Buttafuocco, Ginsberg, and ME!

I was living roughly 35 miles to the east of Manhattan --the cultural center of the world. It's about an 45 hour ride to Manhattan from my old house in Long Island in the middle of the night. Normally during a weekday, it would run nearly two hours. In the late 80's/early '90's I thought I was God's gift to women. The sensitive, nerdy type of women. I had a fetish for the libraian types with the big horn-rimmed glasses. I found out, plain and simple, I was a dork!

I had the 34 inch waist and a hair helmet gleeming with gel and mousse. Yes, I even had hair spray-- but that is when I HAD hair! Of course, Mom doted on me, I was living with her at the time. And it was sad, because I wanted to be the so called "cool guy" I had the denim going on. My jacket and pair of 501's was like armour, and I was the "acid washed knight".I remember my mom stopping me on my way to school: "You are not wearing THAT outside! God, your pants are so tight they can see your RELIGION!". Granted I was not Jewish but New York State has a circumcision law so who can tell the difference? I was cool! On weekends I worked at Wendy's in a polyester outfit, so going to school in "normal clothes" was freedom for me. Ahhh, being young in Long Island!

Now since I was in the vincinity of NYC, you would think I seen my share of celebrities. Not really, I had brief brushes of celebrity in my time when I lived in Long Island. I bumped into Dom DeLuise when I was 7, but I was 7 it wasn't like Joe Namath or Tom Seaver or "The Fonz" or anybody like that., so I didn't remember that much. Believe it or not at Wendy's, I've seen more celebrities than anywhere else.

I remember in the fall of 1991, some large guy ordered a Classic Combo with a Diet Coke in the drive thru. All I remember was this fat guy driving a brand new Corvette (fire-engine red). He also had on a jacket with the then current SNL logo on it, and he had this sandy hair waving in the breeze. The kicker was the glasses, mirrored to the point that you were at the funhouse at an amusement park. It was a Wil Wheaton/"Stand By Me" moment: when he was the only one who saw the deer while everyone was sleeping and not tell anyone. And this "SNL guy", Hell of a nice man, had the mildest of manners and said thanks for keeping it "low-pro". I still didn't know what his name was. That night, I came home and watched SNL right at the beginning; that was when it was pretty funny. Must have been a slow night, I'm usually not back from Wendy's by 12:30-1AM and no one wanted to go to the diner that night. As I was watching this skit on SNL there was this fat guy cavorting around, he looked recognizble. I realized it was Chris Farley that ordered a Classic Combo! I didn't tell Mom about it either who was watching SNL with me, she would usually reply "Oh." and continue complaining about my pants being too tight. In fact this is my first time saying this about my brush with Farley. I'm 44-- I'm not out for the attention anymore.

In August of 1992, I remember seeing Joey Buttafuocco coming into Wendy's. The guy strutted in like he was a the Godfather himself! He had a walk that I can do better improv-ing then explain it with words. But he had Mary Jo with him! This was right after the whole Amy Fisher thing. Mary Jo was just released from the hospital and had paralysis on one side of her face. And she was just sitting there eating her Chicken Combo with her kids. Joey had a Big Classic and a baked potato. The biggest no-no one can do at a Wendys was weasing food from the salad bar. You can only order a salad. At the time, we offered salads from the salad bar--All you can eat! But again you needed to buy a specialized container to place the food in. When someone weased food, we tell them to buy the salad first, and if they didn't stop, buy, or comply and acted unruly we'd call the police. Joey Buttafuocco finished his baked potato with bacon and cheese. With bits of bacon and potato skin, he went up to the salad bar, and plopped a heaping serving of chocolate pudding on top of the bacon and potato guts! This would even make Bill Cosby gag! My manager, very good one and worked strictly by the book, decided NOT TO ACT. She decided to put away her "food police" uniform away. It was friggin Buttafuoco! Butafuocco and his family, left the restaurant and people went back to their seats they were in before the Buttafuoccos arrived. Some left the store with food in hands when the Buttafuoccos came in.

But all that aside, my biggest brush with Celebrity was talking with Allen Ginsberg. Okay, here it goes. In April of 1990, I was taking my English Lit 202 class at SUNY Farmingdale to finish my A.A. degree before I went on to my four year. I was in my early 20's and I thought taking this class would get chicks. That and I thought this would be my chance to be the "great writer" and continue onto SUNY Stony Brook, a nearby four year school to major in English. This was part on my goal to be the intellectual badass as I thought I was!

I was doing a report on Dylan Thomas. My 202 Lit class was based on the works of famous British writers. Dylan Thomas reached me more than anyone to me at that time. We finished the "Woodsworth Circle" and the Bronte Sisters, then Yeats (we never touched Wilde)- most (not all) of which was bleary, dull, and even depressing! I can read Ozymandias in a dentist's chair and not even know I was having a root canal! We then went into the mid 20th Century, and Thomas offered some light into the bleak. His poetry was the basis of all the heavy, more modern stuff that was cool at the time: Ginsberg, Kerouac, Williams, et. al. I make it a tradition to read "A Child's Christmas In Wales" around the seasons, because I still feel chills down my back (good ones), and that would get me amped up for Christmas.

And then I saw the poster ; Allen Ginsberg was doing his reading of his poetry collection, "The Big Red Book" known by his readers. It was also on the same week that my Thomas paper was due. And Ginsberg's reading was two days before the paper was due. Then I thought, "hmm-- Ginsberg was around early enough when Thomas was doing his stuff." The wheels were turning in my head. "If I can speak to Ginsberg after his reading during his signing section, maybe I can get some really cool pertinent information on Thomas!" I congratuated myself to the point I can only see "A"'s."Easy F***ing A! F***ING AYYY!" I said to myself, loud enough so only I can hear it. Okay, maybe the "F***ING AYY" part was audible. But I knew I was going to ACE this paper!

So here I was the "Acid Washed Knight" in due battle with the Literary Prince of the Junior College Kingdom. I seen my fair maiden in the crowd I liked. It was a deadhead girl who sat in back of my class who was kinda cute...but she had a BOYFRIEND! But I was gong to impress her and all the chicks with this "A" paper! I'll frame it, No I WILL PUBLISH the f***er!
So I go in the lecture hall and there's Allen! And there was something I didn't know, I did not realize that he was gay! I have never really read his stuff. I always thought "Supermarket In California" was about his crush on Marilyn Monroe, no it was Walt Whitman! Then he want onto his thing with his lovers-- but then the good part, DRUGS! Al liked the spliff as much as he liked Wally! Of course most the crowd ran out, because no one understood. But strangely I did. Goddammit it was about the SIXTIES and the "Beat Generation": political upheaval, civil rights, good music, DRUGS, hippies, and MORE DRUGS! That and I was destined to get my ACE paper all done!

The reading ended, the ones that stayed had a little wine & cheese (ALL FREE!) gathering at the grounds of the President's House. And there he was, selling his books for $60 a pop. Ginsberg wasn't cheap! There was a little "Q and A" section during this soiree. A small crowd gathered at the table, Ginsberg was sitting at the table signing. I went to the crowd as a defensive back joining in to help the front seven push back the fullback from getting a first down. The questions went on, and then the stragglers vanished. I soon realized it WAS MY TURN. I anxiously asked my question, and then I affixed onto his eyes. His eyes, weathered with age and DRUGS looked through hi bi-focals and focused on ME! One thing ran through my mind: "Is he looking at my CROTCH?" Damn, you can see my "religion" with these things on! I shoulda wore some looser pants! But I went on:"Mr. Ginsberg, when you started out in Greenwich Village, did you ever ran into Dylan Thomas and what inluence he had on your poetry?

Ginsberg then smiled at me. Instead of a perverted old man looking at my crotch, it was literature looking at me face to face. A voice of wisdom came from the face with the bespectacled eyes. "Ahhh, THOMAS" he said. "Yeah, I knew him, and God what a magnificent writer! Drunk as Hell, though!". He then went into his story about Dylan Thomas:

"It was 1950, I was doing a reading at this pub by the Square (Washington Square in NYC's Greenwich Villiage). I was leaving when I saw Thomas stumbling in through the door. "Hey Ginsberg" he said, "You got thirty bucks I can borrow?" I then asked what the Hell he needed it for? "There's this broad on 14th street that wants $20 for a throw (sex) and she'll throw in her girlfriend in for another ten!"
Normally I wouldn't do this, but he had some gigs and he was good for the money... Aww Hell, I didn't care, so I gave him forty and told me to leave the Hell alone tonight. So I was still at this pub and two hours later I saw Thomas hanging onto the front door bleeding and his jacket was torn.
I looked at Thomas and said, "Jesus, Dylan: what the Hell happened to you?" Then Thomas said "You shoulda seen it Ginsberg, I met that girl near the Bowery and she had her friend with her. It turned out they were a couple of dykes and they beat me up and took the forty dollars." Then Thomas said: "Shit, I need a drink, you got another five dollars I can borrow?"

The crowd started to laugh, I mimicked laughter. How in the friggin' world am I going to work this in the paper? Later, in the computer lab I winged it the best I can. Somehow I put the whole part in, angry lesbians and all. I then had a hard time putting this in the Index section. This was not from a book, so how I'm going to work it in. At the end I wrote "a personal interview with Allen Ginsberg". I was a little nervous, I thought the dialogue might get me in trouble-- but I knew it was going to work! I got the paper back and I GOT A "B+"! I went to the professor, I thought the angry lesbian thing was a little much. I asked her what she thought about the paper." Oh, Brendan" She replied" it was a great paper- you caught the true essence of Dylan Thomas. There was ONE thing that bothered me though." "What was that?" I said pretending I didn't know. She then said" You didn't index one book properly". I was a little befuddled --"What book was that?" I asked .She then said" "There's this line from this one book you had that was very funny, also I never heard of this book before-- "An Interview With Allen Ginsberg". I felt like I got hit with the dummy truck on that one. I then explained that I spoke to Ginsberg after his reading on campus the other day and I had a hard time putting that in. "Wait a second, you TALKED to Allen Ginsberg about Dylan Thomas?" In her eureka moment, she shouted out: "That is ingenius! I'm sorry I gave you a "B+" you deserve a higher grade." She then took out her red pen and maked a higher grade.... AN "A" MINUS!

My brushes with celebrity were unique to say the least. I have realized through the years that celebrities are very much like everybody else-- their days in the lights only reveal vulnerabilities which makes celebrities fragile. No matter who we are, we are all human. Whoever we bump into and what stories we have with the "rich and the famous" end up interwoven in our lives. In the end, do we worship them? Do we envy them? Or in some of the cases, do we feel sorry for them? But then we ask about ourselves-- is being famous a happy accident or an accident waiting to happen?

My So-Called Handicapped Life

My good friend Annie on Facebook likes to share her experiences about her handicap. Annie had her leg amputated when she was young and she currently uses a prosthetic leg. Other than that, she gets around fine (thank you very much) . She is currently going though motions dealing with people who don't like being labeled "Handicapped". I kinda know where she's coming from. Actually, it scared me because it almost echoed my own life.

It all started when I was born. I was born blue and quickly placed in an incubator. I was born June 24th but according to my Mom, I "was supposed to be born on the 4th of July". At 17", 5lbs., and 8 oz. I have a feeling I was about a month to possibly 2 months premature. Then again it's hard to compare medical standards of 1967 to those of 2009. I might have been born with a stroke but nothing was really clear.

My developmental stages were more unique than anything. I might have learned to read before I can speak. My speaking and walking started late, but I can read newspapers by the age of two. I also had a thing when I was 4 in which where if told me a certain date in time, I can trace it to the day it fell on. For example, if someone asked me if what day January 13, 1947 fell on I would give the exact day. The funniest thing is , I cannot do it anymore but when I very young it was no problem. But that's when the weirdness just started. I never really spoke in complete sentences until I was 7 although I could read aloud perfectly. When I was 6, I read on a high school level. I also have a very vivid memory in which I can remember things when I was 1 1/2-2 years old (but no memories from the womb)This was the time I was more of a case study than anything. I also remember from the age to 3 up to 10 where I went through a battery of tests: WISC-R, DLM, the California tests, and the one where they glue wires on your head and hold it down with a spaghetti strainer (like Rick Moranis in "Ghostbusters"). I remember being asked questions when I was 6 with this damn thing on my head. What was the capital of Greece? Who wrote "Faust"? Who was the 13th President of the U.S.? I would answer (AT 6!) Athens, Gounod (who wrote the opera- Goethe wrote the original story), and Millard Fillmore (he was the first to have a bathtub in the White House).

Due to this "oddity" I was placed in Special Ed classes starting 1st grade. I also remembering going through PT/OT and Speech Therapy until I was in the 9th grade. In the 6th grade, I was finally labeled "Neurogically Impaired" but the "NI" diagnosis was never specified. Even my mother brushed everything off and said I had a "learning disability".

And yeah the neverending name calling began. Oh yeah. I was called a "Retard" , "Polio Victim" (b/c my feet goes "out" when I walk), and my least favorite "special".It was also weird b/c in some Special Ed. classes I was the "smart guy". In other classes w/ the "normal" people I was the outcast. I remember a time when I was in 5th grade , since I was different from the rest of the kids, some kid in class called me a "faggot". I went to my Mom and I asked her what a faggot was. I remember her reply: "I hope you don't grow up to be one". I felt puzzled and said "What?" She then said "little sticks, yeah little sticks". However she gave me permission that if the mean kids call me a "faggot," I should tell them to go fuck themselves. And I did! One kid called me a "faggot" and I told him to go fuck himself. There was a teacher there and he was on MY side! The kid who called me a "faggot" got suspended and I got off scot free! I then asked the teacher what is a faggot. He looked at me, winked, and said "Just don't grow up to be one, kid!" Grade school in the '70's-- you can't make this stuff up!

Then grade school turned into high school. The mean kids then became meaner kids. I mentioned in a few blogs that I changed high schools in the middle of the 11th grade. I attended my new high school that was dominated by Preps. Of course, there were the sarcastic questions and the "special" label hanging over my head like a black cloud. The funniest thing was by Grade 11, I was fully mainstreamed. I knew college was my only way out.

I remember asking my guidance counselor about college. She laughed in my face and said I should go to trade school. I started to get teed off. However, I took it out on my school work. Shortly after I graduated from H.S., I later learned that the guidance counselor got fired-- KARMA!

I took a couple of years off and went to college. I took yet another aptitude/psych exam and the powers that be decided that I had LD (Processing Disorder). I started out in Junior college in which I had an advisor who started a support group for students with LD. I thought it was a good idea in order to share stories and learn from our experiences. The "club" as the advisor called it was more of a joke if anything else. The other students in this "club" acted like they had mental problems rather than having a learning disability. I remember this other advisor (who was a grad student in Behavoral Psychology) talking down to us and made us sit in a circle in which we did dittos. We the students in the support group were in "regular" 100-200 level classes and we were in a workshop doing worksheets that were meant to be used on the 6th grade level. I remember the advisor asking me in slow voice "Do you know what a bank account is?" I took out my ATM card and asked, "does this answer your question?" I then walked out the group one day saying that this precious "club" was "Romper Room Bull****"! I then delved into my work and and finished J.C. (Junior College).

In the summer of 1991, between J.C. and my four-year, I was doing my thing in a 1979 Chevy Chevette driving on the L.I.E. (Long Island Expressway, for those keeping score).. I was listening to music when a cop pulled me over. The officer told me over and over that I was going 12 miles over the speed limit. He was basically looking for drunks. Firstly, how in the world can a 1979 Chevy Chevette with a 4 cylinder eggbeater can do a 67 in a 55? The one thing he was focused on was the way I spoke. He looked at me and asked me with a flashlight in my face, "do you always have a slurred speech"? I looked at him and dead in the eye I said, "Yeah". He still wasn't convinced-- so he made me take a breathylizer. When the B.A.C. came out 0.0, he threw out the mouthpiece sharply on the ground, and promptly apologized for pulling me over. Disappointed, he drove off looking for drunk people with slurred speech instead of sober people with slurred speech. Ironically when I'm drunk, my coordination improves and my slur goes away.

In the fall of that year (1991), I went to my four year college. I had a better advisor. She then asked me to look into this support group on campus. It was a better support group.It was a better school -- SUNY Stony Brook (known as "the Berkeley of the East") had (and from what I know still has) a very good support group for disabled students. I went in the first day and shared my story with the others. I later then became President of this group. I thrived in this school and some of the members of this group and I became close friends. Yeah, there were some militants who were big time about this. There were some Blind people who prefer to be visually impaired. There were some Deaf people who preferred to be called "hearing impaired ' and so forth. God forbid, if anyone made the mistake and call someone "handicapped"- OUT COME THE PICKET SIGNS!

Myself, it was hard for me-- I had no true idea what my disability is! Even though it was "LD" there was something a little more to it.I remember ppl. thinking I was dyslexic but I clearly wasn't. Really it was something else, but what was it really? Was it CP, LD, Asperger's, or Aphasia? I still had delayed and slurred speech. In addition, my coordination was still off. Yet I had no clue. In late 1992 and early '93, I've decided to go to the state agency (VESID) and see if I can recieve any benefits for Grad School.. If anything it was for sake for identity and closure. I went though another battery of tests, no spaghetti strainers this time. I had seen a Neurologist with a terrible accent, and a Neuropsychologist who was more interested about my "drinking habits". I then got the so-called results: I was told I "had" a disability but I was "CURED" of it! WHAT THE FRICK?!?

After all the bullcrap and discrimination I faced, I'm cured? After being in Special Ed. AND special schools for all those years I'M FRIGGING CURED!?! I gave up the sacred "quest" for my "true" handicap and I began to do my thing. I graduated from Stony Brook and then later went to Grad School in which I also graduated. I still pay my student loans, but I DID IT!

Am I still pissed? I am little piturbed, but it's all in the past. I achieved some things that "professionals" thought I never could do. I am happy with what I have done. If it wasn't for my past, I wouldn't be in the field that I'm in (Human/Social Services).

Do I see myself as Handicapped? I think "handicapped" is a state of mind. I believe that a handicap is as trivial as a personality trait. I still slur my speech and stutter at times. I even still duck walk, but it's me and people like it. I like it. Do I think I have a disability? I believe I have a low level of Asperger's w/ a touch of CP. My "diagnosis" is based on my own personal research --I have a friggin Master's for Crissake! I decided that if there was anyone who would know best about me, it would be ME! Do I still want closure for all I've been through? I'd still want closure although I'm not really desperate about it as before. After all of this, I'm not resentful. If I have children, I definitely need to keep an eye on their development. Mistakes are meant to be made, and God knows I've learned from them! The good news, they weren't all my mistakes. In the end, I believe nobody really owes me --I owe MYSELF! That chip fell off my shoulder a long time ago.

Class Of 1985

It took me a while to write about this. I don't know if it started when a friend from Facebook contacted me from high school a couple of years ago. Maybe the idea for this blog came to me over 25 years ago. I pretty much put my high school experience on the backburner in my life. I kept distant from those days. I kind of put those days behind. Sadly, I pretty much left those days for dead.

In high school, I was an outcast-- probably THE outcast. To say I was different from everybody else was the grandest understatement of all understatements. I didn't fit in. Thanks to certain "in" groups-- I wasn't allowed to fit in. Those groups, at least I thought anyway, had it out for me. I was short, fat, kept to myself, I walked pigeon toed, and I talked under my breath. I was shy, it probably came from the stigma of being "different" from everybody else. I also went to "special" classes because of an "undisclosed" disability. In fact, I went to "special" schools due to this "undisclosed disability"in my earlier years. To this day, there is no explanation of this "undisclosed disabilty". Yet I was considered "normal" and "cured" of this "undisclosed disability" in 1993. But that's another story.

I had recently transferred high schools in my junior year. I had my share of crap from the previous high school, yet this was nothing that I was about to face in my new school. My mom just got this better job plus the landlord was selling the house that my mother and I lived in. As you noticed, I left out my father. When I was 2, my father abandoned me and my mother for "undisclosed" reasons. Funny how the word "undisclosed" keeps on popping up in my earlier years. She found a duplex apartment in a "better" neighborhood" and I was in a supposedly "better" school district. It was like Beverly Hills 90120 and I was Brandon Kelly except the school was overpopulated by a bunch of Shannen Dohertys. Then again you can say it was Freaks And Geeks except I felt like the entire cast of Freaks and Geeks attending Beverly Hills High. The moment I attended the new school- the alienation began.

If I was a character from The Breakfast Club, I would be what happened if the Anthony Michael Hall and Ally Sheedy characters had a baby. I had the "out there" traits of Ally Sheedy and the geekishness of Anthony Michael Hall. Judd Nelson would've been my buddy. However, the school was overrun by the many Molly Ringwalds and Emilio Estevezes who attended. It was probably the reason I hated John Hughes' films of the '80's.

The name of the high school said it all- Babylon Junior and Senior High School. And YES the town (or "village" as they call it) is called BABYLON! The "ruling class" was literally "the ruling class": mostly white WASPish neo-Reaganites decked out in Izod polo shirts with two parents and a brand-new BMW (known as a "Bimmah") parked in the driveways of their freshly manicured French Colonial "mini-mansions". The majority of the society of Babylon Jr. & Sr. High lived "south of Montauk (Highway)" which was the main street in Babylon NY. The who's who of who's who lived there- Bob "Captain Kangaroo" Keeshan was one of the celebrities that lived in Babylon at the time. Ironically, Rodney Dangerfield was actually born there- so there were others who had less than "respectable" experiences in Babylon, Long Island.

The name of the ruling class were The Preps. If you didn't wear Izods and Benettons you weren't cool. If you listened to different music then they did, you weren't cool. If you weren't a Prep you just weren't cool. Where I lived wasn't cool for a Prep, I mainly lived in a mixed part of town, mainly working middle class in between Montauk Hwy and the Babylon-Montauk line of the Long Island Railroad (LIRR). So the usual insults began i.e "Fatty", "Nerd", "Freak", "Faggot" (even though I'm VERY straight), and so on. But it got worse, since I was in Special Ed (yet I was fully mainstreamed in my Senior year) I was called "Retard". I was called this so many times that the Preps wanted to make me think I was actually retarded. A couple of occasions they asked me where was my orange helmet. I actually had aspirations to go to college, of course the Preps laughed in my face. "Go to Trade school like the other retards!" said one of them. The namecalling and teasing grew worse. Since my mother wasn't married, the kids (who never met my mother) called my mother a "slut". And of course I got the "wrong side of the tracks" line since I was middle class. And since there was "no middle class" according to Prep standards, therefore I was considered "poor white trash".

Since I looked different and I was still in my "MY Mom still buys my clothes" phase, I was a moving (but unknowing) target. I had my share of a Prep pointing to another Prep and yell out "She likes you!" as the group of Preps chortled with laughter. And the functions they threw like the "Junior Deb" (I'm not kidding), I was teased so bad I didn't even bother going to "The Junior Deb" and the Senior Prom. I was even called the N-Word by (ironically) a Prep who was also black. To top it all off, I was even called a commie because I didn't "love" Ronald Reagan. The ones I exacted my revenge on were three girls who were the center of the Preps. The one girl, was originally from California and was into of all things the British band MODERN ENGLISH (not kidding) according to her, they were the "best band in the world" and she wanted to be their groupie. The two girls who joined in with the wannabe Modern English groupie were two of her lackeys who all joined in on the teasing. There were a few others who targeted me: the Black Prep who called me the N-word, the "Star Quarterback", and the wuss who hit me on my head with a text book and ran away and claimed to "beat me up". For the last six months of my Senior year in Babylon High School, I was just concentrating on graduating and getting the hell out of there. I vowed one day I will come back to Babylon High School and tell these Reaganite a-holes to screw off!

In the home stretch of graduating I came across unlikely allies. I realized there were fellow outcasts in my school. One group of outcasts that I pretty much owe my life to were the Stoners of the school except they were called "dirtbags" by the Preps. The so-called "dirtbags" are heroes in my book. They knew what it was like to be outcasted and excluded by the "in crowd". Some were the greatest people I came in contact with and my regret was that I should have known them when I first attended Babylon. They taught me that it was okay to be different. Some if not all of the "dirtbags" supported my ideals in life and made me feel that I wasn't stupid after all. Another regret was that I should copped a hit in the back of the van-but I had a good contact high! There were other non-"dirtbags" that I owe a debt of gratitude to. These were the people who no matter how bad I felt always made me laugh and never made me feel left out. The "dirtbags" also even defended me when some Preps tried to insult (and on a few occasions tried to assault) me. THANKS GUYS, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!

The comeback came after I graduated: I lost a great deal of weight, I ended up attending college, I even wore DESIGNER clothes with labels. I even got MISTAKEN for a Prep! I worked hard to be a different person from my Babylon High School days and it paid off. Yet, as the days wore on like a thick woolen blanket, my life as I knew it in Babylon Jr & Sr High school soon faded. I never even mentioned my high school during my college days. I wanted to go on my life. As I was going to Grad School, it was getting close to my 10 year reunion-I never asked my Mom who was still living in Babylon at the time if I got an invite to the reunion. I never cared. If I was invited to ANY Babylon High School Reunion, I was going to bring all my college degrees with me and go to one of those doubters (preferably my Guidance Counselor) and stick my degrees in their faces! But as time went by, my feelings of vindictiveness slowly died out. Yet aloofness set in; thus Babylon was dead to me.

Then things happened in my life, I got a Master's Degree, got a 'real' job, and I moved to several places. In 1994, I first moved cross NY State and lived in Buffalo for nine years. In 2003, I moved from Buffalo to Hickory, NC (which is 50 miles Northwest of Charlotte and 70 miles East of Asheville, NC). My experiences in High School and College made me a Liberal Democrat for the past 20 years. My experiences in Special Ed made me work in the field of Human Services in which I work with the MR/DD population for the past 12 years. I gained most of my weight back, but I'm trying to lose the middle age spread, but this time I'm happy. I never married (even though I had some close calls). Even though I acheived my goals out of anger I still feel that l achieved. The exception is that I am happier than I ever was! And I'm STILL SINGLE ladies!

I also became less vindictive and I was not as aloof. With Columbine and 911 happening, I put my life into perspective. When many students and teachers got gunned down in Columbine High School (Littleton, Colo.) by two "outcasts", how much I thought about my days in Babylon. It could have been worse, and I thank God I never had the option nor I was evil enough to do what they did. No one deserved to die, even if they were Preps or jocks involved. Then a couple of years later, I realized that there were probably graduates of Babylon Jr. & Sr. High School flying in those planes or were in in those buildings when they came down on 9/11/01. Revenge was fleeting. Life was to important to ignore. Forgiveness became essential. I was never into the idea into forgiving and forgetting in my younger days. As I approach my 42nd birthday, I realize that I might not have time to forgive and forget. Even though I'm still fairly young, why should I end up as an angry old man?


All I would like to say for those from Babylon High's class of 1985 I contacted in Facebook, THANK YOU FOR KEEPING IN TOUCH! Also I want to thank my fellow outcasts from Babylon Junior & Senior High School. If I offended anyone during those days, I am sorry. And I forgive (believe it or not) anyone who have offended me when I attended Babylon. With the 25th year reunion coming next year, I will be happy to attend and fly to New York and left the forgiveness begin. Most of all, I forgave the biggest critic in my life-MYSELF!

I also want to say that Facebook helps me reconcile with my past and my high school days shouldn't be a "dirty little secret". Facebook and a few friends from Babylon gave me the courage to face the past and not lock the door to keep me from my past. I am eternally grateful to Facebook. If anything, I would like to invite anyone from Babylon High & Junior High School to add me as a friend on Facebook and MySpace. I know now that there are former BHS students out there who were outcasts like me. I would like to talk to some of my fellow outcasts, the door is open! The door is also open to some "Preps" out there: If you are willing to communicate with me- I might even apologize back. Then again, no apologies are necessary for either side.