A Common Pornography Part 4

Dad gave me a vibrator once. Sort of oval-shaped. He gave it to me so I could wrap it and give it to Mom as a birthday present. Later, they kept it in a drawer by the bed. Then, shortly after, they slept in separate beds. a vibrator once. Sort of oval-shaped. He gave it to me so I could wrap it and give it to Mom as a birthday present. Later, they kept it in a drawer by the bed. Then, shortly after, they slept in separate beds.

Nicknames

In middle school, I became really good friends with a skinny redheaded kid named Maurice. We were the kind of friends who had their own secret language. We wrote notes to each other, full of weird words, and pa.s.sed them to each other between cla.s.ses. We decided that our parents needed nicknames. I became really good friends with a skinny redheaded kid named Maurice. We were the kind of friends who had their own secret language. We wrote notes to each other, full of weird words, and pa.s.sed them to each other between cla.s.ses. We decided that our parents needed nicknames.

My mom was Fuzz because she had one of those white old lady Afros that became so popular, partly due to the influence of the TV show The Golden Girls The Golden Girls. My dad was Pudlow because he was kind of scrawny and weak, even though he had these little humorous outbursts (known as spazzes back then) and tried to act all authoritative. Maurice's parents' nicknames were somewhat more random and obscure. His mom was Art for the simple fact that she made some fuss about taking up painting once. Garno was his dad's nickname, because it rhymed with Yarno, and John Yarno was a big dorky-looking offensive lineman for the Seattle Seahawks at the time. Maurice told me once that his dad's fingers would often become curled in cold weather because of some metal in his hand. He called that "doing the Garno."

Country Music Memories

1. I'm in our bathroom and Dad is listening to Hank Williams on a tinny-sounding radio, which sits on the washer. I am probably six or seven. I'm sitting atop the dryer because it's warm on my bottom. I watch him shave and he sings along with Hank, sort of yodeling-like. My brothers are outside playing football with the neighbor kids. I can't play because I have the mumps. I look just like Robert Blake, who we watch on the TV show I'm in our bathroom and Dad is listening to Hank Williams on a tinny-sounding radio, which sits on the washer. I am probably six or seven. I'm sitting atop the dryer because it's warm on my bottom. I watch him shave and he sings along with Hank, sort of yodeling-like. My brothers are outside playing football with the neighbor kids. I can't play because I have the mumps. I look just like Robert Blake, who we watch on the TV show Baretta Baretta. I like looking at my face in the mirror as Dad sings.

2. I am supposed to meet my parents at the big fountain in the mall. I've been hanging out with my other twelve-year-old friends at the drug store, where we shamelessly loiter and look at comic books. I have to walk through JCPenney to get to the fountain. In the stereo department I hear the Charlie Daniels Band's "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." Although I'm already late to meet my folks, I sit on the floor and listen, fascinated by the singer's fast-talking tale of deceit. I am grounded for a week. I am supposed to meet my parents at the big fountain in the mall. I've been hanging out with my other twelve-year-old friends at the drug store, where we shamelessly loiter and look at comic books. I have to walk through JCPenney to get to the fountain. In the stereo department I hear the Charlie Daniels Band's "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." Although I'm already late to meet my folks, I sit on the floor and listen, fascinated by the singer's fast-talking tale of deceit. I am grounded for a week.

3. Not long after Charlie Daniels became a household name, I decided to go with the crowd on a certain consensus: country music is bad. I know now that much of the country music from that era (the seventies) was actually good, but I was trying to be popular. I was into the Clash and Elvis Costello. Still, Juice Newton was becoming popular at this time and she was actually playing a concert at our high school gymnasium that I wanted to attend. She was a good-looking Daisy Duke type of lady with long Crystal Gaylelike hair. Plus her name was Juice. I sat in the upper seats and discreetly tapped my toes to her hit "Queen of Hearts." Not long after Charlie Daniels became a household name, I decided to go with the crowd on a certain consensus: country music is bad. I know now that much of the country music from that era (the seventies) was actually good, but I was trying to be popular. I was into the Clash and Elvis Costello. Still, Juice Newton was becoming popular at this time and she was actually playing a concert at our high school gymnasium that I wanted to attend. She was a good-looking Daisy Duke type of lady with long Crystal Gaylelike hair. Plus her name was Juice. I sat in the upper seats and discreetly tapped my toes to her hit "Queen of Hearts."

4. One of my first jobs out of broadcasting school was doing the weekend evening shows at a Spokane country music station. There was a big One of my first jobs out of broadcasting school was doing the weekend evening shows at a Spokane country music station. There was a big History of Country Music History of Country Music book that I used for little factoids when I wanted to sound like I knew what the h.e.l.l I was playing. I'd talk about how Freddy Fender was once in prison or that Eddie Rabbitt was from Brooklyn. I spoke of George Jones as if we were ancient friends. I learned that I actually liked some of the music, especially the old wild hollerin' stuff like Bob Wills and Earl Scruggs. I even took a s.h.i.+ne to singers like Tammy Wynette and Dolly Parton, whom of course I fantasized about. I even felt an emotional tug whenever I played Glen Campbell's "Wichita Lineman," looking out the big seventh-floor window and wondering, "How is my girlfriend doing me wrong tonight?" book that I used for little factoids when I wanted to sound like I knew what the h.e.l.l I was playing. I'd talk about how Freddy Fender was once in prison or that Eddie Rabbitt was from Brooklyn. I spoke of George Jones as if we were ancient friends. I learned that I actually liked some of the music, especially the old wild hollerin' stuff like Bob Wills and Earl Scruggs. I even took a s.h.i.+ne to singers like Tammy Wynette and Dolly Parton, whom of course I fantasized about. I even felt an emotional tug whenever I played Glen Campbell's "Wichita Lineman," looking out the big seventh-floor window and wondering, "How is my girlfriend doing me wrong tonight?"

Confession

Dad went to confession every Sat.u.r.day. He always asked me if I needed to go too. Sometimes I'd say yes, just so he didn't think I was blowing it off completely. confession every Sat.u.r.day. He always asked me if I needed to go too. Sometimes I'd say yes, just so he didn't think I was blowing it off completely.

When I did go with him I would confess things in a very general way-I said a bad word, I had dirty thoughts, I took a dollar from my mom's purse. If I wanted to be more revealing I could have mentioned my nights of amateur graffiti, looking in my cousin's underwear drawer, and stealing from the Salvation Army store.

The confessionals had two s.p.a.ces for confessors, one on each side of where the priest sat. They were dimly lit on the inside and when the priest was ready to hear your confession he would slide a little door open and make the sign of the cross. There was a thin piece of fabric in that small window separating us, but I always feared that he would figure out it was me. When he spoke through the fabric, in his best soothing tone, I could see some of the features on his long face and that fabric pulsing with his breath. Sometimes I would try to hide in the darkness or change my voice a little or pretend that I was from another town. I didn't want him to look at me during Ma.s.s the next day and think to himself, There's that little masturbator There's that little masturbator.

My penance was usually three Hail Marys and a couple of Our Fathers. I didn't quite understand why there had to be so much repet.i.tion. I pictured G.o.d watching over and listening in on all the penances from all over the world. Maybe it was like counting sheep to Him, a comforting lull.

I couldn't imagine what Dad had to confess every week, but he was in the confessional for a good fifteen minutes each visit. Maybe he was being forgiven for all the terrible things I learned about him later, but at the time I imagined that he just needed someone to talk to and instead of his sins, maybe he was boring the priest with stories about his job. I was also his victim in this regard. Sometimes when we were out driving somewhere, he'd start telling me about how he worked on this road and who he worked on it with and how much it cost the state. Details that had no chance of sticking to my brain.

Sitting in the pews, penance done, I watched the short line of confessors getting smaller. The monotonous whispers of the prayers around me turned to sheep and flew to the heavens to be counted and slept on.

What I Would Think About During Ma.s.s

The football games I was missing. I was missing.

The woman's hair in front of me.

Who I would have to shake hands with at the "offer each other a sign of peace" part of the service.

Should I make my dad wonder what I've done by not going to communion?

Is it a sin for minors to drink the "blood of Christ"?

Are my pants too baggy?

Is the person behind me staring at my a.s.s?

The person's a.s.s two rows in front of me.

I wish they had chocolate-dipped communion.

It must be embarra.s.sing being an altar boy.

Should I really try to sing, or should I moan along with everyone else?

I wonder what kinds of donuts they'll have in the bas.e.m.e.nt after the service.

Am I going to miss the halftime highlights?

Physical

"Flip me some s.h.i.+t, boy. C'mon, flip me some s.h.i.+t." s.h.i.+t, boy. C'mon, flip me some s.h.i.+t."