Homegrown in America

In the beginning, there was an abrupt introduction into the world that traumatized me for years, making me think, for some reason, that I was adopted. It was not until my brother arrived 8 years later that I realized that since he looked like me, maybe I was not adopted like I thought I was. But, in those early years, I had and still do not have any recollection of memories of doing anything with either one of my parents or my sister, who was 4 years older than me and did not look like me at all.

So, for the first 7 years or so, my existence could have involved anything and I would not have known otherwise, or have been in any kind of to challenge whatever it was that I was being told I did or experience... and, all I can say is thank goodness that I do not remember anything that was told to me or that may have been told to me that I may have done or may not have done or may have experienced or not experienced... which is, when you think about it, is somewhat of a blessing.

But, at 8 years old, and being in the 3^rd grade, I knew that I was well on my way to adulthood and that these formative years of mine would form impressions on my mind that would mold and guide my life for years... and, I was not disappointed because my first life changing memory was “falling in love” with my science teacher who had short blond hair and once I was rejected by her, I swore on a stack of Marvel Comic Books that I would never “fall in love” with a blond nor with anyone for that matter who had short hair, regardless of the color. And, to this day, I have stayed true to that sworn promise.

Yet, while that may seem enough in one man's life for one year, there is a much greater and insidious activity in which I fell into that prior to this age, I never in my wildest imagination would have ever dreamed about and that was instantaneously becoming the “middle child.” It was my parents decision, not mine to put me into this situation of forever being this “middle child,” which has never allowed me or permitted me to “level load” my mental outlook regarding being the child that was never noticed.

According to an article published in Psychology Today about middle children, the following was written: 

They are considered to be neglected, resentful, have no drive, have a negative outlook, feel like they don’t belong—in other words, that they suffer from “Middle Child Syndrome.” A Stanford University study showed that middles are considered the most envious, least bold, and least talkative of all the birth orders.

Although middles are neglected, both by parents and researchers, they actually benefit from this in the long run. They become more independent, think outside the box, feel less pressure to conform, and are more empathetic. This gives them great skills as employees and also makes them excellent team players and partners.

Middles are more driven than we think. Most people see firsts as having drive and ambition but middles do, too, it’s just directed elsewhere. Middles are more oriented to principles and concepts, like justice, over earning power or prestige.

Middles have lower self-esteem than other birth orders because of their lack of uniqueness and attention at home—but this can actually be a positive as they don’t have huge egos.

Incidentally, self-esteem is not as critical as our society believes. Having an accurate sense of your self esteem is more important than having high self-esteem. 

Finally, middles avoid rocking the boat, as they dislike conflict.

And, there it is... right there... staring me in the face... I knew it all along... because, I thrive on “rocking the boat.”

And, therein lies my problem... and, it is directly related to me being a middle child and having to deal with the “Middle Child Syndrome,” just like I always thought... ever since the 3^rd grade... and, even though middle children become more oriented towards justice, I certainly did not get any justice when I

“fell in love” with my 3^rd science teacher and got rejected.

But, I remember something else remarkable that happened to me while I was in the 3^rd grade that I have quite forgotten and hope that I never will... and, that is meeting my life long friend Vic Adamus. I do not remember him from the 1^st or 2^nd grades, but like I have already testified to, I don't remember anything about my life prior to the 3^rd grade.

Well, I was on the playground at recess, talking with my science teacher (of course), and notice off on the other side of yard what appeared to be 2 to 3 larger guys “beating” on a smaller boy that I recognize from the class that we were just in. I excused myself from the conversation with my science teacher and walked over into their direction.

Once I got there, I told the larger of the 3 boys to leave that smaller kid alone... that must have “rubbed him the wrong way” and so he took out his frustrations on me... which was a mistake... and, in seconds, I had him on the ground and threatened to bash his head in with my hand if he ever looked wrong at my friend... which was an interesting choice of words because I did not know that little boy.

We walked back to the class together after the recess and he invited me over to his apartment that coming Saturday to play chess and I readily agreed. Vic and I remained friends and stayed closely in touch with each other until his death a couple of years ago. We had been friends and close friends for 58 years and was able to spend a couple of days with him about 6 months before he died.

Vic and I argued and disagreed often and lived hundreds of miles apart in separate States and went into different directions with our interests and with our lives and families but always remained in touch and shared all the good and bad of our different lives... and, I have never had another friend quite like that where the friendship has lasted that long. Most friendships fall apart once separation sets in and neither side wants to take the time to cultivate the relationship.

This is the sad and an unfortunate truth of life.

I remember absolutely nothing, as if I did not exist, before the 3^rd grade, but once in the 3^rd grade, my memories became vivid and alive, and instead of belonging to someone else, they all belonged to me... my science teacher, my true love, was a tad older but I have no way of knowing how much; but, what I do remember was that she had the Peter Pan hair style that Mary Martin wore in the 1954 musical.

And, I will always be indebted to her for steering me away from blondes... and, into the arms of all those females who did not know or who absolutely had no idea as to how to have more fun... and, that just matched up with my personality, perfectly.