One day my little brother and I were singing a song called, once you fall in love (its heavy falling out). Somehow, it came about that he began to spell heavy, one of the words in the song. He spelled it H-E-V-Y. I was proud of that 4yo. The A hides, it is silent. He got beat for that. Momma’s baby. Somebody beat the fuck out of him. Remember the “prize” she married? He couldn’t even read. I remember she would sound out words to/for him. By 1973, they had 3 children. Let’s say one of their names was Valentina. He would sound it out and spell it, V-L-E-T-N-A, and Somebody would award him the Congressional Medal of Honor.
Living there, we learned a new game. We named it, “Count the Licks”. When one of us got beat, the other one would count how many licks the other one would receive. It was usually in the 60-90 range with an extension cord for nothing…like not spelling heavy. Or the inability to account for dirty underwear well hidden by her potty trainees. Or you would get last week’s dinner pinched out of you if you did something like taking her a glass of water with a spot on the glass.
I would think about that bike my mother bought me. How I used to ride it further than I should have. Outside exploring a kid’s world. I would pick and try to sell berries that grew on the fence. I should have made a killing on such a rare commodity for I never saw berries like that in the grocery store. Additionally, the store was now a place I went before and /or after school to do the family grocery shopping if needed. I often walked into my classroom both late and unkempt. There was no more shopping for school clothes either out of necessity or just because.