A very early and, at the time, quite unpleasant instance would have to include an ill-fated picnic at a local park. After having eaten my fill of grilled pork chops and corn on the cob, I gingerly led the way down a well-worn trail. As I descended, I gradually gained momentum, eventually finding myself duly out of control of my legs. Consequently, I hurdled over a projecting tree root and landed in a ditch of broken beer bottles. I rose in terror, admonishing a true battle scar on my right hand.
Once at the hospital, a doctor was doing his best to aid my injury. I considered myself to be in terrific pain, and when he began attempting to clamp my wound, I felt that he was doing me no service. Outraged, I bit the doctor squarely on the arm. Apparently he didn't relish my lack of enthusiasm and quickly bit me back. I was a trifle shocked; however, I accepted the unspoken truce with no further outbursts.
I was also given to occasional inexplicable fears, such as a fleeting intolerance for what I considered "fast and dangerous vehicles," including sled rides and motoring about in our home-made go-cart, dubbed "the chug." My mom would soon tire of my ridiculous reactions to those things most children would consider fun, and override my stubborn insecurity by making me ride. The other kids were right. It was fun!
More than anything else, I liked to be at home. I loved to romp through the woods or busy myself indoors. Aside from my neighborhood friends, I seldom sought interaction with others of my age; spending much of my time with adults or alone. I was content with my crafts, swing-set and the like. This attribute may account, to a degree, for my shyness and lack of enthusiasm for group activities. On the whole, I found it very difficult to speak at gatherings unless a question was deliberately pointed in my direction.
As do most children, I enjoyed Kindergarten, although I did not mingle with others during free-time. I found the various activities to be interesting and to my liking. I loved the many art projects, except those in which we were forced to use messy paste pots. I detested sticky fingers, and was shocked to discover that some children liked paste to such a degree that they would eat it. I recall stringing beads to create necklaces through the duration of many play-times; the teacher would sometimes suggest that I play with the other children, but that idea I strongly opposed. I would, on occasion, join the group at her bidding, but shortly I would excuse myself to once again make necklaces. I simply did not relish pandemonium.
Grade school proved to be neither a happy nor unhappy affair. I considered it an integral part of growing up through which every child must pass. I made acquaintances, for I could not truly label these individuals as friends, so cruel and insensitive they often showed themselves to be. Many would mock less fortunate children, reasoning that their standing amongst their peers would undoubtedly be raised for their unjust behavior. Only once did I resort to such base inclinations for the supposed purpose of gaining popularity, and once was enough for me. Coupled with the fact that I was nearly "caught" by the subject of my ridicule, I despised myself for behaving in such a lowly manner. From that day to the present I have kept my comments hidden, or if I do speak aloud, I am prepared to stand behind my statements. I speak only of my distaste for actions which I personally regard as wrong or spurred through a lack of control; any further comments are of no consequence unless the subject is able to change those things about which he is being ridiculed.
Although I excelled academically in school, I was always content when the time would come to be dismissed. I liked school only in the sense that I enjoyed the result of successfully completing my assignments. I felt a certain compulsion to produce perfection: I believed that if I was to engage in an activity at all, I should do my best, or my time thus engaged would be without worth.
This desire for perfection had a price, however, because certain activities conflicted with my personality. Although physical education was my ultimate terror, the only subject with which I grappled considerably was mathematics. After the most elementary techniques of addition, multiplication, and their counterparts were mastered, I found myself to be floundering in a sea of the seemingly "unknowable." I had extreme difficulty accepting the various theorems and equations without asking the method behind their stated form. I was alarmed to deal with absolutes, finding it hard to believe that any subject was so unyielding and allowed no room for error, however slight.
In my inability to accept the laws of mathematics "wholesale," I soon discovered that there were those teachers who disliked students who failed to grasp their subject matter. Perhaps they felt that one who did not understand was undoubtedly inattentive in class and was therefore undeserving of any further assistance outside of class, especially when the extra time was the teacher's own. In many instances, I would seek the mathematically inclined intelligence of my cousin, Gary, or attempt to work out my disaster through additional reading and calculation, rather than face the malignant stare of an insensitive instructor.
My other enemy throughout school was, as mentioned, physical education. Although I was not uncoordinated, I was unfamiliar with many of the sports, and my lack of social aggressiveness affected my performance in a way which could only be described as unfavorable. I felt the class to be senselessly competitive; so concerned were my schoolmates with winning that to say we were involved in a "game" was totally incomprehensible. Except for running, and a somewhat comical aptitude for standing on my head, I dreaded the activities, and detested any sport which dealt with balls. The teachers augmented a student's frail self-image by allowing individuals to choose their own teams, resulting, of course, in the less able participants being chosen last. Once the game began, I felt besieged by paranoia; my blunders were met by icy glances of derision, despite my desperate attempts to perform in an admirable fashion. I soon learned that sports were not games, but battles in which winning meant everything. Under such conditions, I had absolutely no hope or desire to fight.