Ever since we are kids we are constantly evolved in the process of meeting new people and exploring the world around us. Growing up in New York City, unless you choose to remain only in your particular neighborhood, you will always be challenged in your daily life to meet and interact with new and "different" people on a daily basis. Simply crossing a street or avenue can land you in a neighborhood that is ethnically, racially or culturally different from your own. As a kid, I never feared meeting new people, making new friends or interacting with people who were "different" from me.
I did this even though I was shy. I wasn't shy about meeting "strangers". I was shy about speaking up in the middle of a crowded room and being in the spotlight. Thus, when I was a young guy, the more aggressive boys were able to get noticed first by their "brave and bolder" behavior when they clowned around. I broke out of that shell over time and didn't mind being in the spotlight - for specific reasons. Then I would eventually escape to the privacy of my own environment, my own world, which was usually writing. I started expressing my creative writing habits from age 11 on up in my formal educational classes. As time moved on, my writing became my little secret weapon as most people recognized me for my athletic abilities in high school, college and post college.
This blog, directly or indirectly has allowed me to interact with some very talented, creative and intelligent minds both from around the country and now the world. Last night I had a very positive exchange with a writer from Europe who has a great sense of humor and keen insight to the subtle moments of life. Our interaction last night absolutely put some big cracks in the wall to my recent writer's block.
I started this blog idea last July, 2012. Well, after 7,105 pageviews (and growing) I have found that the essence of what I have aimed to do here (and throughout my other blogs) has not been lost. No matter how far I've reached, or whatever shortcomings or issues that I've faced, there are people out there who are getting it. Writer's block, stumbling blocks or not - this blog is just too legit for me to quit! So with that being said, I will share my "Geraldine Story" for all of you and especially to my new writer friend in Goes.
The Geraldine Story (or the girl who inspired me to write)
My father was a black, jazz and rock n roll musician from the late '40's through the early '70's who had many a gig up in Harlem. He and his band were opening acts for many of the greats during that era. Papa was truly a rolling stone who got together with my mother when she was nearly half his age. They stayed together for a few years, but decided to split up. Mom moved downtown and I ended up growing up on the Lower Eastside. We visited my father, or vice versa frequently enough. We had other extended relatives who lived on the same block as he did. However, I grew up mostly on the Lower Eastside.
Now I also grew up in a time period (the 70's and early '80's), when Rock N Roll movies were still pretty popular on television (think "Happy Days" the movie "Grease"). At some point, I figured I'd grab a guitar one day in my teens and become Chuck Berry, B.B. King or Bo Diddly like my father. When I say my father could pick up a guitar and cover the songs of these other greats, boy do I really mean it. He could flat out play just about any instrument in a rock band - acoustic or electric, bass or lead guitar, (and allegedly even drums) and he had a decent baritone singing voice. Like any father/son relationship he and I both hoped that such a talent would be passed onto me.. Ehh...not quite.
When I was still an adolescent, there was once talk about me getting a drum set. But that never happened. Then there was talk about me getting a guitar. Didn't see one until about the 6th grade, for which my older sister took command of it. I had to obtain written permission from the Pope to get within 10 feet of it.
Then when I was entering the 7th grade, I decided I was going to take up orchestra music in middle school, and as advised by my father learn the bass. Most kids hated the bass because it was too heavy. But, I was very athletic kid and wanted to learn sheet music and get my music career going. Now the middle school I attended was located near Chinatown. It was predominantly Black and Hispanic, but had it's fare share of Jewish, Chinese, Italian and Irish kids. No busing needed. All the kids came from all surrounding neighborhoods, so we were pretty much a tossed salad of ethnicities.
First day of music class, I walk in and sit down in the back row for the bass section. Seated next to me was my fellow bass enthusiasts - a ruggedly built, blond haired, icy blue eyed, Irish girl, who dressed like a guy, named Geraldine. I wasn't in my chair 5 minutes before Geraldine turned to me and whispered (with her crazy blue eyes) that she almost went to
juvenile prison over the summer for smashing another kid's head against his desk and sending him to the hospital. Of course I looked around as if to ask myself why I was this female
"Raging Bull's" chosen confidant in so short a time, but I was. But I never could figure that out.
Now my neighborhood was a tough area complete with its stock full of neighborhood gangs, sociopaths, thieves, murderers, drug dealers and even an occasional pedophiles lurking in the crevices. The creeps and criminal elements came in all sizes, ages and ethnic groups. However, none of them came in looking like an overweight, crazy eyed, Alice in Wonderland, like Geraldine. Nope, Geraldine was an equal opportunists "gangsta" girl of Irish decent. She beat up girls, boys, Black, White, Asian, kids with glasses and/or braces on their teeth. It did not matter. She took them all on, such that even the most baddest, hard nosed, Black or Hispanic girls in the school or neighborhood didn't mess with her...because she was crazy. She would go from 0 to 100 in a violent flurry of fists in just 3 seconds. She didn't save anything.
And as my luck would have it, I'm sitting right next to this girl in music class. And she made me her personal confidant! She loved me to death! She would tell me in advance who she was going to beat up next in the school after they crossed her path. True to form, I witnessed her beat up two girls and one boy in the first 3 weeks of school. Oh they were fair fights when they started after school. But they weren't fair fights when they finished, as Geraldine always finished her adversaries off with ferocious, Mike Tyson like combinations. She actually told the guy to put his hands up because she was about to clean his clock, but he refused. I remember the last words he said before she nearly knocked him out with his own briefcase, "Leave me alone. I don't hit girls." For which she responded, "That's okay, cause I'll punch the shit out of you." Then she hit him with a punch, that actually made his eyes sort of spin in small circles, causing him to drop his briefcase. She then picked up his briefcase and hit him twice with that as well, sending him between two parked cars. At that point a few of us fellas stepped in, and pulled her away and saved the poor brother from a further beat down. Someone even threw a white hand towel on him. Yeah, it was ugly.
Then the next day in music class, she made me her personal priest (or fight manager) that she could confessed all her sins to. I guess I was her saint John the Baptist. "I guess he won't call me fat and ugly anymore, will he?" No, Gerri. But I do think he called his dentist and Mr Tylenol that night. And I'm quite sure that he never looked at his school briefcase the same either...not with his face stamped on it.
So after 3 weeks of sitting next to the girl that I mostly likely would be visiting in prison in 2 years, I went back to my guidance counselor and asked to be moved into another music class. But no can do. There were too many kids and all other classes were packed. My only other option was to take a Creative Writing class...which was normally a goof off class for 7th graders. However, I always loved writing, so I ran at the chance to get into that class. Sorry dad, I guess the musical genes will have to skip a generation. I couldn't take another day sitting next to
Lizzie Borden.
Even though I was nearly 4 weeks behind, I managed to catch up on assignments and actually excelled in that Creative Writing class. I took that class for that whole year and the following year. From that point forward creative writing "followed" me throughout high school, college and other ventures to this present day. In fact, to this day, I don't quite know if I should curse crazy Geraldine, for forcing me out of music - or thank her for inadvertently steering me into writing.
One footnote. I did run into good old Geraldine about 5 years after middle school. I could hardly recognize her. The only thing I could recognize was her eyes and her hair. She had lost a tremendous amount of weight via some crazy diet, and behaved and dressed more like a pretty young lady, rather than a Viking. She actually seemed to be doing okay. I guess some people can change?
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