The Colour Orange: Part II

Memories are a fickle, and often marvelous thing. After the trains incident, many of my memories seem out of reach. I remember the white Labrador the Jone's had next door, our dog Chumley, and then clarity came the first time I met Kathy.

Kathy, I would have to say, was my first, and probably most potent love. I was 5 years old. And they had just moved in over the back fence. I remember the summer afternoons when we would play with each other, and I even recall, we had some logs made like steps, so it was easier to get over the back fence. I don't remember her childhood features much, but I remember, that she was beautiful to me. Something that was delicate, yet tom-boyish. We were pretty much joined at the hip from when we first met. I remember many times, playing in the maze of packing crates under their house. I think she was the first girl I kissed, and played doctor with. I often thought afterwards, and still do to this day, of what life would have been like if we were still close. She grounded me, and was one person who always made me feel happy about myself.

My hip was better at this point. I could play, run with other kids, take a sneak away down to the sewer lids near the rugby pitch next to the train lines. It was by the time I got to Pre-School that I realized there were limitations I things that I could do. The first and foremost, was not being able to sit cross legged on the floor. This meant a lot of teasing for awhile, until my teacher explained it to our class. It was very humiliating, always having to sit in the front row, so I could stretch out my legs. I would always sit on the outside of the first row, and it was then, that I started feeling different than the other kids. I made some close friends, some of whom I have gotten back into contact with, but many still just bullied. This continued into Primary School.

Grade 1 was an interesting time. It was the first time I had met kids who were not from the same preschool. My friends stood up for me, but after a while, people just went to different circles of friends. I made some great friends, who stuck all the way with me through Primary school. We all had one thing in common, we were very different from other kids. Frank was a great kid, and a good friend. He had ear issues, for which they had to put grommit's in his ear. Kelvin was another friend, he was different because he had weight problems. I was never sure if they were medical or not, but I enjoyed spending lots of time with him. Reece was the rebel out of us all. The trouble that boy got into, I swear, was just insane. All you ever heard on the PA was "Reece Grey to the office, Reece Grey to the office please". We knew what he had done, but would never tell anyone else. What makes this funnier, is that his mum worked as a Teacher Aide right next to our classroom.

Peter was another friend. I felt a lot of empathy with Peter. He was constantly picked on during primary school, always bullied. I used to love going to his place, we would play lego, play on his computer or swim in his pool. His parents were always kind to us, and his company was fantastic. Finally, was someone who will always stick in my mind was Ricky. I think I was almost at his place, as often as I was at my own. His mum and dad were fantastic, his sister was about 2 or 3 years younger, and was another one of my childhood crushes. The hours we spent sat under his low set house, in the dirt, playing with toy cars, and roads. One thing I remember was the time I first tried on his glasses. I think if he could have seen my face, he would have laughed hard and long. It has been a shame that I have fallen out of touch with these freinds.

These were also some of the darkest times in my childhood. It was when I first started realizing that something was not right with me as a child, and even more frightening, not right with my father. Like all Vietnam Vets, he had the nightmares and flashbacks. Some of the things that I could never tell my friends were what went on behind the doors. Between the ages of 6 and 14, most of my memories are buried so deeply inside. This is probably going to be one of the hardest things I will ever have to write about in my life.

I knew things were wrong as a kid. Mum and Dad were often fighting. Dad was often out late, working over-time or having affairs. Mum would do the same thing, though on a less frequent basis, and only with one or two people at most in many years. I remember one argument, when I was about 7 or so. They were both very angry, agitated, and vindictive. They settled down, and went to bed. About 1 in the morning, I heard dad yell " you Viet Cong whore!" Next thing, my mum was sobbing, screaming and pleading for dad to stop. It was the first time, I had seen someone snap into a different persona. He was armed with a pistol, and was hitting mum with his fists, and once hit her with the pistol. I was stood during this time, in my doorway to my room. I don't recall a sound coming out of my mouth, but I do remember the surrealness of it all.

Something must have eventually came out of my mouth, because he turned towards me, giving mum time to start hitting him to bring him back out of his daze. He was not far from my door, when he snapped out of it. By this time, I was under my bed. I think it took several hours to get back into bed.

This would not be the last time things like this would happen. I actually believe it wasn't the first, but it was the first one I remember with some clarity from this age range. Many of my positive father memories actually came from three other adult males in my life. Mr Hart, Hans, and Mr Schloss. These three men were the adult males I would learn moral lessons from in my life, until I was old enough to figure them out on my own. Many a time would I spend down at Monica's house, sharing my time equally between her, her father and her sister Angela.

I am going to be slightly nostalgic, and recall Monica as I remembered her from my childhood. Monica, first and all, was probably the second female love in my life after Kathy. I remember much of the time I spent at her place, climbing trees orsitting in her room with a group of friends while playing. I remember the first time she got her cabbage patch dolls, and how Shawn and I gave her a hard time about it. I remember playing Operation on many occasions, and above all, remeber just watching her grow up. She is one of the people I have gotten back in touch with after all these years, and I know she is following this blog. So, Monica, thank you for many things. Thank you for always standing up for me, for being one of my first girlfriends. Thank you for always letting me come over. I often think that you knew, or recall more about this time in my childhood than I do, and always tried to make it easier on me. And finally, please give my love to your Mum and Dad for being my second parents. I have always loved your family, and always will. Thanks Mon.

I think I will wrap this section up, as it is getting harder to write it. I will share with you a funny story as this one has been a little emotional and very heavy for me to write. I remember one time, I was being bullied by Ronald Davies. I had finally decided that I would stand up to him, as just before my grandfather passed away, he had taught me how to box. For boxing buffs, I am a natural right hander. Generally this means that I would lead with my left. My grandfather was a South Paw. You get the picture. Anyway, Ronald had finally pushed me to my limits, calling me hipless one too many times. I walked up to him, as I was usually the last to get into lineup due to my hip. I remember him saying "Hurry up hipless". I walked up to him, and with an awesome uppercut to the diaphram, dropped him with one punch, and took him off his feet for 5 minutes. I looked up to see this stunned look on the faces of my class mates. It was then that I heard this clapping from behind me, and turned to see Mr Peters and some of the other teachers congratulating me.

The next entry is probably going to be hard reading. But it tackles the dangerous results of us children of Vietnam Vets. I hope you stick around, and enjoy the read.