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July 9th, 1976
On this date, in 1976, Cerulean and his brother-in-law, his sister's husband, installed a Midland c.b. into my 75 Ford Pinto. In that year, July 9th fell on a Friday.
My parents had done their best to disrupt my friendship with Cerulean; and to disrupt, also, the trajectory of my life toward Poetry, which had begun on Monday, October 13, 1975. Between Monday, July 5th and Wednesday, July 7th, my parents had increased their emotional pressure, upon me. more intensely than they ever had before; even threatening to "ground" me---although I had attained statutory adulthood the previous month. On the morning of July 8th, 1976, while reading the morning paper at breakfast before I went to my summer job, I saw a full page advertisement for c.b. radios. I then offered my parents this ultimatum: if they withheld any objection to my purchase of a c.b., and did not attempt to my use of it on weekend nights' outings with Cerulean, I would, in September, go willingly up to college, a dorm school where I would live apart from Cerulean and our friends, for almost eleven weeks. If they opposed the purchase, I would refuse to go; and if they resorted to physical compulsion to take me there, I would deliberately fail all my classes. The propsect of refusal to matriculate, or of subsequent deliberate failure, was too embarrassing for them to bear: they had boasted, since adopting me, that I would be going there after high school graduation, and they had made this boast, repeatedly, in the presence of friends, work associates, and relatives.
For the first time, I had defeated them, beginning the extraction of myself from the shadow of Lloyd and Betty.
So, at about 7pm on Friday, July 9th, Cerulean and I selected the c.b. radio, which I purchased with my own cash, and then brought it to his brother-in-law's home where, in the driveway, they installed it to the interior mount, and matched the guttermounted antenna. By full nightfall, Cerulean and I drove on to the local interstate highway to test the c.b. I still lacked a handle, and made up some lamely provisional version---but, during my attempt to speak, I choked up and handed the microphone back to my friend.
I did not know, of course, that Saturday the tenth would bring me the means to finally break the oppression of Lloyd and Betty, and place that part of me---and what I loved and what I aspired to as the expression of that love---beyond the reach of their emotional extortion; and set my feet on the path that would lead me, in the fullness of time, to Starward.
The first thought that leaped
The first thought that leaped out at me was the term "adopted," which puts a rather hefty redirection of thoughts; perhaps because of the reason that homelife could rather contrast differently based on its composition. Second thought was that Lloyd and Betty sound oddly like caricatures; and perhaps would in future conversations refer to them as LAB and their "laboratory subjects" as their 'labrats.' That is only referring to them in such manner until emancipation. Third, Could not get around the idea that they would be so heavy handed to a person over 18 in the mid to late 70s; quite medieval in my thinking. Fourth, I was always fascinated with the Ford Pinto but never owned one nor having the privilage of riding in one.
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
galateus, arkayye, arqios,arquious, crypticbard, excalibard, wordweaver
Their adoption of me was a
Their adoption of me was a great and gracious kindness. My birth parents were high school students; my birth father went on to become a murderer, seventeen years after I was born. My adopted parents provided a very good life for me, and gave me a surname that has a magnificent history---both in this country and in England. (One of my adopting father's distant cousins was an astronomer and discovered a galaxy.) But my adopting parents' expectations were burdens to me, and I knew from as early as kindergarten that they were disappointed in me, as I continually frustrated or failed those expectations.
Their heavyhandedness was a result of the influence of my mother's relatives. My father's parents repeatedly objected to it. My parents were obsessive about "keeping up" with my mother's sibs---economically and socially. Their attempt to control me after I reached statutory adulthood was consistent with the behavior of my mother's sibs toward their own children.
My Pinto was a gift, in autumn of 1975, from my father. It had no frills (like A/C or FM radio), but was an adequate ride. My father objected to the installation of the c.b., as he felt it devalued the car's resale or trade-in value. The bucket seats, and the emergency brake lever between them made for difficulties "making out" (like during all those drive-in movies we attended that summer) but even this could be managed adequately.
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Starward