“Well, the part where Romeo dies is sad. But where Juliet died is sad too. But I think the saddest part of all is when Jan said ‘Who goes there?’ before Peter said ‘Hark’.” – The Brady Bunch
Definitely would have been a better show with this cast.
There’s a larger point to some of these stories that I’ll be putting out on Friday that will become obvious over time. But I want to stress this: outside of the obvious jokes, 100% of these stories are true.
I remember the first time I called Ma Wilder “mom.” I know that’s a memory that really most people don’t have, since most people don’t even know what a mom is when they call them mom. Heck, it isn’t even the earliest memory I have, which involves PEZ®, a claw-foot bathtub, and a poorly insulated electrical appliance.
I don’t recall how old I was, exactly when I first called Ma “mom”. I do recall it was a bright spring day and Ma Wilder was ironing in the laundry room. The back door was open, letting light and air in through the screen door that led to the backyard.
What Ma Wilder figured out while ironing: she had more pressing concerns.
I think what the sentence was (memory is a bit fuzzy on this, too), but I think it was something, “I’m going to go to my room, Mom,” or something like that.
I recall being a bit scared. How would she react? I was pretty sure I was supposed to call her “mom” but what if she reacted poorly? What if it made her mad?
She said, “Okay.”
And it came out of her mouth like it was normal, though, looking back on it I think even she had to hold back and concentrate on it being . . . normal.
The reason I remember this is because, unlike all those people who have to work at it, I was born a bastard. Longer version, I believe that this was the day that my adoption was finalized and I became an official Wilder rather than “that blonde kid that keeps hanging around the house and breaking a nearly endless stream of things.”
Because I did that, too. Most of the calamities that I caused were out of a sense of experimentation. For instance, one day I was watching The Brady Bunch after coming home from first grade. Now, as rankings on television programs go, The Brady Bunch was certainly the lowest tier of after-school television. Much higher was F-Troop and also Hogan’s Heroes. Of course, the gold standard was Star Trek.
Obscure fact: Ricardo Montalban had a tough time finding work after Star Trek II: No one wanted to hire an ex-Khan.
Anyway, it was The Brady Bunch that caused much of the destruction of my family’s stored memories. You see, in one episode, Greg (it was Bobby, I think) had taken a picture that proved the receiver’s foot was out of bounds on a key catch in a football game.
How did he prove this? He took a picture into a dark room, and then put it in water with some chemicals. Presto, he was able to stretch the picture and make it bigger. Why on Earth was the Wilder family making do with these little tiny 3” by 5” (2mm by 5 liter) snapshots when I could just dunk them in water in the bathroom and stretch them to make them larger.
I was no dummy! I knew that to make this work, you had to be in the dark, so I closed the door. Thankfully, this bathroom was an interior one with no windows! I put the picture in the water and tried to stretch it. No go.
Huh, looking back I could have died of exposure.
Maybe if I soaked it longer? I’m sure I waited for at least 15 seconds before my sucrose-addled brain realized the problem. Of course! It was simple! Greg had chemicals in the water that made the photo stretch!
Where could I find chemicals? Yup, mom kept them under the sink.
I added pretty much every chemical I could find under the sink to my impromptu photo embiggening water bath. I believe I probably created a stew of chemicals that would have been recognized by OSHA as not a violation of civil law, but probably regulated by the Geneva Convention as one of those pesky “war crimes”.
I took the photo and tried to stretch it. Still a no go. Well, it must be this particular photo. Why not put all of them in the sink to try to stretch them? I’m sure it’ll work.
Hmmm, no go on any of the dozens and dozens of photos that chronicled the life of my brother (it’s now obvious why his name is John Wilder, too) from birth to 8th grade. Well, no harm, no foul, right? I’ll just let the toxic brew of chemicals water out and leave the soggy mass of soap, home cleanser, and hand lotion (I do distinctly recall adding that) covered photos dry out.
The best way to let them dry out? In a soggy mass. I’m pretty sure that when they “dried” they stuck together well enough that the only things left of my brother’s childhood are his dental records.
This was my attempt to teach my newly minted parents that I was certainly not like the other children and that, just perhaps, I shouldn’t be left alone quite so much. Silly adults.
They didn’t learn. Their next attempt was for Ma Wilder to quit her job to take care of me. There was one two-week period Ma was needed down at the bank that Pa ran to help get The Books ready for the Bank Examiners. They did what every parent would do: hire a local teenager to watch me. The first one quit after a day. The second one quit after two days.
Ma Wilder, actual quote in my room after I did this: “Do you smell something burning?”
I’m thinking that it was about this point that Ma and Pa were regretting paying that attorney all of that money to get me free and clear as their child. And I think I had broken them.
“John, would you please, after school, just come home. Make yourself a sandwich. And then sit and watch TV. For two weeks. If you do this, we’ll pay you.” The equivalent they were offering me, per day, calculates in 2022 dollars as $78.39. For a first grader. All I had to do? Just not destroy the house during those hours. I could destroy at will when I was off the clock.
This was a good deal. I accepted it, and kept my end of the bargain.
So, my first paying gig was to just restrain myself from being an insurance hazard for two weeks, for which I was paid the (2022 equivalent) sum of $783.90.
Tax free, baby.
So, they paid me. I didn’t feel slighted that they put my money into a savings account. But, what to do with all my newfound wealth? I thought about it and decided. About a month later I announced at breakfast, “I think I’m going to move out and get my own place.”
These people had all these stupid rules. It was time to fly free.
There’s nothing sweeter than a baby’s laughter. Except when it’s 3am. And you’re home alone. And you don’t have a baby.
Ma Wilder, again, didn’t react poorly. “Please tell me about your plan.”
I explained to her that I had $783.90, and I was going to go get my own apartment.
“What will you do for food?”
“I have money, $783.90 in 2022 dollars.”
She gently went through what food for a week would cost, as well as rent. She never said I couldn’t move out, but after doing the math, it turned out all the money I had would be gone in a month.
“Well, I guess I’ll stay then,” a pause, “Mom.”
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