Norm especially loved to tease and mock my childish idiosyncrasies; he derived immense satisfaction from quizzing me, and because he used words which were far beyond my capacity to understand, smiled uncontrollably at my frustration. He always called me "illiterate," and while I had no conception of the word's meaning, I knew it was something which I did not want to have as a permanent attribute.
Norm also enjoyed pelting me with the arsenal of pillows which the basement couch housed. As he fired away, making direct hits with each pillow I would gather the pillows and try, in vain, to throw one in his general vicinity. I rarely made contact with his body, let alone his head, as I hurled pillow after pillow at my assailant, only to be blasted again in rapid succession after he picked up my futile scattering of pillows from the floor and behind the couch. Finally, I would intentionally spill all of the pillows on the floor in front of me in overt exasperation and yell "The end!" I wanted no further conflict. After several such instances, he decided to mock my ultimate reaction to bombardments and he himself threw all of the pillows on the floor with an accompanying, "The end!" He then looked at me with one raised eyebrow until he received his reward; a screech of anger.
Other conflicts which evolved in the basement's TV room concerned the programs themselves. At 3:30 "Lassie" and "Star Trek" were aired, creating a daily duel between Norm and me. Mom settled the argument, declaring that every other day we would be able to see our preferred show. The system worked well, except for the fact that, on the days in which "Lassie" appeared, Norm would raise his hand in Lassie's dog-like gesture and emit a mewing howl similar to the one which characterized the dog. Liking the show, but rather embarrassed by that fact due to the show's incredibly rosy view of life, the mimicry bothered me. Luckily my taste changed and I soon truly preferred "Star Trek" because of it's science fiction appeal, and thereby eliminated one tender spot through a transformation on my behalf.
Through my early years of life, my memories of Norm surrounded not so much the things we did together, but the way in which I saw his character. Norm seldom actually played with me; that was more Todd's arena. Except when he teased me, I was not conscious of being a child in Norm's company. I felt on equal terms with him more than I did with many other people who constantly maintained a distinction between my age and their own if only through a somewhat laughable change of pitch in their voice or a determinedly more animated style of speaking.
I always had a great love for Norm. He was easy-going and unobtrusive, and his presence was never unwelcome. He avoided unpleasant situations whenever possible and lacked aggression in areas where, for the generally accepted definition of success, that sometimes obnoxious trait was necessary. He rarely sought attention and money was of little consequence.
Norm valued simplicity and serenity; high-scale achievement was not among his priorities. He saw that "success" was a race which never ended, for another conquerable realm always presented itself. The race was everywhere; whether it was the attainment of placing oneself on the honor roll in school, or gaining promotions at work, or prestige and popularity in social circles. People allowed headaches to germinate in their minds simply because the thought of tasting success dominated their values. Why was "good" never "good enough?"
Norm was a virtual dynamo with regard to accomplishing a task. It had to go fast or Norm's patience would dissipate into the air. Whether it was a chore around the house or a dose of homework, he persevered until his work was finished and then retired to the front steps to sit. A job's completion did not always signify a flawless result, however. For instance, compared to Todd's smooth, taut version, Norm's bed was a haven for lumps, with the pillow stashed hurriedly beneath the twisted and rumpled spread. In school, Norm was a solid B student. He did not strive for his grades because perfection, to him, held no rewards. Norm did his work rapidly and fostered no hideous nightmares about tests. A slightly above average mark did not obliterate his happiness.
When under the employ of a firm, Norm was trustworthy and conscientious. Whether delivering newspapers or landscaping a yard, he made certain that the job was done well, from his punctual arrival through the day's end. Doing an honest day's work was less complicated than expending energy to connive a way out of it; he knew that he earned his pay and never had to look over his shoulder in apprehension when the boss strode by.
Norm did not worry about being good enough. He was confident and proud of who he was and what he wanted in life. Average grades or average jobs did not signify average intelligence and he felt no need to apologize for his position in terms of societal importance. It was a refreshing outlook which suited him perfectly.
Norm was very athletic; one could tell by the way he walked. Sports were a source of entertainment, and he succeeded in almost everything he tried. Only two aspects of his personality stood in the way of his being selected as "team material" for many sports. First, he felt that a game was a game; although he did his best, he could not take a game as seriously as did many of the others who became enraged by losing. He wanted it to be fun, and competition was fun only as long as the game remained free of hostilities. Secondly, he disliked sports demanding body contact; he was conscious of his own space and avoided being touched. Norm despised wrestling, but since it was required in physical education, he handled his distaste by promptly pinning his partner and thereby ending the match. Taking notice of his ability, the teacher eagerly teamed him up with the heaviest, sweatiest guys in the class. Sickened by their stench and glassy-eyed fervor, Norm determined to purposely shorten the match; he allowed himself to be pinned.