Lascivious Sentimentality: The Primer

This blog will be dedicated to my issues with sentimentality - longing for the past.

I think my mind takes it a step further sometimes. Psychologically, I don't think it has much to do with any sort of disdain or displeasure I have with my life, because I absolutely adore my wife and my children.

I think it has deep roots in the ever-changing nature of how I was raised. So let's outline that first.

I'm 34 years old. I was born on Long Island in New York, USA to a family with deep roots there. They were all fully New York people. When I was 5 years old, my dad took a promotion and we moved to Westborough, Massachusetts. It was the middle of Kindergarten, and it was pretty difficult. I had sort of been the teacher's pet in my school in East Islip, though to be honest, the only memories I have of it are from pictures I've seen and stories my mother has told me. I do know for a fact I was a very precocious little guy and could read really well, so I would frequently read to the class. Of course, knowing how my mother remembers things, it could have just happened once. Either way, I was sort of a star.

But back to the move - we moved into a cool house with two front doors and a huge yard and a broken piano in the garage (which was fascinating to me - I would open it all up and see how it worked - I do remember that). I remember our yard had three swing sets, all very old and on the verge of falling apart. And I remember we had raspberry bushes at the edge of our yard. One of my earliest sense memories is the wonderful feeling of being allowed to play outside for a little while on a warm summer evening in 1980. It was special because I already had my bath and was in my pajamas. When I think about it, I can still smell the air and feel how that evening breeze felt against my clean hair and skin. It's honestly one of my favorite memories from that time. I liked living there, from what I can remember. We were there for a little over a year, and moved to Washington, Pennsylvania in the summer between 1st and 2nd grade.

Pennsylvania was a completely different culture from Massachusetts - much more of a rural mindset - more miners and blue-collar workers, although where we lived in Massachusetts wasn't exactly the city or anything. My memories of Pennsylvania are much more pronounced - I can remember taking a great interest in music and operating my dad's stereo at this point - recording "radio shows" and otherwise being silly. I remember riding my new bike (that I got in Massachusetts) a LOT in PA - I had explored all the attached subdivisions pretty well, and most of the wooded areas that surrounded it as well. I liked it there, for the most part...and continued my good academic performance in school - I remember having some of my first sexual thoughts about my 2nd-grade teacher, before I really understood what they were. I also remember how sad I was when my Pop-pops died, and that we were so far away (an 8-hour drive at least). It was the first time I really understood that distance.

A few months later, we moved to San Dimas, California, and we were so excited. California was a place that we knew little about, but were really big fans of. This was back in the day when people still really wanted to head out to the coast - when the northeast and midwest were draining to the south and far west. We actually drove cross-country, and it was truly an adventure. I distinctly remember the super-cool waitress who served us in some hotel restaurant in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and thinking she talked funny but was great. I remember the mess my little brother William made in a restaurant in Arizona somewhere when he slammed his hands together around a ketchup bottle (the plastic squirty kind) and said "MOUNT FUJI", and then later that day throwing snowballs at each other in the parking lot of the hotel where we stayed in Flagstaff, Arizona. As I recall, it was a fun trip, even with the dog in the car (oh yeah - a 90-pound golden retriever, four boys ranging in age from 4-year-old twins to a mouthy 8-year-old (me). I'm sure my parents may remember it differently.

San Dimas is east of Los Angeles, and an easy drive down to the fun stuff in Orange County (like Disneyland). My dad's commute was horrendous, so we didn't see him as much when we were there - he'd leave really early and get home late. I do remember playing Intellivision and watching SelecTV with him. I really became an explorer in San Dimas, though - there were two creeks in canyons surrounding our home, and we'd basically just walk down the street (which was a HILL) into one of them, and we could explore the dry canyon, with all the flora and fauna that filled it with life. I had received a BB gun for Christmas the year prior, so that was my companion into the wilds of the California canyons. Our house was also just north of a construction site where they were building these massive 5000-plus-square-foot houses. It was fun climbing in the rafters of these houses - like dangerous monkey bars. School was another story, but that was because I had an awful teacher who was mean to the students, and the curriculum was pretty weak compared to the northeastern schools I was used to, so I was way ahead (and therefore very bored with school) and became disinterested in school. My grades reflected it, and I can still remember how angry my mother was driving us home from school that report card day when I got a bunch of Cs - she was LIVID, screaming at me as I sat next to her in the front seat of our Ford LTD station wagon. By the end of that school year, it was becoming apparent that my poor grades were a result of the crappy teacher and the fact that I was a bit advanced, so they had me tested for the G.A.T.E. program, where I found out that I have a genius-level IQ and I definitely belonged in the program, so during 4th grade, a couple of times a week I got to hop on the small bus and travel to another school that housed the smart kid program, which was GREAT! I still wonder if I would have been a better student had we hung around in L.A., but it was not to be. I had a best friend in a nice kid named Steve Parise (he's now a philosophy professor: www.contra-mundum.com), and it was the first time I felt really sad about moving - leaving people behind was tough. We moved to northern California after the summer of 1983.

Fremont, California is a wonderful suburb in the Bay Area on the east bay between San Jose and Oakland. It's right on the edge of some serious hills and the end of the line for the BART trains that take you around the Bay Area. It was my favorite place to live - we were really close to our elementary school (literally three houses and a field away), and within walking distance of a shopping center with a pizza parlor (complete with video games), an ice cream/candy shop, and a supermarket. I had really good friends in school, played baseball a lot, and could ride my bike to Lake Elizabeth (Fremont's central lake) where they had huge playgrounds and lots of fun stuff to do. The weather was always a little brisk, but beautiful, and we had a pool for the first time (complete with a jacuzzi, too), and great climbing trees in our backyard. It was a preteen's paradise. It still ranks very high in my "favorite places I've ever been" list. Things were really good until I hit junior high, and then it got messy. I started to really have a hard time in school - maybe it was the "travel to different classes" nature of the Junior High format, or the fact that there were a lot more kids at the school, many of whom were really mean to me, but I had problems adjusting. Thankfully, I had a really nice teacher who really cared about me - Ms. Chisholm - she knew I was a smart kid and not trying, and called me out for it. It helped get me back on track, academically, but change was in the air. My dad got a BIG promotion...and we were heading back east to New Jersey. I started behaving like an ass, lying about how much I hated it there, and how happy I was to be leaving, basically making all my good friends feel like crap - especially my best friend, Pat Lucarelli. I remember getting in a lot of fights (some physical) with him toward the end because I was such an insolent jackass about the moving thing. I just couldn't express the truth - that I would miss him a lot. We moved on February 14th, 1986, flying from San Francisco to JFK.

New Jersey was a new animal for me. I was able to rescue myself from the negative attitude I had about school in California because I was the new kid. I was from California, too...oooooh! New Jersey kids were very different, and it was an interesting transition. The best part was that I met a kid at school who I got along with right away - PLUS he lived right across the street from me. He stoked my interest in music and bicycles, and then moved away from me. I finally knew how it felt to have someone leave instead of leaving someone. It wasn't any better. For the next two years, I had braces, zits, man-tits (even though I was skinny - thank you, gynecomastia!) and a huge nose that I hadn't grown a face for yet. I also had an attitude problem. Being a smart person has its downside sometimes - it can really make you an arrogant prick if you don't get your ego in check. Since I was a self-absorbed teenager with raging hormones (and the accompanying mood swings), it was inevitable that I was going to be a dick. I didn't have any really close friends, mostly because all the nerds I got along with lived kind of far away (out of bike distance) and I didn't drive. It was extremely tough, but I discovered my deep love for music there (even though I had played earlier), so it was sort of worth it.

We found out in early 1989 that we'd be moving to Bakersfield, California, so I decided to forego the baseball season with the high school team, and since I was still young enough, I decided to play little league with my brother Patrick. We'd never really had an opportunity to play together, and we were DOMINANT. It was sort of like real baseball with a cheat code, as I batted almost .700 and struck almost everyone out. Patrick batted around .600, and we had a very strong team - so strong, in fact, that people used to hate us because we had a swagger. We were a little league version of the 1986 Mets, but without the smokes, hookers, and blow. It was a nice way to make me feel a little better about myself in a time when almost every other area of my life was awful.

Moving helped, in this case.

Our cross-country trek was by van this time - in our 1987 Dodge conversion van (complete with TV and a kicking stereo). It was a lot more fun. Barney made the trip with us again, and on the way, we picked up a cat, who we named Beaver, after the town where we found her in Utah. It would take a few years for me to realize the humor in calling your pussycat "Beaver". Anyway, Bakersfield was BORING, but I had good friends and we had a good time teasing all the rich kids who thought they were super-cool. I lost the braces, but still had the zits and tits (though those started to fade), and my face now fit my nose. Life was better. I really got into playing music in Bakersfield. It became my primary focus as baseball became less important. After graduation, I went to San Diego State University, and loved my new-found freedom, but still was pretty homesick.

During that first year, I found out the family was moving to Pennsylvania, and since it was financially stupid to think I'd be able to stay at SDSU, I transferred to Shippensburg University, which was not far from where we were going to live in PA. I moved with my dad in June of 1992 to the vast wasteland some call the Cumberland Valley. It was hard making the transition, but I coped. It was nice to be at a school where you could actually get to know your professors.

In 1996, while I was still at Shippensburg (it took me a while), my family moved again, this time to Florida. That same summer, I was dumped by my long-time girlfriend in a misunderstanding where she thought I was dumping her. I think the reality was I wasn't convenient anymore, and she really didn't want to make the effort, so she concocted her own reality (she did that a lot). I was at Ship for one more year, and decided that I had nothing for me up there in PA, so I moved to Florida.

This was way longer than it needed to be, but it's indicative of my personality and an example of why this blog has the name it has - I have an awful problem with lust for the past. I love it.

Because we moved so much when I was little, I really always had this desire for something to be stable, and the most stable things were my family (my mom, dad, and brothers) and my memories and imagination. I believe this is what led me to today.

Most of my dreams consist of odd combinations of experiences from my past and present mixed with situations that never happened and people who weren't even part of the same phases of my life. It's this weird menagerie of grown-up versions of my childhood friends and my current friends and acquaintances. When I was young, I would often have dreams about situations that hadn't happened yet. I could be in situations and have the strongest sense that I'd been there before, almost to the point where I knew exactly what the others in the situation were about to say. It's almost like a powerful form of deja vu, only rooted in recollection of dreams.

I feel as though this constant focus on situations that could have gone better or analysis of ways I could have reacted to situations better is rooted deep in some sense of connection to this past.

I have this incredible desire to be able to be there again - to interact with those people in that time again. It's not as fun to me to reunite with people as it is to remember them for who they were. I want to smell the weird mix of coffee and pizza in the CUB at Shippensburg University. I want to touch the bermuda grass on my yard in Bakersfield. I want to feel the warmth of Christmas at home in New Jersey, when my Granny and my Aunts and Uncles would come visit us. I want to hear the laughter of my children when they were babies. I want to play those songs again with my old band Slaphappy. I want to sing with my friend Joel as we wander around campus.

But more than the personal experiences, I want to see how things were. How people were. How cars smelled. What was on the radio. What TV was like.

I'd love to be a time traveler to the past. I think I'd write about it with passion. I honestly wish that in the afterlife (a concept in which I don't generally believe) there's a big tape library and you can watch the scenes of your life as they happened, and see how close they are to what you remember.

Some people are so nostalgic they want to dress retro - they want to live the past. I don't. I just want to experience it and see it.

But of course, we're making memories every day. The love of my wife and children always brings me back to now, and I'm getting a whole lot better at appreciating it.

But I will always be fighting with my primal lust for the past...

My lascivious sentimentality.