrific afternoon dinner. We started laughing about what would eventually be our last night in the original Argon house. That last night going to bed on Jan. 30, all three kids somehow ended up in our King Size bed. They were bouncing and laughing together as Andrew (then 3 years of age) announced that he was concerned. He had just finished eating a Hershey's Chocolate bar for a bedtime snack (yeah, we're those kind of parents) and was upset because he had "Chokyit on his yip". Drew always had trouble saying his "L" words back then, and it was so cute, we all laughed 'til we cried. We finally got the kids settled down and tucked in for what would be one last fond memory of the original house on Argon.
New Years Day 1997; 2:35 pm.
We arrived back at Mom's place and jumped right into dinner prep. The honey glazed spiral cut goodness is bubbling away in the oven. Mom's legendary potato salad is made. (It just isn't a holiday without it.) I'm scrubbing fresh veggies at the sink in preparation for the finger salad tray. The pies are cooling on the washing machine out in the utility/wash room. The phone rings. Probably Lucy to wish us all a Happy New Year!
Cathy is the closest to the phone, and answers it. "Hello"… casual and cheery…"Yes…this is Cathy…" the pitch in her voice changes slightly and you can hear the focus intensify…red flag goes up in my mind…."Oh My God!" ... her volume has now tripled... "Tony! It's Debbie Pierce! Our house is on fire!"…
It's a Full Blown Crisis at Hand.
"Holy Shit." Thinks I.
Cathy is still on the phone, intently getting as much information as she can. Debbie says the house is on fire, but not to worry, the trucks are on their way.
Trucks. As in plural. As in my house is probably going to be a total loss. As in my comic books, including a full run on X-Men 1 to present day are going up in smoke as I'm dropping baby carrots in the sink. As my collection of Lionel and American Flyer post-war toy trains are being melted into unrecognizable lumps of bakelite and metal.
The household is in total uproar now. Mom is now in survival mode. I've only seen her like this a few times in our lives, most notably when Dad died. She's an incredible woman of strength and perseverance when the moment presents itself. I think it still surprises her. We Gervasio's seem to be wired that way. There will be plenty of time to fall apart after the crisis is over. We need to get back to the Argon house ASAP. The kids all want to come and watch our house burning. A decision to leave them at Mom's is quickly made as Cat and I jump into the van and head toward Argon. Mom lives in Old Town Tempe near ASU, so the best direct route in down Apache Blvd straight into Mesa. It's a 5 mile drive. Cathy and I are already starting to talk about what we're going to do. Is the insurance going to be enough? Has anyone been hurt? Is the fire centered in one small part of the house or has the whole thing gone up in smoke? What started the fire? I remember that I had left an AVON snowman decoration plugged in and on. Thoughts of losing everything I own to Frosty flit through my imagination.
I'm entering Apache Blvd in front of Grady Gammage Auditorium and look East. A thick black column of smoke is seen rising lazily in the distance. We are still over 4 miles away from home. "Look ahead, hon. That's us."
And Cathy begins to cry.
Current mood: nostalgic
Burning Down the House
Cue Music
Watch out
You might get what you're after
Cool babies
Strange but not a stranger
I'm an ordinary guy
Burning down the house
Hold tight wait till the party's over
Hold tight we're in for nasty weather
There has got to be a way
Burning down the house
Here's your ticket pack your bag: time for jumpin' overboard
The transportation is here
Close enough but not too far, maybe you know where you are
Fightin' fire with fire
All wet
Hey you might need a raincoat
Shakedown
Dreams walking in broad daylight
Three hun-dred six-ty five de-grees
Burning down the house
It was once upon a place sometimes I listen to myself
Gonna come in first place
People on their way to work baby what did you except
Gonna burst into flame
My house
'Sout of the ordinary
That's might
Don't want to hurt nobody
Some things sure can sweep me off my feet
Burning down the house
No visible means of support and you have not seen nuthin' yet
Everything's stuck together
I don't know what you expect staring into the TV set
Fighting fire with fire
I always enjoyed "Talking Heads" back then. I just never realized how big an impact one of their songs would have on our lives during our tenure at the Argon house.
New Years Eve 1996. Another day like any other in our life. Usually Cathy and I would spend the evening at home with our kids, celebrating the New Year together, instead of hiring a babysitter and making it a night on the town. I was hesitant to leave our kids with sitters in the neighborhood anymore, ever since we used to leave Lori and Danny to the "Tender Mercies" of a teenaged neighborhood girl (Henceforth referred to as "The Creature"…) The stories that the kids would tell years down the line about the abuses they tolerated at her hands horrified me. I will address the tales of The Creature in a future blog.
This year would be different. My sister, JoJo, would call and suggest that the family come to her place and celebrate the new year together with her and Mom. We were due to come over for dinner with them on New Year's Day anyway, so the thought of an impromptu party at their place the night before sounded like fun. We'd drink Adult Soda Pop (Wine Coolers) Pop popcorn and play board games while we waited for Dick Clark to do his thing in New York City. It sounded like a good time for all (And I realize it probably sounds like a regular snore fest for most of my readers…I'm a man of simple pleasures who is easily amused. I love spending time with friends and family members…) so the plan was made. We packed up some goods from our house and made plans to go to Mom's. Now, no matter how well I plan, you can count on me being in line at a grocery store the day before a holiday. In 28 years, I have yet to miss a Thanksgiving that didn't end up with me going out to obtain that one last thing we need for dinner to be complete. Usually cranberry sauce or whipping cream... New Year's Day dinner would be no exception.
New Year's Eve '96 came and went. The wine coolers were cold and delicious (blackberry….YUM!) The bagel bites crispy and cheesy, the popcorn salty and way over buttered (just the way I like it) and many rounds of Trivial Pursuit enjoyed as we all tried to impress one another with our wealth of useless knowledge and information. We opened many bottles of cold sparkling apple cider and toasted the New Year 1997. Then off to bed, for a wonderful dinner was in need of being made the next day. New Years dinner is not quite the affair that Thanksgiving is in the Gervasio household, but we are a clan that loooooves to eat good food. Any casual inspection of our collective waistlines will attest to this fact.
We arose much earlier than we normally would on January 1, 1997, especially considering how late we had all been up the evening prior. Cat and I decided that we needed to obtain a few things from our house for dinner, and perhaps a VHS movie or two from our collection to watch that evening with mom and JJ. So we jumped into the van and headed back to the Argon house. We arrived around 1:00 pm. We went in and grabbed a couple of bottles of wine that we wanted with dinner and got the movies we wanted to watch. Some discussion was made about leaving the kids at the house while we ran over to Albertson's across the street. The kids wanted to play with some of their neighborhood friends, but I had a bad feeling about leaving them alone. In one of those rare moments when I actually listen to the inner voice in my head yelling "Danger Will Robinson!" I decide I don't want to leave the kids home alone. So I bribed them with an offer to stop at Blockbuster and rent a new game for the new Nintendo system Danny had just gotten for Christmas as well as a movie or two. The kids were totally on board with that idea, so we got back into the van and headed for Blockbusters and then off back to Grandma's house for a terrific afternoon dinner. We started laughing about what would eventually be our last night in the original Argon house. That last night going to bed on Jan. 30, all three kids somehow ended up in our King Size bed. They were bouncing and laughing together as Andrew (then 3 years of age) announced that he was concerned. He had just finished eating a Hershey's Chocolate bar for a bedtime snack (yeah, we're those kind of parents) and was upset because he had "Chokyit on his yip". Drew always had trouble saying his "L" words back then, and it was so cute, we all laughed 'til we cried. We finally got the kids settled down and tucked in for what would be one last fond memory of the original house on Argon.
New Years Day 1997; 2:35 pm.
We arrived back at Mom's place and jumped right into dinner prep. The honey glazed spiral cut goodness is bubbling away in the oven. Mom's legendary potato salad is made. (It just isn't a holiday without it.) I'm scrubbing fresh veggies at the sink in preparation for the finger salad tray. The pies are cooling on the washing machine out in the utility/wash room. The phone rings. Probably Lucy to wish us all a Happy New Year!
Cathy is the closest to the phone, and answers it. "Hello"… casual and cheery…"Yes…this is Cathy…" the pitch in her voice changes slightly and you can hear the focus intensify…red flag goes up in my mind…."Oh My God!" ... her volume has now tripled... "Tony! It's Debbie Pierce! Our house is on fire!"…
It's a Full Blown Crisis at Hand.
"Holy Shit." Thinks I.
Cathy is still on the phone, intently getting as much information as she can. Debbie says the house is on fire, but not to worry, the trucks are on their way.
Trucks. As in plural. As in my house is probably going to be a total loss. As in my comic books, including a full run on X-Men 1 to present day are going up in smoke as I'm dropping baby carrots in the sink. As my collection of Lionel and American Flyer post-war toy trains are being melted into unrecognizable lumps of bakelite and metal.
The household is in total uproar now. Mom is now in survival mode. I've only seen her like this a few times in our lives, most notably when Dad died. She's an incredible woman of strength and perseverance when the moment presents itself. I think it still surprises her. We Gervasio's seem to be wired that way. There will be plenty of time to fall apart after the crisis is over. We need to get back to the Argon house ASAP. The kids all want to come and watch our house burning. A decision to leave them at Mom's is quickly made as Cat and I jump into the van and head toward Argon. Mom lives in Old Town Tempe near ASU, so the best direct route in down Apache Blvd straight into Mesa. It's a 5 mile drive. Cathy and I are already starting to talk about what we're going to do. Is the insurance going to be enough? Has anyone been hurt? Is the fire centered in one small part of the house or has the whole thing gone up in smoke? What started the fire? I remember that I had left an AVON snowman decoration plugged in and on. Thoughts of losing everything I own to Frosty flit through my imagination.
I'm entering Apache Blvd in front of Grady Gammage Auditorium and look East. A thick black column of smoke is seen rising lazily in the distance. We are still over 4 miles away from home. "Look ahead, hon. That's us."
And Cathy begins to cry.
Life on Argon Street - part 8
Current mood: ditzy
Nothing is Ever as it Appears...or How I Discovered I was living in Harper Valley PTA.
If I have learned one thing in my 51 years, it is that nothing is as it seems. There are always layers upon layers to any one story or individual. (Ogres are like onions)
Such was the situation on Argon Street. I suspect that we were not unique, however. Anybody who lives in Suburbia could tell you tales about their own particular neighborhood and the denizens who lived there.
I briefly mentioned some of my neighbors in previous chapters. The All American Dad and his step-son. The Southern Belle. The Oracle. And numerous households filled with children. Just the tip of the Iceberg.
Dad and son turned out to be a happy gay couple. Poppa was married to sonny boy's mom, and when the divorce was settled, sonny boy stayed with his sugar daddy. Nice couple, good neighbors... never would have guessed that one was coming. (And I usually have excellent Gaydar) I was sorry to see them sell the house and move, but the couple that replaced them was wonderful too, so it wasn't a bad trade.
Dan & Kelly were a nice young couple from the heart of the midwest. Sweet natured and fun, if they were hiding any dark side or intense secrets, we never saw them. As they started expanding their family, they sold the house and moved on as well. They were replaced by a nice family from Tucson. This family already had three small kids, all close in age to my own children. My initial reaction was contentment, as my kids might find some new friends near their ages to play with. As if.
Where's that journal of events that will come back to bite you on the arse when you need it?
The Southern Belle turned out to be viewed as the Wicked Witch of the West by most of the kids in our neighborhood. She was one of those people who kept an immaculate property and screamed regularly at the children in the area who would dare to trespass on her front yard. She had a green gravel front yard with a huge mound of white gravel in the center. Rumor had it that she buried her late husband under said mound. This amused Mary to no end, and served to keep the kids in our neighborhood on their toes around her. She and I got along pretty well. She was quite the craftsman and the interior of her house showed it. She had installed some marvelous oak wood flooring and built all kinds of custom niches and alcoves throughout the home. She started out by hiring some work done by other carpenters. While watching them work and seeing how much they were charging her, she realized that she could do the work herself at a fraction of the cost! In many ways, she was an amazing woman. Unfortunately, she was a bit wacky as well. That teacup that she had with her every morning that everyone assumed was her morning coffee was usually laced with a shot or two of Jack Daniels. I would say good morning to her whilst retreiving the morning paper and almost get knocked over by the scent of whiskey. Great way to wake up every day. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. She also despised cats. When you have the biggest litterbox in the neighborhood outside your front door, it's easy to see why. Somewhere along the way, however, she got it into her mind that my cat (we only had one at the time) was solely responsible for the accumulation of cat poop in her front yard. She would dutifully clean it up daily. I would usually find it sitting on the stoop of my backyard gate the next day. Her way of saying she did not appreciate my cat using her yard as a toilet. While I sympathized to a degree, I could not convince her that I was not the only cat owner present, that our neighborhood had several feral cats, along with virtually every other house having their own cat as well. I finally reached my limit with her when I caught her throwing all the cat poop into my driveway and wetting it down with her garden hose. I called the cops. (who as you recall I was now on a first name basis with...) You haven't lived until you've seen two tough looking cops trying unsuccessfully to stifle laughter while you're explaining why you asked them to drop by and explain to the lovely Southern Belle why her actions are unacceptable. (Flinging poo is a no-no, wetting it down is reprehensible) When our family cat kept disappearing and showing up at the city pound, I finally discovered that she had a cat trap that she was using to attempt to clean up the area of unwanted felines. At one point I baited it with a stuffed animal and a note asking her to stop kidnapping (kitnaping?) our family cat. It did not help the situation any, but I thought it was funny.
Eventually, she would decide to sell the house in Arizona and head back to Arkansas. I've never seen her happier than when she was telling me about the move. I swear, I think her southern accent got a little thicker that day.
The saddest chapter in the tale of the Southern Belle? The family that bought her house (and it sold at a premium because of all the beautiful oak flooring ) ripped out all the woodwork and installed big red mexican tile throughout. I always wondered why they paid well over $30000 above the market value of the house and then destroyed the very thing that made it worth so much? Go figure.
to be continued...
Current mood: ditzy
Nothing is Ever as it Appears...or How I Discovered I was living in Harper Valley PTA.
If I have learned one thing in my 51 years, it is that nothing is as it seems. There are always layers upon layers to any one story or individual. (Ogres are like onions)
Such was the situation on Argon Street. I suspect that we were not unique, however. Anybody who lives in Suburbia could tell you tales about their own particular neighborhood and the denizens who lived there.
I briefly mentioned some of my neighbors in previous chapters. The All American Dad and his step-son. The Southern Belle. The Oracle. And numerous households filled with children. Just the tip of the Iceberg.
Dad and son turned out to be a happy gay couple. Poppa was married to sonny boy's mom, and when the divorce was settled, sonny boy stayed with his sugar daddy. Nice couple, good neighbors... never would have guessed that one was coming. (And I usually have excellent Gaydar) I was sorry to see them sell the house and move, but the couple that replaced them was wonderful too, so it wasn't a bad trade.
Dan & Kelly were a nice young couple from the heart of the midwest. Sweet natured and fun, if they were hiding any dark side or intense secrets, we never saw them. As they started expanding their family, they sold the house and moved on as well. They were replaced by a nice family from Tucson. This family already had three small kids, all close in age to my own children. My initial reaction was contentment, as my kids might find some new friends near their ages to play with. As if.
Where's that journal of events that will come back to bite you on the arse when you need it?
The Southern Belle turned out to be viewed as the Wicked Witch of the West by most of the kids in our neighborhood. She was one of those people who kept an immaculate property and screamed regularly at the children in the area who would dare to trespass on her front yard. She had a green gravel front yard with a huge mound of white gravel in the center. Rumor had it that she buried her late husband under said mound. This amused Mary to no end, and served to keep the kids in our neighborhood on their toes around her. She and I got along pretty well. She was quite the craftsman and the interior of her house showed it. She had installed some marvelous oak wood flooring and built all kinds of custom niches and alcoves throughout the home. She started out by hiring some work done by other carpenters. While watching them work and seeing how much they were charging her, she realized that she could do the work herself at a fraction of the cost! In many ways, she was an amazing woman. Unfortunately, she was a bit wacky as well. That teacup that she had with her every morning that everyone assumed was her morning coffee was usually laced with a shot or two of Jack Daniels. I would say good morning to her whilst retreiving the morning paper and almost get knocked over by the scent of whiskey. Great way to wake up every day. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. She also despised cats. When you have the biggest litterbox in the neighborhood outside your front door, it's easy to see why. Somewhere along the way, however, she got it into her mind that my cat (we only had one at the time) was solely responsible for the accumulation of cat poop in her front yard. She would dutifully clean it up daily. I would usually find it sitting on the stoop of my backyard gate the next day. Her way of saying she did not appreciate my cat using her yard as a toilet. While I sympathized to a degree, I could not convince her that I was not the only cat owner present, that our neighborhood had several feral cats, along with virtually every other house having their own cat as well. I finally reached my limit with her when I caught her throwing all the cat poop into my driveway and wetting it down with her garden hose. I called the cops. (who as you recall I was now on a first name basis with...) You haven't lived until you've seen two tough looking cops trying unsuccessfully to stifle laughter while you're explaining why you asked them to drop by and explain to the lovely Southern Belle why her actions are unacceptable. (Flinging poo is a no-no, wetting it down is reprehensible) When our family cat kept disappearing and showing up at the city pound, I finally discovered that she had a cat trap that she was using to attempt to clean up the area of unwanted felines. At one point I baited it with a stuffed animal and a note asking her to stop kidnapping (kitnaping?) our family cat. It did not help the situation any, but I thought it was funny.
Eventually, she would decide to sell the house in Arizona and head back to Arkansas. I've never seen her happier than when she was telling me about the move. I swear, I think her southern accent got a little thicker that day.
The saddest chapter in the tale of the Southern Belle? The family that bought her house (and it sold at a premium because of all the beautiful oak flooring ) ripped out all the woodwork and installed big red mexican tile throughout. I always wondered why they paid well over $30000 above the market value of the house and then destroyed the very thing that made it worth so much? Go figure.
to be continued...
Life on Argon Street - part 7
Current mood: hopeful
Karma has always been one of my most potent allies. For every ying in my life; a yang. So both in the spirit of the "good news" portion of my look back on our lives on Argon Street, and as a companion piece to my last full chapter...I now present:
SaraLyn
I mentioned a cute freckle faced angel that came over to play with Lori when we first moved into the Argon house back in one of the first chapters of this series. That would be SaraLyn.
Sara lived in the Bates Motel across the street, and was one of the little sisters of Jared. She and my daughter, Lori became the very best of friends in a very short amount of time. The kind of friendship that transcends time and adversity. The kind of friendship that very few are lucky enough to ever experience in their lifetimes.
For all the sorrow and darkness that Jared had brought into our lives, his little sister SaraLyn compensated ten fold. She brought back the sunlight and hope, when despair would intrude. Her smile could chase away any gloom you were dealing with. I have always felt that certain people come into our lives for a reason. I have no doubt that Sara was sent to help our family survive Argon.
Lori wasn't the only family member to be enchanted with Sara. We all were. Cathy and I felt like we'd discovered a long lost daughter. The boys felt like they'd found another sister. I won't give you a huge laundry list of all the goodness that is SaraLyn (although I could...easily! She reads my blogs; I know it would just embarrass the hell outta her) Let's just say that she's a great kid, who served as a constant reminder to me that there was still innate good in people, especially during the darkest of times in my life.
SaraLyn quickly became a fixture at our home and is considered a member of our family. I sometimes thought she spent more time with us than she did with her biological family. (Not that I ever had a problem with that, I thoroughly enjoy her company!) She is extremely talented in so many fields. She sings, she is a marvelous actress, she plays the piano, she paints, she composes her own music. And she cares...sometimes too much for her own good. Sara's capacity to love is boundless. (This may come as a surprise to her)
She and Lori (along with Danielle) formed their first garage band together. Many an afternoon would be filled with their laughter and music as they practiced. Strong friendship was forged and the three became like sisters. I like to think of this time together as their "Golden Age"...before puberty and boys introduced their challenges and problems to the trio.
For all the trials and tribulations that life on Argon Street introduced into our lives...meeting SaraLyn and having her in our lives made it all worth it.
to be continued...
Current mood: hopeful
Karma has always been one of my most potent allies. For every ying in my life; a yang. So both in the spirit of the "good news" portion of my look back on our lives on Argon Street, and as a companion piece to my last full chapter...I now present:
SaraLyn
I mentioned a cute freckle faced angel that came over to play with Lori when we first moved into the Argon house back in one of the first chapters of this series. That would be SaraLyn.
Sara lived in the Bates Motel across the street, and was one of the little sisters of Jared. She and my daughter, Lori became the very best of friends in a very short amount of time. The kind of friendship that transcends time and adversity. The kind of friendship that very few are lucky enough to ever experience in their lifetimes.
For all the sorrow and darkness that Jared had brought into our lives, his little sister SaraLyn compensated ten fold. She brought back the sunlight and hope, when despair would intrude. Her smile could chase away any gloom you were dealing with. I have always felt that certain people come into our lives for a reason. I have no doubt that Sara was sent to help our family survive Argon.
Lori wasn't the only family member to be enchanted with Sara. We all were. Cathy and I felt like we'd discovered a long lost daughter. The boys felt like they'd found another sister. I won't give you a huge laundry list of all the goodness that is SaraLyn (although I could...easily! She reads my blogs; I know it would just embarrass the hell outta her) Let's just say that she's a great kid, who served as a constant reminder to me that there was still innate good in people, especially during the darkest of times in my life.
SaraLyn quickly became a fixture at our home and is considered a member of our family. I sometimes thought she spent more time with us than she did with her biological family. (Not that I ever had a problem with that, I thoroughly enjoy her company!) She is extremely talented in so many fields. She sings, she is a marvelous actress, she plays the piano, she paints, she composes her own music. And she cares...sometimes too much for her own good. Sara's capacity to love is boundless. (This may come as a surprise to her)
She and Lori (along with Danielle) formed their first garage band together. Many an afternoon would be filled with their laughter and music as they practiced. Strong friendship was forged and the three became like sisters. I like to think of this time together as their "Golden Age"...before puberty and boys introduced their challenges and problems to the trio.
For all the trials and tribulations that life on Argon Street introduced into our lives...meeting SaraLyn and having her in our lives made it all worth it.
to be continued...
Life on Argon Street-part 6
Current mood: happy
Happy Holidays!
Our time on Argon Street wasn't all totally bad. Recently my daughter, Lori, mentioned to me that she enjoys reading my blogs about our lives there, and how her perspective and memories of Argon Street is really different. She has many fond memories. Which tells me that I did my job as a parent correctly.
My parents also provided me with a very pleasant childhood, and it wasn't until well after Dad's death and I was fully entrenched into adulthood that I started hearing how rough life was at times on Roosevelt Street.
So with all the attention I've been giving to the bad times on Argon Street, I thought I'd take a break and talk about the really cool things that happened. I've mentioned the block parties earlier, and they were truly fun to participate in, especially the first one. Trust me, there will still be plenty of "drama" to discuss in the coming chapters...we haven't even got close to the house fire yet.
Argon Street was filled with lots of families with young children. So the holidays were always a fun time in the neighborhood. I was always most excited about Halloween, since most of the houses participated, decorations abounded, and there was a jolly jack o' lantern on virtually every porch. We also were lucky in that several of the houses liked to present their version of a haunted house. Some scarier than others, but all wonderful and entertaining. We never did a full scale haunted house, but we always dressed the part.
One particular Halloween, Cat had dressed up as the Grim Reaper, complete with black robes, the scythe and full make-up. As I was giving out candy to a group of young teen girls, Cat appeared suddenly in the black light lit carport, emerging out of the shadows and surprising the trio. Screams of terror filled the air, along with three rather full bags of candy that went soaring over their heads and they beat feet down the drive way and along the street! This was the same year that one of the other haunted houses host had dressed up as a scarecrow and was sitting, waiting for the trick or treaters to advance up toward his house. As they would come up and ring the doorbell, he would jump up off the perch he was sitting on and frighten the willies out of the little buggers. Another house had a stuffed body attached to a noose and their large shade tree in front. As kids came up their walkway, someone camped out on the roof would throw the "hanged man" down in front of them where he would bounce back and forth like some deranged and unfortunate bungee jumper. I believe the same trio of teen girls that we had tramatized also feel victim to this house as well. I recognized both the costumes and the reaction as more goodie filled bags filled the air like so much confetti. I wondered at the time if they were ever going to get any candy that night.
Christmas time on Argon was also special. Most of the houses decorated with lights, filling trees and bushes with thousands of twinkling stars of multi-colored wonderment. No mere lighted eaves for our neighborhood, although everyone was falling prey to the white icicles that became so popular. Cat and I were also big into "Secret Santa" activities. Christmas in one of our favorite holidays too, and we like help others enjoy it too. The Salvation Army Angel tree is a family tradition with us. We would always get one angel from the tree for each one of our kids to help us pick out a present. One Christmas, we became aware of the hard times that one of the families on Argon Street were having. Word through the grapevine made it known that not only was Christmas looking barren, it looked like it might not happen at all. Now Cat and I weren't wealthy be any means, but we had food in the cupboard and clothes on our backs. And our kids never went for want of anything. I was never the type to forbid my kids to drink milk because it was too expensive while I was still buying beer for the adults. I like to think I had my priorities straight, but I digress...
So Cat and I got a small Christmas tree and left it on the front porch for the family to discover. I also sent an anonymous money order to the mom, with a note saying "Merry Christmas! Make it happen." Even if it was one small gift apiece for each of the kids in the home, and something nice for Christmas dinner. No one starves on my watch. (as any of my kids friends will tell you)
And I remember one special winter right around Christmas time, when a winter storm came blowing into town. It was about 10:30 pm, as I looked out at the gentle rain falling and realized that some of the raindrops were not falling but floating! It was starting to flurry! Lori was just a toddler, this was the first winter we spent at Argon. I grabbed her up in my arms, put her jacket on her and rushed outside to watch the snow (what little of it there was) She giggled as she would hold out her hand, trying to capture the tiny little flakes. I stuck out my tongue to try and catch a few, which illicited more squeals of delight from my daughter. Daddy must have looked a sight standing out on the front porch, dressed in his t-shirt and running shorts (I made sure Lori was dressed warmly, I rarely worried about myself...I wasn't planning on being out there for very long) Snow may not seem like a big deal to most of you out there, but when you've been raised in the Arizona desert all your life, snow is a treat! I know all my relations back in Ohio thought we were pretty loony when we were visiting in November one year, and my sister JJ and I ran out to play in the heavy snowfall. I came into the house at one point and showed Mom the snow flakes that looked exactly like little crystal masterpieces. "They really do look like that!" I exclaimed. Lucy looked at us both like we were crazy, but she smiled and laughed at the same time.
to be continued...
Current mood: happy
Happy Holidays!
Our time on Argon Street wasn't all totally bad. Recently my daughter, Lori, mentioned to me that she enjoys reading my blogs about our lives there, and how her perspective and memories of Argon Street is really different. She has many fond memories. Which tells me that I did my job as a parent correctly.
My parents also provided me with a very pleasant childhood, and it wasn't until well after Dad's death and I was fully entrenched into adulthood that I started hearing how rough life was at times on Roosevelt Street.
So with all the attention I've been giving to the bad times on Argon Street, I thought I'd take a break and talk about the really cool things that happened. I've mentioned the block parties earlier, and they were truly fun to participate in, especially the first one. Trust me, there will still be plenty of "drama" to discuss in the coming chapters...we haven't even got close to the house fire yet.
Argon Street was filled with lots of families with young children. So the holidays were always a fun time in the neighborhood. I was always most excited about Halloween, since most of the houses participated, decorations abounded, and there was a jolly jack o' lantern on virtually every porch. We also were lucky in that several of the houses liked to present their version of a haunted house. Some scarier than others, but all wonderful and entertaining. We never did a full scale haunted house, but we always dressed the part.
One particular Halloween, Cat had dressed up as the Grim Reaper, complete with black robes, the scythe and full make-up. As I was giving out candy to a group of young teen girls, Cat appeared suddenly in the black light lit carport, emerging out of the shadows and surprising the trio. Screams of terror filled the air, along with three rather full bags of candy that went soaring over their heads and they beat feet down the drive way and along the street! This was the same year that one of the other haunted houses host had dressed up as a scarecrow and was sitting, waiting for the trick or treaters to advance up toward his house. As they would come up and ring the doorbell, he would jump up off the perch he was sitting on and frighten the willies out of the little buggers. Another house had a stuffed body attached to a noose and their large shade tree in front. As kids came up their walkway, someone camped out on the roof would throw the "hanged man" down in front of them where he would bounce back and forth like some deranged and unfortunate bungee jumper. I believe the same trio of teen girls that we had tramatized also feel victim to this house as well. I recognized both the costumes and the reaction as more goodie filled bags filled the air like so much confetti. I wondered at the time if they were ever going to get any candy that night.
Christmas time on Argon was also special. Most of the houses decorated with lights, filling trees and bushes with thousands of twinkling stars of multi-colored wonderment. No mere lighted eaves for our neighborhood, although everyone was falling prey to the white icicles that became so popular. Cat and I were also big into "Secret Santa" activities. Christmas in one of our favorite holidays too, and we like help others enjoy it too. The Salvation Army Angel tree is a family tradition with us. We would always get one angel from the tree for each one of our kids to help us pick out a present. One Christmas, we became aware of the hard times that one of the families on Argon Street were having. Word through the grapevine made it known that not only was Christmas looking barren, it looked like it might not happen at all. Now Cat and I weren't wealthy be any means, but we had food in the cupboard and clothes on our backs. And our kids never went for want of anything. I was never the type to forbid my kids to drink milk because it was too expensive while I was still buying beer for the adults. I like to think I had my priorities straight, but I digress...
So Cat and I got a small Christmas tree and left it on the front porch for the family to discover. I also sent an anonymous money order to the mom, with a note saying "Merry Christmas! Make it happen." Even if it was one small gift apiece for each of the kids in the home, and something nice for Christmas dinner. No one starves on my watch. (as any of my kids friends will tell you)
And I remember one special winter right around Christmas time, when a winter storm came blowing into town. It was about 10:30 pm, as I looked out at the gentle rain falling and realized that some of the raindrops were not falling but floating! It was starting to flurry! Lori was just a toddler, this was the first winter we spent at Argon. I grabbed her up in my arms, put her jacket on her and rushed outside to watch the snow (what little of it there was) She giggled as she would hold out her hand, trying to capture the tiny little flakes. I stuck out my tongue to try and catch a few, which illicited more squeals of delight from my daughter. Daddy must have looked a sight standing out on the front porch, dressed in his t-shirt and running shorts (I made sure Lori was dressed warmly, I rarely worried about myself...I wasn't planning on being out there for very long) Snow may not seem like a big deal to most of you out there, but when you've been raised in the Arizona desert all your life, snow is a treat! I know all my relations back in Ohio thought we were pretty loony when we were visiting in November one year, and my sister JJ and I ran out to play in the heavy snowfall. I came into the house at one point and showed Mom the snow flakes that looked exactly like little crystal masterpieces. "They really do look like that!" I exclaimed. Lucy looked at us both like we were crazy, but she smiled and laughed at the same time.
to be continued...
Jared - Life on Argon Street part 5
Current mood: cranky
Life on Argon Street
Jared
Of all the things that happened in the 18 years of life on Argon...none could compare to that small segment of our lives that were impacted by Jared.
That's why he gets one chapter all to himself. He even outshines John Michael; and considering what HE will do to our famly in the coming years, that's saying something!
Jared lived in the Bates Motel across the street. One of Seven, caught in the middle, he exhibited a lot of the classic symptoms of the middle child. His mom would comment once to me that Jared was still nursing when she got pregnant with Nathan, and she had to force wean Jared from the teat before he was ready.
It explained a lot.
Jared was a troubled child. Already delinquent at a very early age, it was not unheard of for him to hurt small animals and harass other children in the neighborhood. He always struck me as someone looking for love, usually in all the wrong places. I was still young enough myself, that I didn't recognize the warning signs like several of my neighbors that pulled up stakes and moved on. Jared the troubled child would become Jared the teenage terror. I won't go into all the sins of Jared. They're lengthy and get quite boring after a while. To this day I hear new stories from previous neighbors, some more shocking than others, of his past transgressions with some of the other families on Argon. And I wonder...Why the Hell didn't we bring a class action against his parents for everything the little bastard had done? But I digress... Suffice to say that both he and I were well known by the Mesa Police Department. To the point that the operator for the MPD knew my voice and would usually greet me with a cheery "Good Afternoon, Mr. Gervasio...and what has Master Jared done THIS time?".
Why this kid got under my skin the way he did is a mystery even to me.
The constant harassment toward my family on his part, the multiple home invasions/burglaries he commited against us, the constant vulgarities he would use against all the women in my family, whether it was shouted across the street or whispered on the phone in an obscene call. (This was in the very early days of caller ID...which I used to my advantage in contacting his Proby. The calls stopped after that...) Jared was a very lucky young man in several respects. Fortunate that I was still so young myself, and had not gone through as many trials and tribulations as were waiting for me in my future. I still had some patience and compassion for this kind of bullshit in my personal make-up.
Jared finally crossed the line with one of the neighbors, picking a fist fight with the guy in the middle of the street. The neighbor had the good sense not to touch Jared, as he was still a minor, and the law would weigh in his favor, no matter that Jared had started the fight. For once, we got a young, cocky policeman with a bit of an attitude toward punks like Jared. He promptly arrested the J-man in front of most of the neighborhood, to the resounding cheers and adulation of all of us that watched as Jared finally got some come-uppance.
Now Jared is one of those lucky individuals who can fall into a pile of manure and come up smelling roses. When his court date arrived, a good portion of the neighborhood showed up to watch the proceedings. Jared, if I haven't mentioned already, was a good looking teen. Charming when he wanted to be, and smart enough to know how to work the system. Raised in any other environment, he might have become quite a successful human being, maybe done great things or been a productive member of society. Instead, he was basically a punk who was a bit too smart for his own good. Even to this day, he has failed to surprise me with how he turned out as an adult.
And so Jared used his charisma with the Adjudicator. Convinced her that the bad man had called his mother vulgar names, and that he was merely defending her honor. I was surprised. I had personally heard Jared call his mother a whore to her face...perhaps that was just a term of endearment in their household. (sort of like in the DaNita household) Anyway...it worked. The Adjudicator let him off the hook. We would later find out that Jared's family line had also come into play several times to get him clear of his multiple legal entanglements...He was related to one of the founding Morman families in Mesa. Boy, Michael, that good ol' boy network in the Mesa Government is a handy thing to have when you have a sociopath for a son.
So Jared had quite an impact on me and my family. It was a strange situation in some aspects. His little sister, Sara was my daughters Best Friend. She had become quite close to our entire family, and Cathy and I thought of her as one of our own. Perhaps this was part of Jared's animosity towards us. We opened our home and our hearts to several of his siblings. And once again, he was shut out in the cold. Once again told that he wasn't good enough. Once again, reminded that he wasn't loved.
That can surely play with your mind. Part of me saw a bit of a kindred spirit in the kid. I had to fight for acceptance in some corners of my life growing up, but not to the degree that I watched Jared dealing with. I should have been far more sympathetic to this kid then I ever was. For some reason, I wasn't.
And so we endured his teen years, right up to his 18th birthday, when, smart lad that he was, he turned over a new leaf. He knew he had lost his status as a minor, and that he would be held accountable for his actions as an adult. Things got a lot quieter on Argon. If Jared was still dealing drugs, at least he had the good graces to stop selling it through his bedroom window where we in the neighborhood could watch on a daily basis. (The tales I could tell you about working with the Narcs in MPD trying to catch the little bastard...slippery as an eel!)
I learned quite a lot from my years with Jared. I watched as he played the system. I watched as he made one clever escape after another. I learned that you can use anger to your advantage. I watched as he manipulated his parents (often playing them off of one another), and I marveled at how well he could walk away from just about any situation better off than he began. I studied how his attitude could be used in a polite society, shocking behavior that would often result in exactly what he wanted in the long run.
And for the first time in my life, he taught me something I thought I already knew.
He taught me how to hate.
Since I posted this blog, I have had the chance to talk to several of my readers about it. I would like to clear up any misconceptions that may have been perceived. I do not currently hate Jared. On the contrary, I am somewhat grateful to him for the life lessons he imparted upon me over the years. I seriously doubt that I would have been prepared for the brouhaha with the Post Office without his influence.
So with that in mind...I will say "Thank You" to Jared. You had a purpose in my life, and although it was not pleasant at times, it served its purpose. I only wish that I was the man that I am today, back when you were a kid and needed someone to look out for you the way we looked out for several of your siblings. I would have handled everything with you completely differently.
We might have even ended up as friends.
Current mood: cranky
Life on Argon Street
Jared
Of all the things that happened in the 18 years of life on Argon...none could compare to that small segment of our lives that were impacted by Jared.
That's why he gets one chapter all to himself. He even outshines John Michael; and considering what HE will do to our famly in the coming years, that's saying something!
Jared lived in the Bates Motel across the street. One of Seven, caught in the middle, he exhibited a lot of the classic symptoms of the middle child. His mom would comment once to me that Jared was still nursing when she got pregnant with Nathan, and she had to force wean Jared from the teat before he was ready.
It explained a lot.
Jared was a troubled child. Already delinquent at a very early age, it was not unheard of for him to hurt small animals and harass other children in the neighborhood. He always struck me as someone looking for love, usually in all the wrong places. I was still young enough myself, that I didn't recognize the warning signs like several of my neighbors that pulled up stakes and moved on. Jared the troubled child would become Jared the teenage terror. I won't go into all the sins of Jared. They're lengthy and get quite boring after a while. To this day I hear new stories from previous neighbors, some more shocking than others, of his past transgressions with some of the other families on Argon. And I wonder...Why the Hell didn't we bring a class action against his parents for everything the little bastard had done? But I digress... Suffice to say that both he and I were well known by the Mesa Police Department. To the point that the operator for the MPD knew my voice and would usually greet me with a cheery "Good Afternoon, Mr. Gervasio...and what has Master Jared done THIS time?".
Why this kid got under my skin the way he did is a mystery even to me.
The constant harassment toward my family on his part, the multiple home invasions/burglaries he commited against us, the constant vulgarities he would use against all the women in my family, whether it was shouted across the street or whispered on the phone in an obscene call. (This was in the very early days of caller ID...which I used to my advantage in contacting his Proby. The calls stopped after that...) Jared was a very lucky young man in several respects. Fortunate that I was still so young myself, and had not gone through as many trials and tribulations as were waiting for me in my future. I still had some patience and compassion for this kind of bullshit in my personal make-up.
Jared finally crossed the line with one of the neighbors, picking a fist fight with the guy in the middle of the street. The neighbor had the good sense not to touch Jared, as he was still a minor, and the law would weigh in his favor, no matter that Jared had started the fight. For once, we got a young, cocky policeman with a bit of an attitude toward punks like Jared. He promptly arrested the J-man in front of most of the neighborhood, to the resounding cheers and adulation of all of us that watched as Jared finally got some come-uppance.
Now Jared is one of those lucky individuals who can fall into a pile of manure and come up smelling roses. When his court date arrived, a good portion of the neighborhood showed up to watch the proceedings. Jared, if I haven't mentioned already, was a good looking teen. Charming when he wanted to be, and smart enough to know how to work the system. Raised in any other environment, he might have become quite a successful human being, maybe done great things or been a productive member of society. Instead, he was basically a punk who was a bit too smart for his own good. Even to this day, he has failed to surprise me with how he turned out as an adult.
And so Jared used his charisma with the Adjudicator. Convinced her that the bad man had called his mother vulgar names, and that he was merely defending her honor. I was surprised. I had personally heard Jared call his mother a whore to her face...perhaps that was just a term of endearment in their household. (sort of like in the DaNita household) Anyway...it worked. The Adjudicator let him off the hook. We would later find out that Jared's family line had also come into play several times to get him clear of his multiple legal entanglements...He was related to one of the founding Morman families in Mesa. Boy, Michael, that good ol' boy network in the Mesa Government is a handy thing to have when you have a sociopath for a son.
So Jared had quite an impact on me and my family. It was a strange situation in some aspects. His little sister, Sara was my daughters Best Friend. She had become quite close to our entire family, and Cathy and I thought of her as one of our own. Perhaps this was part of Jared's animosity towards us. We opened our home and our hearts to several of his siblings. And once again, he was shut out in the cold. Once again told that he wasn't good enough. Once again, reminded that he wasn't loved.
That can surely play with your mind. Part of me saw a bit of a kindred spirit in the kid. I had to fight for acceptance in some corners of my life growing up, but not to the degree that I watched Jared dealing with. I should have been far more sympathetic to this kid then I ever was. For some reason, I wasn't.
And so we endured his teen years, right up to his 18th birthday, when, smart lad that he was, he turned over a new leaf. He knew he had lost his status as a minor, and that he would be held accountable for his actions as an adult. Things got a lot quieter on Argon. If Jared was still dealing drugs, at least he had the good graces to stop selling it through his bedroom window where we in the neighborhood could watch on a daily basis. (The tales I could tell you about working with the Narcs in MPD trying to catch the little bastard...slippery as an eel!)
I learned quite a lot from my years with Jared. I watched as he played the system. I watched as he made one clever escape after another. I learned that you can use anger to your advantage. I watched as he manipulated his parents (often playing them off of one another), and I marveled at how well he could walk away from just about any situation better off than he began. I studied how his attitude could be used in a polite society, shocking behavior that would often result in exactly what he wanted in the long run.
And for the first time in my life, he taught me something I thought I already knew.
He taught me how to hate.
Since I posted this blog, I have had the chance to talk to several of my readers about it. I would like to clear up any misconceptions that may have been perceived. I do not currently hate Jared. On the contrary, I am somewhat grateful to him for the life lessons he imparted upon me over the years. I seriously doubt that I would have been prepared for the brouhaha with the Post Office without his influence.
So with that in mind...I will say "Thank You" to Jared. You had a purpose in my life, and although it was not pleasant at times, it served its purpose. I only wish that I was the man that I am today, back when you were a kid and needed someone to look out for you the way we looked out for several of your siblings. I would have handled everything with you completely differently.
We might have even ended up as friends.
The Block Parties-Life on Argon 4
Current mood: distressed
Life on Argon Street 4
July the Fourth is upon us, and in our family that means lots of Bar-B-Que! Which reminds me of one of the cooler aspects of living the vida loca on Argon. Our neighborhood block parties! We only had a few over the years, but they started out, like the neighborhood itself, a somewhat fun and interesting event that took a rather nasty twist somewhere along the way.
The first block party was the best in my memory. We still had lots of young families with their kids and older original owners on the street, all congregating to bring food, fun and frivolity. We set up numerous grills, we brought the salads and the sweets. we generally had a good time. Cesar even set up an impromptu arcade in his driveway with pinball machines! Cesar and Sue were one of the coolest families on the street. Good Times. Especially when one of the guys (who was an avid hunter) brought ground Elk and Elk steaks to the BBQ and offered to share! Yum-O.
As the years passed, and neighbors started to change, some left Argon. They saw the writing on the wall much sooner than the rest of us, and the block parties stopped being quite so much fun. Strain was starting to make itself known among the neighbors. At the last block party, our neighbor to the north in the Bates Motel announces to my wife and me that his wife could not stand us. "Speak for yourself, John Alden" thinks I. (Still too much of a pussy to say it out loud) I knew Michael was speaking for himself. At this point in time, the animosity between our families was growing exponentially. At this same block party, our 2 year old disappeared when the youngest of the Bates kids drags him along while he is breaking into other neighbors homes while they are at the party. We spend one frantic hour searching for our lost toddler, only to discover him in the Anderson home when we see figures of someone moving through the front window, when no one should be at home. The whole tone of the street changed. The wonderful family that lived to the west of the Bates Motel across the street from us, chose to sell and locate elsewhere. They had had enough of the Bates kids jumping over their fence and swimming in their swimming pool without permission. Enough of the Bates teens next door sitting on their fence, smoking 'til all hours of the night and flicking their butts into the front yard. I talked to the Elk Hunter and asked why they were leaving. He saw the storm building, and wanted no part of it for his family. Too much liability. I should have listened better to what he was saying and followed his lead. What they say about hindsight is absolutely true.
And the biggest storm to hit Argon Street was about to strike...Jared.
Current mood: distressed
Life on Argon Street 4
July the Fourth is upon us, and in our family that means lots of Bar-B-Que! Which reminds me of one of the cooler aspects of living the vida loca on Argon. Our neighborhood block parties! We only had a few over the years, but they started out, like the neighborhood itself, a somewhat fun and interesting event that took a rather nasty twist somewhere along the way.
The first block party was the best in my memory. We still had lots of young families with their kids and older original owners on the street, all congregating to bring food, fun and frivolity. We set up numerous grills, we brought the salads and the sweets. we generally had a good time. Cesar even set up an impromptu arcade in his driveway with pinball machines! Cesar and Sue were one of the coolest families on the street. Good Times. Especially when one of the guys (who was an avid hunter) brought ground Elk and Elk steaks to the BBQ and offered to share! Yum-O.
As the years passed, and neighbors started to change, some left Argon. They saw the writing on the wall much sooner than the rest of us, and the block parties stopped being quite so much fun. Strain was starting to make itself known among the neighbors. At the last block party, our neighbor to the north in the Bates Motel announces to my wife and me that his wife could not stand us. "Speak for yourself, John Alden" thinks I. (Still too much of a pussy to say it out loud) I knew Michael was speaking for himself. At this point in time, the animosity between our families was growing exponentially. At this same block party, our 2 year old disappeared when the youngest of the Bates kids drags him along while he is breaking into other neighbors homes while they are at the party. We spend one frantic hour searching for our lost toddler, only to discover him in the Anderson home when we see figures of someone moving through the front window, when no one should be at home. The whole tone of the street changed. The wonderful family that lived to the west of the Bates Motel across the street from us, chose to sell and locate elsewhere. They had had enough of the Bates kids jumping over their fence and swimming in their swimming pool without permission. Enough of the Bates teens next door sitting on their fence, smoking 'til all hours of the night and flicking their butts into the front yard. I talked to the Elk Hunter and asked why they were leaving. He saw the storm building, and wanted no part of it for his family. Too much liability. I should have listened better to what he was saying and followed his lead. What they say about hindsight is absolutely true.
And the biggest storm to hit Argon Street was about to strike...Jared.
The House Across the Street-Life on Argon III
The House Across the Street-Life on Argon III
Current mood: cranky
Cue Music.
Screech...Screech...Screech...Screech... (Psycho theme music)
Day two of our life on Argon Street unfolded. We were still unpacking, finding a place to put everything. Morning rituals were being played out as people drank their coffee, threw on their biz-casual and hopped into their minivans and headed to work. The house across the street was no exception...until after the adults were gone.
Soon, the clear beautiful morning was shattered by an ear splitting scream; followed by desperate pleas of "Oh God! Oh God! Help Me! Help Me PLEASE!!!" emanating from the Bates Motel across the way.
It sounded like a young girl in peril. Cat and I were torn. We were still young and concerned about getting involved with something that might not be any of our business. Should we call 911? Should we just ignore it? Thoughts of Kitty Genovese floated through my mind.
We quickly learned from the neighborhood "Oracle" that this was pretty much standard practice for the family that dwelled within the house across the street.
Sidenote: Neighborhood Oracle; every neighborhood has one. Y'know...that one person that knows just about everything about everybody...and LOVES to share. Ours was a delightful mother of three that had the (mis)fortune to live right next door to the Bates Motel. The stories that she would tell...they all went to the same church, their kids grew up together, some of her kids made trips to the hospital as a result of the kids next door. It was an interesting relationship. The things we put up with, in the interest of maintaining the peace. Or perhaps as was pointed out to me recently; some families really do partake in ritual torture among the siblings as a regular thing. That may be; but it doesn't make it any less twisted.
Now, Michael & Connie were a blended family. They were raising 7 kids, and would soon add one more to the mix. Connie was a sweetheart, but obviously way in over her head. Michael...well, let's just say he drove a BMW to work every day, dressed impeccably, and his kids ate a lot of lima beans.
I suspected that there were priority issues at play.
My parents had their share of "interesting" neighbors over the years, so I figured every neighborhood had "one". This was obviously going to be one of ours. We would just cope like they did and everything would be just fine.
Insert those warning bells in the back of my brain, telling me once again to start that journal of events that would eventually come back to bite me on the backside. If I knew then what I know now about the family across the street and the impact they would have on our lives, we would have moved right back out to Tempe while we were ahead.
to be continued...
Current mood: cranky
Cue Music.
Screech...Screech...Screech...Screech... (Psycho theme music)
Day two of our life on Argon Street unfolded. We were still unpacking, finding a place to put everything. Morning rituals were being played out as people drank their coffee, threw on their biz-casual and hopped into their minivans and headed to work. The house across the street was no exception...until after the adults were gone.
Soon, the clear beautiful morning was shattered by an ear splitting scream; followed by desperate pleas of "Oh God! Oh God! Help Me! Help Me PLEASE!!!" emanating from the Bates Motel across the way.
It sounded like a young girl in peril. Cat and I were torn. We were still young and concerned about getting involved with something that might not be any of our business. Should we call 911? Should we just ignore it? Thoughts of Kitty Genovese floated through my mind.
We quickly learned from the neighborhood "Oracle" that this was pretty much standard practice for the family that dwelled within the house across the street.
Sidenote: Neighborhood Oracle; every neighborhood has one. Y'know...that one person that knows just about everything about everybody...and LOVES to share. Ours was a delightful mother of three that had the (mis)fortune to live right next door to the Bates Motel. The stories that she would tell...they all went to the same church, their kids grew up together, some of her kids made trips to the hospital as a result of the kids next door. It was an interesting relationship. The things we put up with, in the interest of maintaining the peace. Or perhaps as was pointed out to me recently; some families really do partake in ritual torture among the siblings as a regular thing. That may be; but it doesn't make it any less twisted.
Now, Michael & Connie were a blended family. They were raising 7 kids, and would soon add one more to the mix. Connie was a sweetheart, but obviously way in over her head. Michael...well, let's just say he drove a BMW to work every day, dressed impeccably, and his kids ate a lot of lima beans.
I suspected that there were priority issues at play.
My parents had their share of "interesting" neighbors over the years, so I figured every neighborhood had "one". This was obviously going to be one of ours. We would just cope like they did and everything would be just fine.
Insert those warning bells in the back of my brain, telling me once again to start that journal of events that would eventually come back to bite me on the backside. If I knew then what I know now about the family across the street and the impact they would have on our lives, we would have moved right back out to Tempe while we were ahead.
to be continued...
Life on Argon Street...part deux
Current mood: okay
Chapter two....The Move from HELL
Actually that title will come into play several times in our lives over the next 18 years, but for now, the move from Tempe into Mesa onto Argon Street will turn out to be the roughest move we had ever experienced.
The Universe was giving me every sign to reconsider at the time, but I was a typical Taurus. I had my sights set on moving into the house on Argon. Plant roots like my parents did and raise grandchildren in that house if necessary. The recent death of Cathy's mom had cut the heart out of her family, leaving just about everyone shell shocked. Most of our friends were all busy with their lives, so for the first time ever, we were pretty much on our own to move a 2100 sq ft house across town and squeeze it into a 1200 sq ft house. No small feat indeed!
The morning the movers were to come load everything, Cathy and Lori both were vomiting up their bootheels. We were still feverishly packing the tail ends of things, so in addition to the movers, we were taking endless trips back and forth between the two houses, trying to get everything moved in time. We almost ran out of time, and ended up losing a large chunk of our cleaning deposit.
The house itself was laid out nicely. Large living room up front, three bedrooms down the hall. Corridor kitchen with a raised oven. And that sweet family room with the full wall fireplace. We started to take assessment of the neighborhood and the many families that already dwelled within. I noticed each house seemed to have its own personality. You could tell right away which houses already had kids living in them. You could tell which houses were either empty nests or never raised children. You could spot the yuppies; you could tell who took excellent care of their homes, and those who just didn't give a damn. And you could pick out the rentals pretty easily too. Looking back, I could hear the strains of music in my brain as I recall a lot of the houses. As I remember our house, I hear the theme song from "The Addams Family". As I gazed north across to Michael & Connie's house, the screech of "Psycho" would play. Next door to the east? "The Waltons"...A nice father and son; very Americana. To the west; "Georgia on My Mind"...an older Southern Belle living alone since her husband passed away a few years pervious. The old Italian couple across the way..."That's Amore". This neighborhood certainly had its own flavor.
And it would not be long before we started to find out just how flavorful, how colorful this neighborhood would turn out to be. If I hadn't been so giddy about being a homeowner for the first time, I would have noticed and paid attention to the warning bells starting to go off in the back of my mind. And I was still a very young man in his twenties. Very naive and forgiving, never one to think the worst of people, trusting in the innate goodness in everyone.
Was I about to get an education.
While we were still unpacking, a knock came at the door. Standing on our front porch was one of the cutest little girls I had ever seen. Reddish blonde straight hair, and a bright shining face full of sunshine and a smattering on freckles flecked across the bridge of her nose. She couldn't have been more than 5 years of age and all of 3 foot tall.
"Hi! I'm SaraLyn. Do you have any kids that I can play with?"
"Yes, we do. Our daughter Lori; she's only one and a half, but you're welcome to come on in and meet her"
And so began one of the finest friendships in the history of mankind.
Current mood: okay
Chapter two....The Move from HELL
Actually that title will come into play several times in our lives over the next 18 years, but for now, the move from Tempe into Mesa onto Argon Street will turn out to be the roughest move we had ever experienced.
The Universe was giving me every sign to reconsider at the time, but I was a typical Taurus. I had my sights set on moving into the house on Argon. Plant roots like my parents did and raise grandchildren in that house if necessary. The recent death of Cathy's mom had cut the heart out of her family, leaving just about everyone shell shocked. Most of our friends were all busy with their lives, so for the first time ever, we were pretty much on our own to move a 2100 sq ft house across town and squeeze it into a 1200 sq ft house. No small feat indeed!
The morning the movers were to come load everything, Cathy and Lori both were vomiting up their bootheels. We were still feverishly packing the tail ends of things, so in addition to the movers, we were taking endless trips back and forth between the two houses, trying to get everything moved in time. We almost ran out of time, and ended up losing a large chunk of our cleaning deposit.
The house itself was laid out nicely. Large living room up front, three bedrooms down the hall. Corridor kitchen with a raised oven. And that sweet family room with the full wall fireplace. We started to take assessment of the neighborhood and the many families that already dwelled within. I noticed each house seemed to have its own personality. You could tell right away which houses already had kids living in them. You could tell which houses were either empty nests or never raised children. You could spot the yuppies; you could tell who took excellent care of their homes, and those who just didn't give a damn. And you could pick out the rentals pretty easily too. Looking back, I could hear the strains of music in my brain as I recall a lot of the houses. As I remember our house, I hear the theme song from "The Addams Family". As I gazed north across to Michael & Connie's house, the screech of "Psycho" would play. Next door to the east? "The Waltons"...A nice father and son; very Americana. To the west; "Georgia on My Mind"...an older Southern Belle living alone since her husband passed away a few years pervious. The old Italian couple across the way..."That's Amore". This neighborhood certainly had its own flavor.
And it would not be long before we started to find out just how flavorful, how colorful this neighborhood would turn out to be. If I hadn't been so giddy about being a homeowner for the first time, I would have noticed and paid attention to the warning bells starting to go off in the back of my mind. And I was still a very young man in his twenties. Very naive and forgiving, never one to think the worst of people, trusting in the innate goodness in everyone.
Was I about to get an education.
While we were still unpacking, a knock came at the door. Standing on our front porch was one of the cutest little girls I had ever seen. Reddish blonde straight hair, and a bright shining face full of sunshine and a smattering on freckles flecked across the bridge of her nose. She couldn't have been more than 5 years of age and all of 3 foot tall.
"Hi! I'm SaraLyn. Do you have any kids that I can play with?"
"Yes, we do. Our daughter Lori; she's only one and a half, but you're welcome to come on in and meet her"
And so began one of the finest friendships in the history of mankind.
Life on Argon
Life on Argon Street... Part One
Current mood: nostalgic
Yep, here it begins folks...the much ballyhooed "Life on Argon Street".
A look at 18 tumultuous years in a warped Mesa suburb. It's true what they say...that which doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger. Or in our family's case...stranger. (y'know, in a creepy sort of way)
Cat and I were a young family, raising our one-year-old daughter Lori. Thoughts of becoming home owners had become paramount following the death of Grandma Daniels. We were anxious to establish ourselves as home owners and to find a place to call our own after 5 years of renting. There were the tax advantages to consider of course, but mainly we were looking ahead to a time for Lori. Our old neighborhood; a beautiful older area in Tempe AZ, was a delight. Located right across the street from Grady Gammage Auditorium, we lived in a big wonderful red brick house with hand plastered walls and ceilings, huge bedrooms with walk-in-closets, a vintage kitchen with original 1940's upscale appliances and a bathroom to die for. But it was an older neighborhood with no children in it. Who would Lori play with? There was the traffic on Mill Avenue and Apache Blvd to contend with. Was it a safe haven for our child and the others we were planning on? We decided we wanted to move to a nice safe "bedroom community" like Mesa, hopefully near a nice elementary school.
WTF were we thinking?
In retrospect...I can only conclude that we were still very young ourselves.
So realtors were contacted, the search began. Cat and I opted to go the repo route. There were tons of houses available at bargain prices; we still had good health and an army of relatives that were carpenters, plumbers and painters. The search bore fruit. Our agent took us to several houses, and when we walked into Argon for the first time, I fell in love. As you entered the family room, you were greeted with a floor to ceiling, wall to wall red brick fireplace with a lovely mantle and a hearth that ran the length of the western wall. "This is the house...We want this house!" I felt it in my bones. This is where we were meant to live.
I really should have started keeping a journal of my hunches at this time. This was the first of many to follow that would eventually bite me in the ass...
To be continued…
Current mood: nostalgic
Yep, here it begins folks...the much ballyhooed "Life on Argon Street".
A look at 18 tumultuous years in a warped Mesa suburb. It's true what they say...that which doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger. Or in our family's case...stranger. (y'know, in a creepy sort of way)
Cat and I were a young family, raising our one-year-old daughter Lori. Thoughts of becoming home owners had become paramount following the death of Grandma Daniels. We were anxious to establish ourselves as home owners and to find a place to call our own after 5 years of renting. There were the tax advantages to consider of course, but mainly we were looking ahead to a time for Lori. Our old neighborhood; a beautiful older area in Tempe AZ, was a delight. Located right across the street from Grady Gammage Auditorium, we lived in a big wonderful red brick house with hand plastered walls and ceilings, huge bedrooms with walk-in-closets, a vintage kitchen with original 1940's upscale appliances and a bathroom to die for. But it was an older neighborhood with no children in it. Who would Lori play with? There was the traffic on Mill Avenue and Apache Blvd to contend with. Was it a safe haven for our child and the others we were planning on? We decided we wanted to move to a nice safe "bedroom community" like Mesa, hopefully near a nice elementary school.
WTF were we thinking?
In retrospect...I can only conclude that we were still very young ourselves.
So realtors were contacted, the search began. Cat and I opted to go the repo route. There were tons of houses available at bargain prices; we still had good health and an army of relatives that were carpenters, plumbers and painters. The search bore fruit. Our agent took us to several houses, and when we walked into Argon for the first time, I fell in love. As you entered the family room, you were greeted with a floor to ceiling, wall to wall red brick fireplace with a lovely mantle and a hearth that ran the length of the western wall. "This is the house...We want this house!" I felt it in my bones. This is where we were meant to live.
I really should have started keeping a journal of my hunches at this time. This was the first of many to follow that would eventually bite me in the ass...
To be continued…
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