The sport which fit Norm's ideal was baseball and he served as pitcher for various teams. I recall hazy images of his ball games, especially those during which Mom and I crouched on the bleachers beneath a newspaper to ward off the rain, while she proudly feasted her eyes on the pitcher's mound with an inaudible, "that's MY boy" inscribed on her face. Dad's employment kept him from attending some of the games, but Mom always went, a fan until Norm lost his attraction for the game. Mom savors the memory of Norm being chosen to pitch yearly for the All-Star games.
Todd never went to Norm's games. He didn't have much interest in sports. It's difficult to know whether or not being good at something makes you like it. I happen to know that liking something does not make you good at it, for I love to bowl, but once bowled a 16—amazing by anyone's standards. (I was in high school at the time.) At any rate, Todd preferred to forego physical activity of the competitive nature, electing instead to pursue his penchant for gadgetry, electronics and in general, anything that would spin or balance. When drying the dishes he was not content to simply lay a lid on the table; he first had to give it a hearty whirl on its rim, whereupon the kitchen would ring with a wavering "wong, wong, wong" until the swiftly fluttering lid collapsed onto the table with a final, resolute, "wop." Mom forbid such treatment of glassware and china, of course, or undoubtedly many items would have sustained irreversible damage.
In effect, Todd was the mad scientist of the family, having to take mechanical objects apart to view and study their internal workings, and obtaining chemicals for his experiments which ate holes through his bedspread. He had infinite patience and stuck to an idea until it worked, even if it took all night. Todd was a licensed ham radio operator and collected all the necessary equipment to seek and find countless stations as well as other operators. Much of his spare time was spent behind the "rig," although he found equal enjoyment in playing with or annoying the huge spiders in our garage. It was Todd who tried to power his bicycle with an electric motor, and gathered scum and algae from the ponds to gaze upon through his microscope. He was also the only person in the family who could start a particularly cantankerous lawn mower.
Todd loved the extraordinary and took time to notice the small things. One night, he took a walk down in the woods and found some fungi which glowed in a luminous shade of green. He returned to the house to report the strange phenomenon and together we threaded our way back down the dark trail to the uncanny sight. Sure enough, delicate points of light embellished the damp, rotting logs on the woodland floor, transforming decay into a hauntingly magical scene.
With all of his patience in creative and mechanical fields of interest, one might have thought Todd was unruffled and carefree. Despite his slow and deliberate reasoning, however, his demeanor could rapidly transform into reckless belligerence if tormented. While Norm hurried through his homework to pursue more pleasing objectives, Todd sat behind his books in angry defiance, as if the homework which he declared "unreasonable busy work" would somehow shrink before his abomination. As the night peeled away, he wasted in vengeance hours which might have been spent behind his radio. Though he was an achiever, he wanted to go about it in his own way.
Graduating from high school in the 60's greatly affected Todd's outlook and he adopted the prevalent anti-establishmentarianism attitudes with intense vigor. He also embraced the ecology movement as a worthy cause and between the two modes of thought, plus the fact that he had attained the classic age of rebellion, nurtured a rigid hatred of cars which, eventually, blossomed into anything but a delicate flower. Fuming internally about the inherent necessity for cars, despite their polluting effects on our society, Todd would actually vent his disgust upon the automobiles themselves (which produced simultaneous protectiveness and anger from Dad, who was uncertain of the safety of his car in Todd's hands). Ironically Norm bought a car which Todd sometimes used that was incredibly pollutive, yet Todd would angrily flop into the car and rumble out of the driveway, its muffler belching a toxic cloud of gray carbon into the air that followed him up the street as he drove to his ecology meetings.
Sometimes I felt as if Todd was like a spring aching to be sprung. In driving, it was obvious that Todd released frustrations behind the wheel. This trait, however, was not directly related to his anti-establishment/pro-ecology stance; other pressures, whether conscious or unconscious, were to blame for that. Moreover, Mom recalls that as a youngster Todd would ride his tricycle precariously down the hill behind our house, balancing on two wheels and cackling with enjoyment throughout the wild trip. Despite his history, one generally persisted to assume that Norm, sports-oriented and having little patience for the fine-honed arts, would have been the terror in the driver's seat. The fact was, however, that Todd was the reckless one, using cars in a hard, decisive way which demanded their utmost performance. I might add that his safety depended on such performance, for if brakes failed, or mechanical workings malfunctioned, results could have been disastrous. The rampaging tornado, however, was never involved in "the big crash" and continues to parallel park vehicles with one, exacting maneuver (a feat which, in my eyes, demonstrates brilliant skill). Perhaps I worried too much. Perhaps I still do.
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Chapter 3
Todd's Illness