Welcome to a series of stories that basically make up my autobiography. It’s not entirely thorough, but I’ll do the best I can with the memories locked away inside my head. Could be therapeutic for me. Could be humorous for you. Either way, enjoy…
Previously on Life Story… I had to spend my afternoons with a babysitter. And I was kind of a jerk to her grandson. I hope I’ve outgrown that particular trait.
In second grade I had a teacher named Mrs. Shareef. This woman hated me. I only say that because she was kind of mean to me. On a grand, karmic scale, I’m sure I deserved it, but I couldn’t understand what she had against me. When April had her three years later, she turned into a sweet lady. So why did she dislike me, but love my sister?
Dad used to say it was because I was smarter than her. If you think about it, it makes a little sense. I did get upgraded to 2nd grade work while still in the 1st grade. A decision I still seem to be kicking myself for.
So we come to an age where we’re introduced to multiplication and division. We come to an age where I was forced to stay at home alone. Remember how I said that I went to Pat’s house after school? Remember how I said Dad worked 2nd shift? Well, Dad’s schedule was a little tricky. Instead of having traditional weekends, his days off were Tuesdays and Wednesdays. This meant that we didn’t have to go to Pat’s every day. Ready for this? I had two different buses to keep track of.
On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, I would take bus 81 to Stratford Park Apartments. On Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays, I would take bus 34 to Pat’s house. One fateful Thursday, I got my buses mixed up. Oh no, I went home, but Dad wasn’t there to open the door for me. As a seven-year-old, I had no keys. Whatever would I do? Things didn’t look so good for our young hero.
Luckily, I had at some point been introduced to the resident manager and knew which building she lived in. She was able to let me into our apartment. At that point I calmly called Mom at work. Back then I was pretty good at memorizing phone numbers. This was long before I became spoiled by the contact list in the cell phone. I stayed home alone until Mom and April got home about two hours later.
Yet, after that amazing display of maturity, I was still forced to endure the babysitter for years to come. What’s that all about?