Cappy's Corner

MY STORY 60's to 70's

Growing up was so easy up to this point, still in Elementary School. This was the time when a little girl begins to turn into  women and thus start to get into trouble. Our family dynamic was to take numerous trips, since Dad worked for the airline we got to travel to Boston, constantly, at least 4 times a year. Without parents hovering over us, we had a great time. We still had family vacations and they almost always consisted of camping, somewhere in Florida, my fathers absolutely favorite place.
 No family would be complete without household pets. We were a pretty standard family in that department, with the pet dog, her name was Suzie, she was a hairy, Chihuahua mix. I also had fish and my favorite pet ever was my duck, Pasqua (Easter in Italian). I got her in Boston, as a little duckling and she lived in that bucket that we swam in. I had her for years, Pasqua gave us a fresh duck egg everyday. I don't know how long ducks live but she was the love of my young life.
I got sick and was put in the hospital, for tubes in the ears, tonsillectomy and removal of my adenoids. I remember my mom getting me a purse, it was a yellow duck, which I immediately vomited on. After the giant trauma of my hospital stay, which seemed like weeks, was over I came home and ran to the back yard to see my Pasqua. I searched the entire yard, her nest and everywhere calling her name. I went into the house and my mother told me they had taken her to the duck pond at the hospital where I was staying, where she could play with all the other ducks. To this day I don't think that I ever got over it. Years later, the truth about my precious duck came to life, but only when my parents thought I was old enough to handle it (in my 20's). She had simply passed away. I tried to replace her, with a Mallard duckling that I captured at a lake, but it just wasn't the same as my Pasqua.
Each decade had so many memories, it is hard to pick out the most memorable ones. From sibling rivalry to undying bondage, my sisters and I were like peas in a pod and so different at the same time. I grew up mostly hanging out with my sister June. Cheryl was the one in the family always at the swim meets and athletic challenges. Although we all played sports, Cheryl carried it more into Junior High than we did. Charles at this time was more of an annoyance, because baby-sitting was interrupting our social life.
We all belonged to the after school program at the park, from Archery, to Soccer, it was the Cerase girls who had to be the best at everything. That competitive nature still exists today.
I remember the first time I saw my mother cry. November 22, 1963 just after noon. How could I possibly remember that day. Well, if you search that day in history you will find that JFK was assassinated, live on TV right in front of my mother and me. I know I cried that day, but I don't think it was because of JFK, it was because I had seen another side of my mother that I never wanted to see again. It was a day that I knew I was no longer locked in this perfect little world that I had grown so fond of. There was so much more to the world than I ever could imagine. I know that this day was a turning point in my life and perhaps one for many people.
My mom was always my protector, the family rock so to speak. I recall a story about a little girl that had broken her arm. First let me say that as my sisters and I grew older the house got a bit louder, my parents seem to be always arguing and it was always about us. Of course, I didn't like it much, but it seems to be what Italian's do best, "Loud Voices". Back to the broken arm, it was a regular day at the homestead, the day winding down and as always we had to pick up after our little brother who was basically allowed to run like a wild animal, not as if anyone could have stopped him anyway. I went to get his tricycle out of the front yard to bring it in and by some freak accident I flipped over the thing and broke my arm. A whole bunch of witnesses and stunned faces, snatched me up and drug me to the hospital kicking and screaming. Not because I was in pain, but because I was certain nothing was wrong, "I could move my fingers". Despite my objection I now was fitted with a cast, all this happened before the master arrived home. Tucked in bed but not asleep yet I recall the conversation that evening.
My Dad arrived home and my Mom welcomed him, it was late and Dad was exhausted. She started the conversation on an even tone, knowing that my Dad would completely freak if one of his princesses was ever hurt, she used this great tactic on him. She started out with "Charlie, I heard this story on TV today and I want to get your opinion on it", so Dad sat down while Mom went on to tell the story. She said, "The story is about a little girl who broke her arm, and when her father got home from work that day he yelled and screamed at everybody". My mom continued the story making certain that by the end of the tale Dad had to feel so sorry for the little girl because her father was a brute. At the end of that fantastic story and Dad's sympathy for the little girl at its height she said "By the way, Mary broke her arm". I don't have to tell you how that story ended, as you might have guessed there was no yelling at the little girl with the broken arm. Instead, Dad came into my room embraced me and gave me a kiss on the forehead.
Stories about my mom were probably the most memorable of all. Her favorite holiday was April Fool's Day. I fondly remember her in the kitchen the night before preparing to get Dad. Once she got a sponge, in those days they were large and hard and yellow. She carefully sliced a sponge really thin, putting in a sandwich, with the rest of the lunch meat. Dad always took his lunch and never remembered the holiday. Many a lunches had sponge cheese, chocolate covered soap, plastic Hersey bars, the menu was endless. The joke was always on Dad.
Don't think for a minute that Dad didn't get even. Dad loved the yard and he was always building it up with sand, spreading and making the lawn lush and green. In the meantime while spreading the sand one day, Dad was constantly coming in the house for refreshments, leaving Mom pissed off. Mom was always a clean freak and Dad just kept it up until Mom finally snapped and started screaming at him. He walked out the door just like the other dozen times that day, but the next time he came in the house he had a plan. Mom had just finished sweeping up the sand for what she thought was the last time, when the door opened and on the end of the wheel barrow was Dad. Without uttering a single word, the wheel barrow full of sand entered the living room, Dad simply tipped it up and all the sand piled in the middle of the living room. I could only remember holding back my laughter. Dad said, "Now you have something to complain about!" I stood there wondering what was going to happen next and I guess Mom could not contain herself any longer, she bust out into laughter too. I realize that my parents were absolutely nuts. Maybe its hereditary!
 So many things happened before I became 15, I can't remember them all. I began dating, that is the puppy stuff. I think I had sex for the first time, but I don't recall it happening. Hanging out with the wrong people and experimenting with drugs and alcohol lead me to wake one afternoon in an unknown location, with my clothing on the floor. I will probably never know what happened that day. But at least I wasn't traumatized, because I don't remember a thing.
I had always felt like an outcast while in Jr. High, never had the right clothing, didn't act like a girly girl, not one of the cool girls, but I did have a big mouth. I even ran for Student Council President. Still looking for that attention. I always found school boring and my grades reflected my disappointment in school. I was clever enough to know how much work I had to do to pass to the next year. I wanted something different out of my life and education didn't seem like it was the transport to get there. My attitude toward school was probably brought on from all the bullying that went on year after year. Ignoring it became harder and harder and the way to handle it was unknown to me. This was the first time I had considered suicide, I know if I had these thoughts in the current times, I am certain that I would not be here today to talk about it (designer drugs and all). I got over that feeling, but I did know that I could no longer tolerate the bully's. I don't think that I really thought through the process, but I decided the only way to stop these girls from making fun of my clothes and making me feel like I wasn't worth anything because I wasn't like them was to kick their ass. I knew that these girls had to walk home the same way I did, so I lay in wait and as they passed, I jumped out of my hiding place and began to kick their ass, making certain that I tore those fancy designer clothes right off their bodies. I never had another problem with the bully's, because after that, the word got out,(without cell phones) that I was no longer going to tolerate them. Sticks and stones, hell no! I don't know now if that was a mistake or not. I would probably never know, but what made my life miserable was no longer in existence.
It was the time of Rock and Roll music. Also the time in history that there was love and peace. Everybody wanted to be an individual. The more torn the jeans the better, the more skin showing the better. Long hair was everywhere, boys and girls would compete for the longest hair. Head bands and tie dye. What a great time, a time to learn and love for the first time. Experiment and try everything for the first time. I made a plan to do as much as I could and the goal was to never get caught by my parents. I think that I accomplished my goal at the time. I still do everything I can, but now I see things as opportunities that should never be passed up, because it will only lead to regret. I think this part of my life was just the beginning of my adventures.
Now it was the middle of High School and another transition of my life begins. My time line after this become very vague and confused, on my next series of MY STORY!

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