March, 7, 2013

I read many different blogs and I think they are so cool.  There are ones for every interest possible and some have the most beautiful pictures and are so interesting.  Even when some of the authors write about their lives it sounds wonderful and perfect.  So why has mine been so messy like a collage with no theme running through it, it's just a collage.  I don't know, maybe that's why I enjoy reading other peoples, theirs are cool.

So I was raised by a wonderful set of grandparents.  They loved to camp, throw parties, provide a home for all of us filled with two basketball courts, swimming, tetherball, baseball, swings, just everything, it was fun.  You would think we lived on a farm, but we didn't it was downtown Los Angeles in a new suburb that as my grandmother would explain was built on a dump.  My brother would ride his bike to Dodger's Stadium.  The school district offered the best summer recreational program, it was a blast and it kept us learning, socializing and out of trouble.  Out our patio we had a beautiful view of Mount Baldy.

My grandfather took us from that setting to a small rural town in the middle of the desert with the temperatures ranging from the 60s in the winter to (and this is no lie) 129 (that's not a mistake) in the summer.  It was hot Duh!  We lived on the Colorado River, we skied, played pool and because we lived on the river away from everything that I knew as civilization we got fat, oh well, it didn't stay forever. 

My first month in school a beautiful girl came to me and asked me if I wanted to go to church.  She was a Catholic and they seemed to do everything, I wanted to go.  I had no idea as a child how personal religion was and how everyone's experiences with their faith affected their viewpoint.  I was a kid I just wanted to go.  I got turned down everyway but sideways.  There was no way that was gonna happen.  My grandfather sat in his chair and exclaimed "You can be any other religion you want to be, you'd probably make a good morman, but you will never be a Catholic I forbid it".  What???  She seemed nice to me what's the problem??  Ok fine. 

Some years went by and daddy (my grandfather) always told stories, he went to school with John Wayne (No he played at the same highschool as John Wayne did only a few years later) but as the years went by he played football with John Wayne, whatever works that's fine.  He and my grandmother grew up during their teen years in Yuma Arizona, movies were filmed in the Glamis hills and they used extras all the time so we got those stories too, alot, a whole lot.  Anyway, then began the stories of daddy's experiences in the Catholic schools.  He told stories about secret tunnels between the school, the priests quarters and the nuns quarters.  He told stories about being beat and the priests not being very nice.  He told stories about sneaking around and whispering in corners.  I would always say daddy, come on now that's not cool to talk that way about your church, that didn't happen.  For years he would tell me stories of young boys and him running away from the school to never return.  His father had sent him there, he wanted him to become a priest (who would do that to their son).  Daddy's father came over on the boat to Ellis Island from Ireland and to be completely honest they weren't the nicest of people, my daddy on the other hand loved his family. 

Anyway, the stories continued and I put them in the same category as he went to school with John Wayne.  Finally, my grandfather passed away in 1985.  One day I was sitting in my livingroom listening to the news and I couldn't believe my ears, "What did they just say?"  "No way!!"
Sure enough, all the secrets were beginning to come out, and I felt so bad for not believing him.  My grandfather had been treated very poorly in the school, he had witnessed things he shouldn'tve and he ran away.  And all of the stories were true......

So I have to wonder, did he really go to school with John Wayne?  Nah...............