WHAT WERE THEY THINKING? (Part 2)

That's Mom with her wooden spoon, A.K.A. 'Gentle persuasion'

On a hot and humid July Friday, in the final year of the Second World War, I debuted at the Swedish Hospital in Brooklyn, NY. By then, Grandpa Joe had gone on to meet his maker, and Dad was in the midst of creating his family.

The Swedish Hospital was located right across from Ebbets Field, home of the Brooklyn Dodgers, and I was born during a game. The Bums lost the game and so we set the tone for the rest of my life.

For instance: there was an older sister waiting for me (much older), a cranky mother from the labor and heat and humidity of delivering me, and a father who was mad that “dem bums lost!”

Not much occurred that day except - Harry Truman signs executive order establishing Medal of Freedom
- Nicaragua becomes 1st nation to formally accept UN Charter
- Wash Senator Rick Ferrell catches a record 1,722 games.

Big deal.

My troubles started soon after, around 1950, mom got this idea that I should go to kindergarten, and start my education early, and so started a lovely hatred that would last until 1955 -56 and stay with me the rest of my life. A school that is controlled by religious orders do two things to you, one they teach you to learn, write and act like a human, and they two: make you pay if you don’t do the first things!

Being a rebellious child, formulating ways to ‘skootch’ as Mom said, I found ways to amuse myself, often at the cost of limb and almost life. This behavior was the basis for what would become the norm through the years and the things I did for a laugh. Give me a sacred, noble or business like venue, an air of importance and business, and I will find a way to laugh at it if I can.

Mom and Dad waited in ambush, learning early on I was always up to no good. By the end of my childish career, I had orchestrated untold mischief upon four sisters both parents and a whole school system, and two part-time jobs and yes, even the church. I can’t go by a church without chuckling to this day. My school days were filled with being one step ahead of everyone, including my high school principle Mr. Feeney, my grammar school principle Brother Justinian and my college dean.

It didn’t help that I had met my best friend in college, who happened to be slightly worse than I was, with a great repertoire of ideas both new and used, that we adopted together to create amusement that to this day, 49 years later, we still laugh over.

And so dear reader, this life I lived, one of not only laughter, but of struggle and hard work, borne out of a need to lighten the world and my ills became the germ for Delbloggolo, an everyday love to record what I see, hear and feel, what was and what will be, and why, because no one cares, and frankly I don’t too, but I do practice my typing skills.