I spent my earliest years living in black neighborhoods. I guess the rent was probably less expensive there.
And so what that meant was that my first friends on the planet during this incarnation were black.
Which in turn meant that I would have no racial prejudice. Far from it. Due to those experiences I find that throughout this life that I have had what I refer to as “reverse prejudice”, which to me means that whenever I have seen a black person I automatically feel a sense of love and family.
John was the name of our landlord in one of those earlier dwellings. It was a two or maybe three story house in a black neighborhood in Springfield, Massachusetts.
My mom and I lived downstairs on the ground floor and John lived upstairs.
I was probably 3 or 4.
I liked John. He was nice and would watch me for my mom sometimes. I would go upstairs into his apartment and watch his big color television set.
John owned his own “auto body” repair shop. John liked to drink a lot but I only remember seeing him mean a few times.
When I would be upstairs and he was drinking I remember that he would give me beer. I liked it.
I remember that I had done the little kid thing where I had told him that my mom let me drink beer and that it was okay. For some reason he decided to either believe me or play along.
So for a while anyway it became commonplace to visit john and have some beer while hanging out and watching TV.
That finally ended one day when I was returning to our apartment downstairs and he gave me 3 or 4 beers “for later”.
My mom saw me coming down the stairs with all these cans of beer and wanted to know why, and, how and, what for?
I don’t recall the conversation that she must have had with John and I probably wasn’t privy to it anyway. But I remember that she didn’t seem very happy about me having my own beer and took them away from me..
Next time I was up at John’s, (seems like it may have been a little while before I was allowed up there again) he wouldn’t give me any beer. He said that I had lied to him when I had said that my mom let me drink beer.
On this day, (or night?) he was drinking whiskey. I asked him if I could have some. He said my mom said I wasn’t allowed to drink, and I said that she allowed me to drink whiskey. He said that that’s what I had said about the beer and that I had lied to him. I told him that I was mistaken about the beer but this “whiskey” was the stuff that she let me drink for sure.
So he poured me a shot. ( Maybe John didn’t understand little kids very well?)
I took a sip and proceeded to start coughing and choking immediately. He was probably smiling as he asked me what was wrong but I don’t remember. But I do recall him saying, “I thought you said you’ve had that before. You said you drink it all the time.”
I had to admit that I must’ve been mistaken and that I thought it was something else.
I really liked John a lot. He was Finnish and so he had a Finnish Sauna that he had built in the backyard.
Sometimes he would invite me when he or he and his friends would use it. I remember he would pour water onto the hot stones and the steam would billow up to the ceiling. I loved it.
As I write this I can almost smell the beer and feel the steam from those nights so long ago…
I recall one night while in the backyard with John and some of his friends that one of his friends ask me to hold his beer for a moment and so I did. While I was holding it I recall thinking that it would be funny if I took a thorn from one of the rose bushes that were growing in the backyard and put it into his beer. I wasn’t trying to be mean. I just thought it seemed like it would be funny.
So I did it. No one was hurt but when he found it he wasn’t very happy about it and said something like it could’ve made him choke.
I’ve always been good about learning from my experiences so I never did that again.
Sometimes John would take me to the bar with him. I liked that. It was fun and I enjoyed the bar snacks that they always had out for people, and probably the occasional “kid friendly” bartender would give me something special too, but that last part I’m just guessing about.
One night while driving back from the bar with John in his pickup I recall the cab filling with flashing lights and John swearing. He seemed really upset, and said something about that he would REALLY be in trouble if they caught him with me in the truck.
He must have swerved in the road or maybe violated a traffic rule but for whatever reason he had attracted the attentions of the police and he was decidedly unhappy about it.
Lights filling the darkness, sirens, John swearing, the fear in his voice, adrenaline, the sound of Johns motor roaring as he attempts to outrun them… Faster and faster, the sounds of racing vehicle engines flying down side street’s, shattering the quiet with thunder and sirens wailing in the night!
Me in the front row seat with eyes wide taking it all in!
My first police chase and we had escaped.
To me it was wonderful and exciting. I fully enjoyed it!
And then there were the hours I spent playing with the little wooden blocks he made for me. I guess he liked to work with wood. The throw away part, (ends and corners) he would sand smooth and give to me. Thus I developed a very nice collection of wooden blocks which occupied me and my imagination for hours on end.
John has been gone for many, many years now. He left the planet a lifetime ago. But in his way he left some strong and good memories in the life of the little boy I was.
I think I was probably in my mid-teens or maybe a bit younger when I heard of his death. We hadn’t lived in Johns house since around the time of these related adventures and I hadn’t seen or heard anything of him since. I guess my mom kept in touch with him since I seem to recall hearing her speak of him sometimes to a friend or two.
Why did we move? John got upset about something and raised the rent. I don’t know what that was about. Maybe something between him and my mom or maybe he was just drunk. My mom said when he realized we were moving that he lowered it again but by then it was too late and my mom said something about not trusting him to not do it again.
I will always remember you fondly John. Fair well where’re you may fair.
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Link to I PLEIADES - An Autobiographical Work - The Beginning - 1.
Link to I PLEIADES - An Autobiographical Work - Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep - 2.
Link to I PLEIADES - An Autobiographical Work - Mountain Climbers - 3.