BCM had a thing for the girl next door, who was the daughter of a cop, so if he did something with her, the boy was guaranteed a date with a nightstick. Nevertheless, she was beautiful and liked to play doctor with him in the bushes. Good thing he was young and stupid because the potential was there for real trouble. When she moved away, BCM tried to coerce his parents into sending him to her school. Thankfully for everyone, he got sent across town. The middle school the boy went to was decent, but he had a few problems. First, the idiot got caught cheating in math class because he couldn’t multiply to save his soul. Mom sat him down with flashcards and drilled the multiplication tables into his thick head.

Next, because BCM was a short, red-headed, freckle-faced kid, every bully in the school naturally veered in his direction. There were numerous incidents, but the most noteworthy was getting sucker kicked in the balls by a kid with steel-toed boots. BCM was standing on the playground with his back turned. The bully tapped BCM on the shoulder, and when the boy turned, the bully kicked BCM in the balls as hard as he could.

After squirming around on the ground for what seemed like an eternity, BCM went to the nurse for “stomach pains.” She asked if she could take a look, and BCM wrestled with that request while also entertaining the idea that his gonads might be pulped or had to be surgically re-attached. Or, he could lie on his side and pretend to have a stomach ache. Discretion took the better part of valor, and he squeaked out, “I’ll be okay.” For the next week, the boy pissed razor blades, but he learned two things. One, a jockstrap is your friend, and two, a penis can be black and blue.

However, when the 70s crept in, things started falling apart inside and outside the family. Nixon did his Watergate nonsense, and BCM’s parents had a falling out. As was the case with anything in the family that was psychologically significant, the whole incident was sloughed off as a poorly kept secret no one was allowed to talk about. In short, Mom tossed Dad out like old newspapers. Everyone had their own theory, depending on their point of view. BCM’s perspective was pretty simple: Dad was forcibly retired after 31 years in the military and basically checked out, physically and emotionally. He vanished as a parent and a spouse, doing whatever he wanted and ignoring the rest of them. Anyway, whatever the cause, the net result was divorce. BCM got to experience the joys of joint custody and visitation rights, wherein parents toss their children back and forth like a flaming bag of dog shit.

Mom was really into the church. Denominationally, she was an Episcopalian or, as Dad said, a “bastard Catholic.” To save his soul, she forced BCM into attending church (not going was never an option), and the stain did all that church-related jazz — Sunday school, confirmation, altar-boy duties, etc. BCM didn’t mind church overall, though he found it odd that he prayed for forgiveness in an institution founded by a horny syphilitic King who got his jollies by chopping off woman’s heads. Anyway, Mom relied on the church to morally straighten BCM out and undo any influence Dad had (he wasn’t religious). The church people were okay but kind of nosy. After Dad left the picture, Mom dumped BCM on the pastor and his family, even sending the boy with them when they went on vacation. Thankfully, despite implied threats of exorcism, BCM gave them credit, and they tolerated him, which wasn’t easy because the boy was thoroughly pissed about the whole divorce thing.

Since Mom was an artist, she naturally thought BCM ought to be one, too. He wasn’t too opposed to the idea, but in retrospect, he suspects her ultimate goal was to create a right-brained free thinker like herself and keep him away from his left-brained father. Unfortunately, she ended up disappointed. While BCM was instructed on ways to draw flowers, skylines, and trees, his pictures featured jets strafing villages and dropping napalm on hapless people who looked suspiciously like teachers and church members. The last straw was when she caught the stain drawing World War 2 German tanks taking potshots at the Apollo lunar lander. But before you jump to conclusions, the astronauts acquitted themselves well with ray guns that stripped the flesh off of the Nazis. Thus ended the aspirations of another Rembrandt.

Mom was on her own but had a strong network of church friends, took a job out of town, and appeared to have it together. Unfortunately, she fell ill with cancer. She opted for chemo and suffered the consequences. Dying of cancer and undergoing chemo is ugly and heartbreaking to watch. Not sure which is worse. Like they did with everything unpleasant, the family tried to cover the whole thing up and keep quiet about it.

Being situationally stupid but not utterly ignorant, BCM knew what was going on — at least peripherally — and tried to suck it up. But that didn’t always work. By this time, Mom was bedridden, and the chemo had taken most of her hair. BCM had picture day or some other silly assed nonsense at school, and the boy had misplaced his comb. To avoid being late for the school bus, Mom gave hers to BCM and sent him on his way. As BCM walked home from the bus stop at the end of the day, he suddenly realized the comb was missing. By the time he got home, BCM was a blubbering mess, and it took a while for Mom to calm him down. Why did he come unglued? As silly as it sounds, it was perhaps from the realization that Mom no longer needed a comb and that she wouldn’t get better.

Towards the end, BCM got shuffled off to one of his mom’s friends. Late one evening, Dad showed up. “Son, your mom has died,” he said. It was the only time he’d ever seen the old man cry.