Me

See, it was all about me, really...

I had always been the tallest kid in my class. And the smartest. The best singer. The best looking. The most popular. The most charismatic.

I remember the first day of Kindergarten, 1958. (Ok, for me it was Round Two of Kindergarten. My mother had tried to start me in 57, when I was almost 5. We lived across the street (albeit a very busy street called "The Highway") from the school. My mother walked me across the street and into the classroom. About an hour in, I was playing with some trucks and then this lady says Ok, come on over here into this circle. I mean, I'm having fun here, lady! In the rush of kids putting things down and finding a place in the circle I got up and left the room. I went out the back door of the school and down the driveway and across the busy street, opened my front door and went about playing. My mother nearly had a heart attack. What are you doing here?!?! Playing. Why aren't you in school??? That lady told me I couldn't play anymore. I figured, clear thinking 4 year old that I was, why the hell should I be here playing with somebody else's toys when I could be playing at home with my own toys without this lady telling me what to do? Needless to say, my mother and the teacher decided I "wasn't quite ready" for Kindergarten that year...) There was this kid. He came to school on the first day clutching a really cool looking Mexican coin, 10 pesos. It had Mayan symbols on it. He was showing it around. I coveted it.

Well, without me asking for it, he comes up to me and gives it to me. He says I can keep it. You sure? Yeah, keep it. I was amazed - why would this kid give up his prized possession to me, without me even asking or it? I also got the message that there was something special about me... (I still have it to this day...)

I was an American, and Italian and a Catholic. Upon meeting my grandfather's new wife (my Grandmother had died in 55) in 57, she told me, I introduced myself by saying "I'm a 'Talian boy - best kind there is!" Italians had the best food, we had Columbus, we had Sinatra, Connie Francis, Perry Como, Mario Lanza, Frankie Avalon, Annette Funicello, Joe Bellino, Joe DiMaggio, Joe Pepitone, the Roman Empire and the Pope. For some reason, other kids in school treated me with a kind of fearful respect, like I was dangerous or something. (You didn't talk about organized crime in those days, if you were Italian, particularly in a family that was proud of its progress in this country in the legal and honorable spheres, so I had no clue about the Mafia.)

Later I found out about the Roman Empire, how it lasted 2000 years, how it not just conquered the world, it civilized it. How everybody conquered was better off for it. And all this Latin stuff - in Church, on buildings, even on coins ("E pluribus unum") came from the Romans who, of course, were Italian boys, just like me - best kind there is!

I liked reading encylopedias and almanacs, and they said Catholicism was the largest religion on Earth. We had a cool Pope, John XXIII. The nuns told us ours was the only religion that came directly from Jesus himself, via Peter and all the subsequent popes - an unbroken skein. We had the best looking and biggest churches around. We were the best.

And being American - we hadn't lost a war, and those we did fight (like "THE War", WWII, the big one) we had to, and we did for good causes - proclaim liberty (Revolution), preserve liberty (1812), free the slaves (Civil War), stop them bad Germans from doing bad things TWICE, stop Communism in its tracks. And then, we would rebuild our enemies countries, be it Reconstruction or the Marshall Plan.

We were the first and oldest democracy, and we had the best of everything - all the sports records were ours, all the Nobel prizes, all the wealth. My family's history was like virtually everyone else's I knew - grandparents came out of poverty from somewhere else - Italy, Poland, Ireland, Russia - and now look at us: We have running water in nice houses with cars and TV! All because America is a great place, not like the "old country". God shed his grace on us!

And it was all me! Italian, Catholic, American. Tallest, smartest, best looking, best athlete, most popular...

By the time I was in 8th Grade, I was tall (5'11"), star of the basketball team (24 pts, 20 rebs a game), star of the track team (220, long jump, high jump, shot put), number one in my class academically, and so popular that I hung out with HIGH SCHOOL KIDS. (Of course, as I mentioned before, this was largely due to my ability to reliably get served...)

There was music, too. In sixth grade, at a local fire department wet-down, I got up out of the crowd and went up to the band and had them play the Rascals' "Good Lovin'", and I sang it - brought the place down! By 7th grade I had a group which played at all the school functions - talent shows, assemblies, dances, graduations - and we always made the crowd go wild! Add that to the list - Rock star!

Ever since 6th grade I called perhaps 10 girls a night, flirting, sweet talking. I always played the field, such as it was. Girls would giggle and talk amongst themselves about me, I knew it. They played up to me. I dug it.

By freshman year, in the fall of 1967, I was way too cool for school, as it were. I was very popular at dances. I had lots of girls hanging with and on me. I had developed what amounted to a cult following. My sister called them my "harem".

I would go steady from time to time but only for effect - you know, only the best looking ones du jour. Helped my reputation. Breaking up was not hard to do, because there were always dozens of others waiting in line to comfort (so to speak) you.

I had other guys, in awe of me, coming up to me telling me this girl was interested in me, that girl wanted to "sleep" (whatever THAT meant) with me. I would handle the news so cooly, so confidently. The guys dug it - I was their hero. Popular with the older guys, popular with the ladies.

I even had girls who were years older than I chasing after me. That year, in 1968, I took up with a girl from another school, who was really hot and hot for me. Things were going great until by accident it was discovered that her father was my geometry teacher... Another time, a girl from the senior HS came over to the Junior HS where I was a frosh and found me waiting to see the Vice Principal (for disciplinary reasons, of course). She was shocked to find out I actually was a student there, a freshman! You could see her blush with embarrassment...

In sum, the deal was, I was the center of the universe. I was the baddest of the bad. And I knew it. Life was good.

I was a despicable, conceited little twerp.