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Childhood.
I don’t remember much of my childhood.
I grew up in Ventura, California living in a duplex with my family. It was a light blue Spanish style duplex with a grayish brown wooden fence in the back. The back of the duplex is where we lived, and then after a year or so probably we moved into the front.
There’s snippets of memory that come to mind from those years. Mostly photos, and shit like that, that I’ve been shown.
I remember dressing up as a cowboy when I was very young, probably around three or four. I wore this white and black get up for one of those Halloweens. I had everything: black boots, fake black leather leg things that cowboys wore over their jeans, fake black leather vest with a white button up underneath, and a black hat. I’m pretty sure I had a fake black pistol with an orange tip too. I think every little boy goes through a phase where they love cowboys and Indians. I wonder though if any of them wanted to be Indians. I don’t know why I didn’t. I don’t even know why I wanted to be a cowboy. I just did.
My parents got me this rocking horse for one of my birthdays. I remember it being this shitty plastic thing that was a very light colored blue and white, with a hint of yellow here and there. The yellow was probably some weird stain. I think I loved it though.
I was also very fat as a kid. I do know that very well. I was fat until fifth grade, and then once the summer before sixth grade hit I lost all of it. I became pretty much anorexic for a while. I don’t know how that ended, or if it did.
I know that street very well now. The one I started on. Even though I don’t remember the name of it, my uncle and I always drive down it whenever I go out there to visit.
There’s a church across the street and to the left of the duplex. My parents got married there. My uncle was my dad’s best man, and my aunt my mom’s. My aunt is, or was, my mom’s sister. So my uncle had no relation to my dad. I wonder a lot how my dad had no friends he knew that would want to be his best man. His brother only lived about five hours away. Which, to me, seems like not that much of a drive for your brother’s wedding. Unless my uncle was my dad’s best friend. In that case it would be a strange friendship. I think the last time they have spoken was probably a year or two ago when my dad went out there to go to a USC football game for my brother. That was the first time he went back to California since we moved out to Kansas.
I know that when we lived on that street things were great. I mean, I don’t know that for sure but it feels like in my distant memory inside my head that everything seemed so new and exciting, and life was something worth more than going to work every day and buying a thousand dollar T.V. I don’t know though.
When I look back, I really do love the fantasized blue duplex house that comes to mind, and a palm tree protruding right behind, and the breeze pushing its palm leaves across cool blue California sky.
It seems more like a dream that I once had rather than a memory. It probably was. Maybe even a fantasy from the past.
Somebody lives there now. I know because we moved, as I said.
My dad was in the navy. He decided to move us onto the navy base in Port Hueneme, a bordered place close to Oxnard. I don’t even remember when we moved there. We moved to Kansas when I was nine and a half. It seems like we were on that base for a whole life. A whole life as a kid though is probably no more than five years.
It all seems like a dream. A dream that came, but will never come again.
I know one time I also dressed up as Winnie the Poo for a Halloween. This must have been before my cowboy days because I was being pushed in a stroller still. This is what my mom and aunt told me once before. I was this chubby little “stroller poo” being pushed around by two, also chubby, women in there thirties. I’ve seen what has become of women who get babies all dressed up for events, not only Halloween. They think there shit don’t stink. Especially when they get around other women with dressed up babies. Showing off to each other what costumes they have their little slaves dressed up as. While all of this is going on they still believe their shit don’t stink. Fooling each other to the point of no return, and everything sort of just evens out. Everyone having a good time with non-smelly shit.
I know that when I was younger, still living in that blue duplex, I used to love watching animal shows. I watched this one that had some dog in it who would go to different places and dress up like it was in the place for real. Looking back now I wonder how much drugs these dudes, or ladies, that created these shows, were on. I know this dude who wants to create kid oriented stuff and he’s done a shit ton of drugs, especially psychedelics. I assume these people were trying to implant some sort of animal loving qualities into me as a child. Which they did a good job of. I feel like too easily they could’ve made me believe black people were evil, or some sort of crazy shit like that. My brain was ready to believe anything that sneaked its way through. I guess questioning only comes when you’ve found answers and have lost the wonder for exploring the world.
I was white and my hair was as white as my skin was. I had these deep blue eyes that made my chubby cheeks more tolerable. I was always bigger then every other kid, but couldn’t stand up for myself to save my life. For some reason I account my shyness to this one particular moment. I was heading outside to play in the front yard and my mom told me, “don’t talk to strangers,” after I opened the door and started to head out. I don’t know how valid that is, but in my head I’ve always felt her saying that had something to do with me not being able to openly talk to people that well.
As I said though, I don’t remember much of my childhood.
