It was a breezy fall day, mostly sunny, leaves brushing along the cement sidewalk with the familiar scraping sound that is both loud and distinctive, yet relaxing and soothing.
Paul sat on his front porch watching the other children ride their bikes, free from training wheels.
"Come on Paul, we're building a ramp, come ride with us." One of the children shouted.
Paul looked over at his father who was trimming the bushes with an old outdated set of trimmers, the one's that wore wooden handles and made a creaky sound with each cut.
"Go on and play with your friends." Said Paul's father.
Paul responded, "Dad I'm ready to have my training wheels off, all of the other kids are riding without them, and I know I can do it, I just know I can, it doesn't look that hard to do."
Paul's father looked down at him with a familiar look a father gives his five year old son, it was a look of loving concern, mixed with a knowing that he cannot protect his son from everything, and that learning and stepping stones are a part of a child's growth.
"Ok Paul, I'll take the training wheels off and help you learn, but you have to go slow ok? Even once you learn how to do it, it's gonna take a while to get it just right, and you might fall down and scrape up yer knees ya know." Said Paul's father.
"Don't worry dad, I know I can do it, it's easy!"
With a little chuckle, Paul's father went and grabbed his socket set to remove the training wheels.
It wasn't but five minutes after those training wheels were off Paul was zig zaggin, up and down the street as if he had been riding a bike without training wheels forever. Paul's father thought to himself, "Well I'll be a monkey's uncle, that boy learned how to ride a bike quicker than I did at his age." Laughed proudly to himself and continued to trim the bushes.
Paul was a peculiar child. He learned things quickly and seemed good at everything he set his mind to, so long as it was something Paul wanted to learn. He was a stubborn boy when it came to doing or learning things that held no interest in his little world.
As winter approached he was also stubborn about putting his bike up, and was the last child in the neighborhood still zig zaggin up and down his street when mama called out to him.
"Paul it's freezing out there, bring that bike here and come inside and warm up before you catch a death of cold, come on in and get some of yer favorite chicken noodle soup while it's still warm."
Paul reluctantly zig zagged his way to the front porch and came inside, mama rustling his crazy little head of hair as he walked through the door.
As they were eating, mama said:
"You know tomorrows a big day don'tcha Paul? Yer starting yer first day of school, mama's big boy. I just know yer gonna be the top of yer class, I just know it."
Paul, chewed up a cracker and took a spoonful of soup. He didn't break up the crackers in the soup like most kids, he liked the crackers to stay crispy, so he would take separate bites to preserve the crispiness.
"Yeah ma, I know." He said.
"Well aren't ya excited Paul, yer gonna be a man for ya know it, and mama's gonna be fighting off all the pretty girls with the broom ya know. I don't think ya know Paul, I don't think ya know how special you are, mama's special boy." Said mama.
"I just want to ride my bike and play outside mama, I like lookin at all the bugs and plants, playin with my magnifying glass. I don't wanna go in no classroom with a buncha other kids, it don't sound fun to me." Said Paul.
"Well don't you worry Paul, they are all gonna love you, and you will get to learn all kinds of fun stuff, don't you worry Paul."
Paul's first day of school wasn't much fun to him. He was aware of being surrounded by a bunch of other kids his age who just weren't very smart, or at least, not as smart as he was. They were all yanking LEGO's, Etch a Sketch's, and Lincoln logs out of each others hands.
Paul was quite happy to sit alone and color with half dry magic markers that were left over from last years class.
The pontification of his teachers was no less helpful.
"Come on Paul, come play with the other kids Paul, come on over here and play with Lincoln logs Paul, yer not supposed to sit alone Paul, stop acting different Paul!" They would say, over and over again.
For some reason, Kindergarten was exactly how he imagined it, a living hell.
This is how Kindergarten went for the first half year, this chaotic hell of a herding of children to play with Lincoln logs and LEGO's. Paul did enjoy playing with these toys and building things, but this was an impossibility with other kids yanking the toys out of his hands and screaming "MINE" every two minutes. He dealt with it anyway, because if he didn't, he would have to deal with the teachers telling him how to play again.
The second half of the year became this utterly confusing teaching of symbols with chants. "A-B-C-D-E-F-G, next time won't you sing with me."
To Paul, it was useless, and a complete waste of his time to truly learn the things he wanted to learn, but again, he had no choice. He could not drown out the chants, he would dream them he heard them so much.
After school everyday, he would go home so tired he could not even begin to enjoy himself and play. He would just sit in his room and talk to his teddy's.
"What is this all about Teddy, what is the point of this, why do I have to learn ABC's?" He would ask Teddy.
"Teddy would just sit there looking back at him, no answer."
"Well that's ok Teddy, ma says I'm gonna be the top of my class and she will have to fight off girls with broomsticks, I tole her she won't have ta, cause none of them girls wanna be my friend anyway, but ma wants me to go to school, so I'm gonna be a good boy and just do it for ma." He would say.
By 6th grade, Paul was considered a reject in school. His grades were sub par most of the time, barely passing, and all he wanted to do was build ham radios on his electric set gramma had bought him for Christmas.
"Paul, another failed class Paul? How is it that you can build ham radios, but can't pass a 6th grade math class Paul? You make no sense boy, maybe I should take that there electric set from you until you can get yer homework done and pass yer fricken class!" His father would yell.
"Just leave him be Frank, our boys different, he's doing his best." Ma would say to pa.
"You can say that all you want, Jeanette, but our boy needs to learn in order to be successful in this world, makin excuses for him won't help him a bit!" Pa would yell back.
This became the norm for Paul, hearing his parents fight over his studies everyday after school, but they wouldn't take his electric set. They knew it would do no good, and only make matters worse for Paul.
Paul would put in his earbuds that were a mis match of different wires and broken ear buds he'd found in the garbage.
"Come in come in, can anyone here me, Paul here, testin out my new ham radio. Can anyone here me? Come in come in."
keeeeeshhhh keeeeeeesshhhhhh
"This is trucker Bob, I read you loud and clear. Say, what's a young boy like yerself doin on the ham freq's?"
keeeeeesshhhh keeeeeessshhhh
"Hey trucker Bob, I built this ham radio with the electric set my gramma bought me, gramma knows I like building electric stuff, so I made this radio and she's super proud to see it work."
keeeeeeshhhhh keeeeeeesssshhh
"Well that's mighty nice of gramma Paul, yer ham radio's workin great, you keep buildin stuff with yer electric set ya hear me Paul, yer a smart young boy!"
It always made Paul feel good, and he wondered how many of his perfect class mates were building ham radios. He suspected none of them, or very few were. In these moments, he could care less about his math and social studies homework, or the scolding he was going to get for not completing them on time.
Paul's rebellious nature became worse after learning how to play guitar. Gramma had once again bought Paul something for Christmas that further helped him lose interest in school studies.
Sitting in his room for 18 hours a day and learning Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath albums from cover to cover became the norm, and Paul played in rock bands with other reject friends in school as well.
By high school he was skipping entire days of school, going to his friends houses while their parents were at work, ripping bong loads, and creating magic with beginner instruments that all their grammas had bought them for Christmas.
Paul loved it, and he even became good at passing final exams. (Somewhat of a loophole for passing classes at the end of the year.)
He didn't care what his teachers thought of him with is long curly hair and oversized JNCO jeans that resembled an over-inflated bell bottom style of the 60's.
Ma didn't have to worry about fighting the girls off with broomsticks, cause they were not interested in Paul, this kind of female attention was reserved for the jocks and pretty boys with high grades. This bothered Paul a little, but there were a few punk rock girls that digged Paul anyway, and he wouldn't even get lucky with them either, but at least he had a small crew he belonged to, and they were free thinking kids who enjoyed similar things. So it was all good.
Paul's father blamed gramma and ma most of the time for Paul's shortcomings.
"See, you crazy women buy him all these electronics, and pamper the boy, now look at him, a bell bottom wearin, hippy who skips school and doesn't care about learnin anything of value, great work ma!" He would say things like this regularly, (even though he had supplied Paul with all of those Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath records.) and had given up on trying to scold Paul for his poor grades altogether.
Paul did excel in a couple of courses. For some reason algebra and architecture (which was an optional course in high school) were two such areas of study that Paul enjoyed, and he was at the top of his class with both of these studies.
It was a mystery to his teachers and parents alike, how Paul could ace algebra and architecture, but would fail simple courses. They knew at this point that there wasn't much to be said or done about it, Paul was turning from a boy to a man, and did as Paul wished to do most of the time.
In his last year of high school, Paul had made up his mind about what he was going to do as the next chapter in his life. His friends didn't like it, nor did his parents. Paul's father had always talked about his service in the Marine Corps, and hinted at Paul joining to "carry on the family tradition," throughout Paul's childhood, but when Paul stated he was going to join the Marines, Paul's father looked as though the blood had drained completely from his face and simply said:
"You don't need to do that just because I did son, I'll be proud of you no matter what you decide to do in life."
Paul had watched the twin towers come crashing down in architecture class, and had decided at that moment that he was going to join the service.
Paul never did forget the disbelief on his teachers face, and almost insane rant of "This isn't right, something isn't right here, those towers shouldn't have fallen like that."
It wasn't something Paul's teacher talked about much after the fact, in fact Paul's teacher became rather withdrawn after the incident and was not very present with his students for the remainder of the year.
Irregardless, Paul knew he had a duty to serve his country, and was his chance for redemption. Everything else Paul did was a disappointment to others, so why not prove he can be of value somehow.
Paul went on to join the Marines and excelled at it.
He had joined as a chubby kid with long hair, and after 3 months of conditioning on Paris Island, South Carolina, he was a brute muscle bound warrior, with a strong instilled discipline.
He was proud of himself indeed, on the day he was handed his Eagle Globe and Anchor emblem, a tear ran down his cheek. A feeling he'll never forget, of great achievement and success. His peers in boot camp also experienced this moment in a similar fashion. No one broke down sobbing, but they were all proud, and knew their family and friends would also be proud.
After boot camp, Paul went home for a small vacation, followed by local recruiting duty. Gramma cried, grampa smiled, and ma and pa were ever so proud of their boy.
Their son had become a man, and done so in fine fashion.
Paul missed playing guitar and building stuff on his electric set, but he didn't let it show.
Truth be told, Paul felt like he threw away his passions to please others, and deep down inside Paul was riddled with sadness, for he understood something about the world that others (or most others) didn't understand.
Paul's friends would no longer speak to him. They had said he betrayed them all, and threw away their chance to be famous rock stars. Paul felt this to be the case as well, for Paul was the sought after guitar player in his school, in his entire town in fact, and not many could play lead guitar like Paul could. His band had dis-banded when Paul left, and was another facet of guilt Paul carried and buried inside.
Paul went to his school to recruit others, decked out in Dress Blue's, the very attractive Marine Corps dress uniform, and something happened that made Paul sick to his stomach.
All them girls ma never got to fight off with the broom were swooning over Paul, girls he remembered that were a grade or two lower than himself, still in the school, new one's old one's, didn't matter. They all came flocking. They all loved Paul, and Paul remembered thinking.
"How shallow, I wasn't good enough for them with my JNCO's and long hair, I wasn't even worth a look, a hello, nothing, but here I am 50 pounds slimmer and wearing a nice suit and I am met with hungry eye's all around me, I am the center of attention, what the fuck is wrong with the world?"
More thoughts Paul kept bottled, Paul just smiled and handed out forms for people to fill out if they were interested. Paul felt crushed inside, defeated, but was the star of the show, the man they all wanted Paul to be from the start.
Paul's teachers treated him differently as well. Some were firmly shaking his hand proudly and smiling, whilst others wouldn't even look at him or acknowledge him. Strangely some of his favorite teachers would outright ignore him. This was something Paul didn't understand either, but he thought to himself:
"It must be political views, these people must judge a person by the path they choose based on politics of course, but how could they have loved me before, and now I am not worth a hello or even a glance. How can they look at me with such disgust?"
Paul would later go on to become an alcoholic to drown out the voices in his head, the thoughts...
Paul never built a ham radio again, and Paul slowly forgot all of the Hendrix songs he had known by heart note for note.
Paul went on to work factory jobs and construction jobs, and had little job skills as a Marine veteran.
Paul would go on to become homeless over and over again and become addicted to hard drugs.
Paul would always feel as though he sold his soul, traded his passions and dreams because of what other people wanted, his willingness to please.
Deep down inside, Paul knew the system was built on lies, confusion, deception, greed, indoctrination, illusion, control, slavery.
Paul lives his life today, 3 years recovered from addiction, hoping he'll one day get to build a ham radio again, and hoping that maybe, just maybe he'll be the lead guitarist in a rock band, playing a Fender Stratocaster, through an old tube amp.
Maybe, just maybe he will.
The End.
Posted with eSteem Surfer
