10 days that make the difference - part one
I am in an airplane bathroom, looking into the mirror, crying. I am on a flight that is sending me from my home in Washington state to a new home, a new family and a new life in the Midwest. I know that things are wrong and I am crying because I feel like I fucked everything up and brought this on myself. I am crying because I know that there is nothing I can do to remedy the situation, it has gone past the point of no return and this moment in the airplane bathroom is the last moment I will ever have to let my feelings out. From now on, I have to live with it. Sometimes the bad guys win, the truth is lost, the wrong guy gets the girl, and sometimes the best thing that can happen is to let the worst possible nightmare become the dream.
A few weeks before this I am pointing a gun at my mother and telling her how much I want to kill her. I have already used ski poles and glares to make my point, but this gun seems to be making the biggest impact. Eventually it will be a test of wills that will bring about the necessary changes. Not the ones that need to be made, but changes nonetheless.
That summer, my family had taken in a Japanese exchange student and there was a lot of family activity that I had not seen in a long time. Normally the family lived in several different places and were busy with other things. Occasionally we would all be together, but not in a long, long time. It was pretty standard for me and my brother to be left to fend for ourselves. Now, with the addition of an exchange student, we were a family. Sort of. We were together, or at least we were in the same house every night, which was pretty abnormal, but the family planning ended up not involving me a lot of the time. I was feeling pretty left out of the family deal and it pissed me off. It finally boiled over when I woke up one day and found the entire family had gone swimming and left me at home. That was the final act and I barricaded myself in the basement and demanded to be traded to another family.
My protest lasted four days before my demands were met and I was on a plane a few weeks later.
If you think I over reacted to the situation or was acting hastily remember this - I was 11. That's 11 years of being viewed as an outsider in my own family. An 11 year old had a reason to want out. How does that happen?
I am crying in that bathroom because I felt it was my fault. Abuse is something that builds and the wounds calcify the soul. The weight of the emotional scars wear down the soul until it can take no more and it has to break free. I was fortunate to be on that plane, even though it set a tone for my family relationships that lasts to this day.
I remember that day like it was yesterday.
-------------
I am driving a beat up Buick Century that is running on only 5 of it's 6 cylinders. That car is barely doing 66 miles an hour and it's eating gas like a stock car as we roll down the highway to Hutchinson, Kansas. In the car with me is Dave Free, another comic that I have come to know as a good friend and great man. We are both broke, starving, unprepared and feeling like this night will make us famous.
A few weeks earlier, I was pacing in a small hallway thinking of what I wanted to say in the next three minutes. For some reason, my stomach isn't upset, I am not sweaty and I am not overly nervous, but I can't stop going to the bathroom to clear out my bowels. And for the weirdest reason of all - "If something does go wrong, I don't want to shit my pants". I have never shit my pants before, but I have never performed comedy before, so it could happen. Of all the things that could go wrong, that is the weirdest thing to be worried about at that moment.
They call my name, I went on stage. I was funny. I crammed two hours of material into three minutes and I felt pretty good about it. The audience approved. I was on my way.
We arrived in Hutchinson and found the bar that we would be performing at later that night. It's a small road house in the downtown corridor, but it feels more like Madison Square Garden to us. The owners direct us to a hotel and tell us that show time is at 8. We leave there smiling and feeling like rock stars.
We share a room at the hotel because neither of us is aware that they got us both a room of our own. Our ignorance is staggering, but our egos and our ambition is even more staggering.
It's 2 o'clock in the afternoon. We had left so early that we got there light years before we were supposed to. Again, ignorance and excitement. Both of us had packed a full suitcase of clothes and bathroom essentials and we were only there for one night.
We decided to "tour" Hutchinson and see all the sights in our free time. This was our New York, our Paris. Our big time. We were in a town hours away from home, walking down it's main street, sight seeing. Comedy had brought us here. We were not working in cheap restaurants or car washes. We were sightseeing, and getting paid for it. (If you have never been to Hutchinson, Kansas, I suggest you go. They have a great aerospace museum with the original Apollo 13 capsule and other amazing pieces of flying nostalgia.) We were loving it.
The our meal was the best meal in the world because it was free. The crowd was small. The laughs were small. Our impact was small. The memory was huge. My first road gig. I was a huge flop in terms of entertainment value, but it was the first step in a weird and new career that I am still involved with today. I was paid 50 bucks. A fortune at that time.
Later that night, we were invited to a banquet at a bingo hall and people came up to us and wanted autographs because they had heard that we were "comics" and somehow that meant we were famous. We were famous. My first autograph... "To Rebecca... I'm glad you enjoyed my show. I hope to see you next time I'm in town. Thanks for everything. Daniel Rock."
I don't remember the drive home or the next show, or the one after that.
A few weeks before this I am pointing a gun at my mother and telling her how much I want to kill her. I have already used ski poles and glares to make my point, but this gun seems to be making the biggest impact. Eventually it will be a test of wills that will bring about the necessary changes. Not the ones that need to be made, but changes nonetheless.
That summer, my family had taken in a Japanese exchange student and there was a lot of family activity that I had not seen in a long time. Normally the family lived in several different places and were busy with other things. Occasionally we would all be together, but not in a long, long time. It was pretty standard for me and my brother to be left to fend for ourselves. Now, with the addition of an exchange student, we were a family. Sort of. We were together, or at least we were in the same house every night, which was pretty abnormal, but the family planning ended up not involving me a lot of the time. I was feeling pretty left out of the family deal and it pissed me off. It finally boiled over when I woke up one day and found the entire family had gone swimming and left me at home. That was the final act and I barricaded myself in the basement and demanded to be traded to another family.
My protest lasted four days before my demands were met and I was on a plane a few weeks later.
If you think I over reacted to the situation or was acting hastily remember this - I was 11. That's 11 years of being viewed as an outsider in my own family. An 11 year old had a reason to want out. How does that happen?
I am crying in that bathroom because I felt it was my fault. Abuse is something that builds and the wounds calcify the soul. The weight of the emotional scars wear down the soul until it can take no more and it has to break free. I was fortunate to be on that plane, even though it set a tone for my family relationships that lasts to this day.
I remember that day like it was yesterday.
-------------
I am driving a beat up Buick Century that is running on only 5 of it's 6 cylinders. That car is barely doing 66 miles an hour and it's eating gas like a stock car as we roll down the highway to Hutchinson, Kansas. In the car with me is Dave Free, another comic that I have come to know as a good friend and great man. We are both broke, starving, unprepared and feeling like this night will make us famous.
A few weeks earlier, I was pacing in a small hallway thinking of what I wanted to say in the next three minutes. For some reason, my stomach isn't upset, I am not sweaty and I am not overly nervous, but I can't stop going to the bathroom to clear out my bowels. And for the weirdest reason of all - "If something does go wrong, I don't want to shit my pants". I have never shit my pants before, but I have never performed comedy before, so it could happen. Of all the things that could go wrong, that is the weirdest thing to be worried about at that moment.
They call my name, I went on stage. I was funny. I crammed two hours of material into three minutes and I felt pretty good about it. The audience approved. I was on my way.
We arrived in Hutchinson and found the bar that we would be performing at later that night. It's a small road house in the downtown corridor, but it feels more like Madison Square Garden to us. The owners direct us to a hotel and tell us that show time is at 8. We leave there smiling and feeling like rock stars.
We share a room at the hotel because neither of us is aware that they got us both a room of our own. Our ignorance is staggering, but our egos and our ambition is even more staggering.
It's 2 o'clock in the afternoon. We had left so early that we got there light years before we were supposed to. Again, ignorance and excitement. Both of us had packed a full suitcase of clothes and bathroom essentials and we were only there for one night.
We decided to "tour" Hutchinson and see all the sights in our free time. This was our New York, our Paris. Our big time. We were in a town hours away from home, walking down it's main street, sight seeing. Comedy had brought us here. We were not working in cheap restaurants or car washes. We were sightseeing, and getting paid for it. (If you have never been to Hutchinson, Kansas, I suggest you go. They have a great aerospace museum with the original Apollo 13 capsule and other amazing pieces of flying nostalgia.) We were loving it.
The our meal was the best meal in the world because it was free. The crowd was small. The laughs were small. Our impact was small. The memory was huge. My first road gig. I was a huge flop in terms of entertainment value, but it was the first step in a weird and new career that I am still involved with today. I was paid 50 bucks. A fortune at that time.
Later that night, we were invited to a banquet at a bingo hall and people came up to us and wanted autographs because they had heard that we were "comics" and somehow that meant we were famous. We were famous. My first autograph... "To Rebecca... I'm glad you enjoyed my show. I hope to see you next time I'm in town. Thanks for everything. Daniel Rock."
I don't remember the drive home or the next show, or the one after that.
posted by Daniel Loomis | 8:24 AM
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