A Memorial Day Message

God moves in mysterious ways, or is it works? I'm really not sure anymore. I've completely forgotten that Sunday school lesson. It's been so long. You'd be surprised at what I do remember about church. It's not at all what you'd expect.

I remember this one really embarrassing episode that happened in Sunday school when I was about eleven years old. Just as our lesson was about to begin, this kid named, Bobby, raised his hand. Naturally, our Sunday school teacher called on him asking, "Yes, Bobby, what is it?"

"I know why Paul Huffman wasn't in Sunday school last week." That's exactly what he said. Man, I felt like crawling under the table and pulling my shirt up over my head. Under any other circumstance I would have been really miffed at this kid for turning me in like that. And yet, for some funny reason I was far more embarrassed than I was angry.

"If Paul wants to explain why he wasn't in Sunday school last week, that's up to him. It's really none of our business," was the Sunday school teacher's response. That still wasn't enough to shut that kid up. He just couldn't miss out on a golden opportunity like this come hell or high water. So he just blurted it out.

"I saw Paul playing tag-rush with his friends behind the Parlin last week just before Sunday school. He must've skipped Sunday school without his parents knowing about it."

You talk about getting caught with your pants down? Man, that was the ultimate. For the life of me, I cannot remember my Sunday school teacher's name. I've got a snapshot of his face embedded in my subconscious archives. It's probably still there because of how classy he handled this situation.

All he said to Bobby was, "Now that you've got that out of your system and we've succeeded in embarrassing Paul to no end, let's get on with today's lesson about he who is without sin casting the first stone. Shall we?"

Life is a real boomerang sometimes, especially so if you grew up in such a tight-knit community like Everett. As fate would have it, Bobby and I crossed paths once again a couple of decades later. Our lives were running along parallel paths at the time.

We were having a cup of coffee together one afternoon so I asked, " Hey, Bobby, do you remember the time?"

He laughed and said, "All this time I was hoping you had forgotten that. I was such a jerk. God only knows what possessed me to fink on you like that. That's not the kind of person I am at all."

Bobby turned out to be one of the nicest people I ever met. Of course, I didn't think so that day he turned me in for skipping Sunday school. It's amazing at how far off track we get sometimes when we pass judgment on somebody. I suppose that's what they mean about judging a book by its cover.

I got an email from another kid I grew up with a while back. You would not believe the tone of surprise expressed in his writing voice. He could not believe that the person who writes the "We're From Everett" blog, and the kid that he used to hang around with, were one in the same. And to be honest with ya, I wasn't sure whether to be insulted or flattered by some of his remarks.

He actually said, "I never thought that a kid with a mouth like yours would ever grow up to be so thoughtful and personal. You amaze me." Now I know that's a compliment, but can you imagine what that person must of thought of me originally? Man, I must have been a real jerk and a half in his opinion. And all this time I thought we had this deep admiration for each other. I guess it was all one sided.

Things like that show a strong correlation between "growing up in Everett" and playing that popular college trivia game of the 1990's entitled, "The Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon." You all know that one by now - right? That's the game where you try to link up just about any two random Hollywood stars within six steps of association.

This game was originally intended to focus on the aristocracy of the Entertainment industry. And no, I do not partake in the frivolities of the rich and famous. I'm not that shallow. At least, I hope not anyway. So why am I bringing it up if I don't partake in that sort of thing? Because, I'm trying to make a point. So if you stop butting in for just a minute, and hear me out, you just might learn something.

I've always wanted to say that. Don't you hate it when somebody snaps at you like that? I mean, really. How rude can you get? People used to do that to me all the time. They probably had every right to, but that didn't change the fact that it really ticked me off when they did. More than likely, they did it because I kept butting in and talking over them as soon as they opened their mouth.

That's how you get when you grow up in a house full of Everett boys. You do things like reach across the dinner table to grab the mash potatoes without saying, "excuse me" to get your share before they're all gone. A large bowl of hot buttered mash potatoes in a house full of Everett boys will vanish in seconds flat. And you couldn't care less if you stuck your elbows in everybody else's face in the process, either. Hey, that's what they get for not ducking.

You cannot survive in a house full of Everett boys using diplomacy and etiquette. If you so much as dare to engage in that kind of behavior you'll wind up holding onto the dirty end of the stick. Growing up in that kind of environment, the first three words you quickly learn to string together in a pinch are "It wasn't me." You'll also learn not to own up to anything no matter how good it looks on the surface just in case it backfires.

So yeah, that's the kind of kid I was, and I'm not offering any apologies. Hey, I grew up in Everett. Like it or lump it. And no, that's not the kind of person I am at all now. So please don't expect me to be the exact same person I was when I was ten years old, okay?

By the same token (Man, is that a colloquial cliche or what?), I promise not to expect the same from you, unless of course, you are ten years old. And if you are, then go on out there and be as rude as you can get because that's what's so much fun about being an Everett kid. That will all end soon enough when you start dating girls, so go on out there and enjoy it while you can.

Okay, now that I've finished going off on that little tangent, let's get back to the "Six Degrees Game." What I'm saying is that if you pick out any two random people you knew who grew up in Everett, you will be able to link them up somehow within six degrees of association.

Think I'm kidding? Okay, let's do one.

Let's link up Leo Brotman (manager of the Park Theatre) to Paul Huffman (Author of "We're from Everett").

First Degree: Leo has a daughter named, Paula. Second Degree: Paula married Sam. Third Degree: They have a son named, Earl. Fourth degree: In the Hamilton School Kindergarten Class of 1963, Earl had a classmate named, Joyce. Fifth Degree: Joyce has an older sister named, Carol. Sixth Degree: Carol married Paul Huffman.

See what I mean?

Everett was such a close-knit community that if I don't know you, then chances are that we do know somebody who knows us both. There is no way you could grow up completely isolated in Everett. It's just not possible. Somewhere along the line we all know each other.

Here's another funny "for instance" about growing up in Everett. Tell me if this has ever happened to you. Let's say a mutual friend introduces you to somebody you've never met before in your life. Keep in mind that all of the principles involved grew up in Everett, and that the introduction is taking place under the most pleasant and desirable circumstances.

During the introduction, your mutual friend mentions that you are related to somebody that the other person knows. This is an honest attempt by the person introducing you to find a common denominator between the two of you. It just so happens that the person you're being introduced to does not like your relative. Now all of a sudden, what started out as a very pleasant introduction goes completely sour.

Since they don't like your relative, they refuse to like you. In their own little warped frame of reference, they feel as though they can somehow get back at that other person that they don't like by being rude to you. So they turn their back on you and walk away. What could have been the start of a wonderful friendship falls flat on its face.

What's really nuts about that is that they don't even bother to find out if you are in good graces with that relative or not. Besides that, some relations are so distant that they only exist through the marriage of a second cousin that you hardly knew in the first place. That doesn't even matter to them. The blood link is there as far as they are concerned so you're out. It's as simple as that.

Please tell me that I'm not the only one that's ever happened to.

Okay, so now that I'm on a roll here, let's keep talking about some of the other character flaws we run into with people who grew up in Everett, especially because none of them pertain to me personally because I'm so perfect - right?

Here's another example. This one is a real doozy because I've seen just as many adults fall victim to this one, as I do kids. You wouldn't think so, but I'll just bet cha that a whole bunch of you out there will really relate to this one.

Like I said, you're probably expecting me to tell you something that happened when I was about ten years old - right? This happened when I was in my early thirties. And as much as I hate to admit it, that was more than twenty years ago. Kind of scary, huh?

I've got these two friends named, Rick and Bob. No, not the Bob I told you about earlier. This is a whole nuther animal altogether. Now Bob and me was really tight. We were like the best of friends. Rick was more of an acquaintance. That's no reflection on Ricky because honestly, he's a really nice guy. The only reason I wasn't as close to him as I was to Bob was because Bob and I go back a long ways, so to speak.

On this one particular day, Bob and Rick really went toe to toe over something or other that didn't involve me at all so I kind of kept out of it. If they had come to blows, I assure you, I would have stepped into the middle of it to keep them apart. Thankfully, it never came to that, but man, it got really close, let me tell ya.

As a result of that verbal confrontation they went their separate ways and just ignored each other. Now that's a logical solution to cool off a couple of hot heads if I do say so myself. Later that afternoon, Ricky mentioned that he was heading on down to Angelina's for a sub and asked if I cared to tag along. Now honestly, all you gotta say to me is "Angelina's sub" and I'm in.

A few hours later, Bob comes up to me and asks "Did you go down to Angelina's for a sub with Ricky?"

So I says "Yeah, why?"

And he says, "I thought you were my friend?"

So I says "So did I. What's that got to do with it?"

"Didn't you know that I was mad at Ricky?"

"Yeah, I knew you were mad at Ricky. What has that got to do with me? Man, that's your cross to bear, not mine. Just because you're mad at Ricky doesn't mean I have to be, too. He didn't do nothing wrong to me."

Then Bob said, "You know something? You're right. Our friendship shouldn't be based on who you like or who I like. What ever made me think like that? You really opened my eyes. I feel like a jerk."

So I said, "Oh that's only because you are a jerk, dude. So why don't you go on over there and make up and stop acting like a bunch of little kids?"

Well guess what? He did. They made up.

That situation turned out cool, but there are times when it doesn't work out quite so easily. Some people really do base their friendships on frivolous loyalties. They honestly think that if you are truly their friend, then you are supposed to be mad at the same people they're mad at whether you've got good reason or not. And some of the people who think like that are actually grownups. I kid you not.

I could go on indefinitely about weird quirks of the human condition. Like when you've known somebody since kindergarten, but have never spoken a single word to each other. You pass each other on the sidewalk without so much as a nod of recognition even though you both subconsciously acknowledge each other's presence. For some funny reason you just never express it. Why do we do things like that?

Here's another one. It's when people make a big hoopla over somebody's station in life. They even brag because somebody they know is rich, or a well-known celebrity, or politician, or something like that. They'll even go out of their way to say "hi" to someone who doesn't give a hoot about them because that person is a so-called somebody.

What do they call that? Oh yeah, name dropping, that's it. It's funny how nobody ever makes a big deal over being friends with a trash collector, ain't it? It's funny because that trash collector might be the only person who really cares anything about them. That really doesn't matter though because they've got nothing to offer in the way of social status - right?

So the next time anybody starts name-dropping and you feel kind of left out, you just go ahead and tell them that you know me. And when they ask, "What's so special about him?" Then you tell them this.

Tell them that he was born and raised in Everett. For twenty years he worked as a gravedigger at the Woodlawn Cemetery. He buried the very doctor who brought him to this world. And as cold hearted and as hardened as a gravedigger can get after many years of dealing with death, his heart broke the day that happened.

Chances are, on many a Memorial Day when you visited the cemetery in search of your loved one's burial site, you may have walked right up to this guy and asked, "Where's Hillside, or Colonial Gardens, or Restland?" And he probably escorted you there.

And maybe, just maybe, as you suffered through the heartbreak everyone suffers through during the wake of someone you loved so dearly, he was down in the earth with pick and shovel preparing a place for their soul to rest until the angels came to take them home. He has seen things that would cower stronger men to their knees.

In the end, it was all an integral part of his growing up in Everett experience. It taught him so much that he felt compelled to share with you what he learned from it all. As a person himself, there is nothing special that would ever set him apart from anyone else. He is just another voice from the crowd who shouts, "We're from Everett."

And if ever given the chance, he would tell you this.

"We look at narrow-minded and insensitive people sometimes and think, "They'll get theirs someday." But I say to you that they get theirs every single day of their life. People who constantly strive to outdo, and cheat, and avenge others, spend their whole lives crippled and miserable inside. They are young souls with so much more to learn. The road ahead for them is wrought with disillusionment."

"They do not see the wonders of the world around them. They do not hear the harmonic rhythm of a gentle summer's rain. They do not marvel at the illuminate ring that encircles a full moon on a winter's night. And they may never know that heartfelt reward that lifts your spirits beyond your wildest dreams for having given all that you have to give to someone who truly needed it without anyone else ever knowing about it except you and your consciousness."

"Their heart does not break because of the tears in someone else's eyes. They have no concept of unconditional love. And because they work so hard for the tangibles of this life, they have forfeited all the true treasures that this journey has to offer."

"Let me show you a spirit buried beneath this earth. In this life his journey was very brief, not more than nineteen years. In that short span he could not possibly have experienced many of the tangibles this journey had to offer. He gave that up."

"Why did he do that? What would possess him to make such a sacrifice? Was he so young and foolish that he willfully threw this journey away on something frivolous? Or is that that he was truly an old soul in a young body with an insight and wisdom way beyond his years?"

"We will never know that, will we? He's not here to tell us. Maybe we can piece this enigma together with the clues he left behind. All we've got to go on his the inscription on his gravestone. And all that tells us is his name, the day he was born, and the day he died. That doesn't say much, now does it?"

"Wait a minute now. Here's some more clues. The inscription also tells us that he was in the United States Marine Corps. It says he was a Sargent. And just below that it says "Killed in Action."

"Well, what do you know? He laid down his life for you. Do you understand the significance of what that young kid did? He faced untold horrors, stood up against all odds, and knowingly took on the sting of death for no other reason than because he loved you. He was just a kid. He died for you."

"Now you tell me. Is there anyone on the face of this earth that deserves your respect and recognition more than this kid does? Tell me if there is. I'll listen."

"You boast all you want, but you will never equal the glory this exalted soul now knows. You think he's dead? You're only fooling yourself. He has passed way beyond the limitations of your futile sense of comprehension. I promise you that."

"Let me tell you something else about him. He walked along this very same path that you now trod. He laid down his life so that you may continue this journey with freedoms that very few people on this planet enjoy. And he did that because in his heart he carried an unconditional love for all that you are."

"He is an integral part of your historic timeline. You stand tall today because he fell yesterday. You will never receive a greater gift in your lifetime then the one he gave to you."

"Don't shed a tear for him today because he died. He is not dead. He dwells beyond the far horizon. Shed your tears because your love for him is so strong that it moves you deeply."

"So put into its proper perspective, all the frivolities and quirks we carry with us through this journey seems so irrelevant in comparison to the power of unconditional love. The men and women of our armed forces do not serve with the intend to engage in battle. They serve to give of themselves in a commitment of unconditional love. They give of their lives so that you may continue your walk along this journey. There is no stronger demonstration of love than of those who would lay down their lives for you."

"And within that love you will find an inner strength. That strength will lift you up. It will give meaning and purpose to your life. And then you will fully understand how truly special that bond is between me, and you, and that soldier. And now you know how truly lucky you are, and how truly wonderful it is to be able to say, "We're from Everett!"

Another Worldview of Everett

Let me take you back about 45 years ago to that humble little kitchen of ours down on Arlington Street. We'll use that as our starting point for today's excursion into growing up in Everett.

So many memories crowd my mind's eye in that one room alone that I could go on endlessly with stories about my childhood. It's like I said so many times before. Places from our past invoke memories, but they serve as little more than a back drop for the people who make the memory come alive.

Our kitchen was so small that before you could do anything at all you had to do something else first. We had to push a chair out of the way to open the refrigerator. We had to move another one to drop down the oven door. We even had to slide the kitchen table out of the way so my mother could open up her ironing board.

My mother used to hang clothes to dry on a rope stretched across the kitchen during the cold winter months. And then she'd yell at us not to get our dirty hands all over the clean laundry. The only way to possibly avoid that was to crawl to the bathroom on your hands and knees. And if you did do that she'd yell at you to get up off the dirty floor. You couldn't win.

That's another thing I've often wondered about. Who came up with the bright idea to put the bathroom right off of the kitchen? That was a total disaster in our tiny apartment. Our bathroom door was right beside our kitchen table. If you were sitting down to supper at the far end of the table, you had to get up and push your chair in for as far as it would go to let everyone else go in or out of the bathroom. Is that gross or what?

Now if that ain't bad enough, try to imagine what it was like to sit down to the supper table while somebody was actually in there doing their duty. Not only did you hear the fireworks, but you occasionally caught a blast of the aroma as well. And believe me when I tell ya, that is the last thing you wanna smell when you're sitting down to a feed of baked beans.

I'll be the first one to admit how that conjures up one of the most repulsive images imaginable. So how do you think I feel? I had to live the experience. Try to swallow a mouthful of beans with that going on less than 3 feet from your face. It can't be done.

I don't know how he did it, but my dad sat there gobbling down his beans without a care in the world while all that was going on. He'd even get all hot and bothered at me because I just didn't have the stomach to sit still and eat my beans while somebody else was going to the bathroom. I'd plead my case, but to no avail. I'd say, "Dad, I can't eat beans while Billy's in there farting his brains out. It's making me sick."

And he'd say, "Don't pay any attention to Billy. Now you eat those beans. They're good for ya."

I'm sorry, but I just could not ignore what was going on just three feet away from my supper plate. It's not as if he was around the corner and down the hall or anything. Billy was sitting right there, practically right beside me, with nothing more than a single panel interior door separating the two of us.

So what kind of image do you think my mind's eye conjured up every time I looked down at that bowl of beans? I'll give ya one guess. To make matters worse, when he was all done, Billy used to come out of the bathroom celebrating like he just won the Superbowl. Then he had the audacity to describe what it looked like while everybody else was trying to eat supper.

"You should have seen this one," he'd shout. "It was bigger than a boa constrictor. That was definitely a twelve on a scale of one to ten. That one was so good that it gave me the chills."

My mother used to give him a whack across the back of his head whenever he did that, but that never stopped him. So now I've finally got enough peace of mind to take in a spoonful of beans and he starts up again. "Did you hear me fart?" He laughs. "I got the hat trick. I did three farts in a row." He was was actually proud of that.

And my friends used to wonder as to why I didn't invite them over to my house for lunch. How do you explain that one? You know how insecure we are as kids - right? I'd never live it down if I had a friend over for lunch while my big brother was carrying on like that in the bathroom. And he'd do that, too, believe me. He'd think nothing of it. Nothing ever embarrassed Billy. He was as bold as they come.

My dad was another one. He had this big ritual going on every time he went into the bathroom. He couldn't just go in there and get out. He had to look for his glasses, grab a pencil, and then find his crossword puzzle book first. The way I see it is that if you've got time to solve a crossword puzzle, then you ain't ready to go yet.

That's living proof of how your childhood strongly influences your adult life. Once I grew up and left the nest I never again lived in a place where the bathroom was right off the kitchen. That's where I draw the line.

Laundry day was another big hullabaloo in our kitchen. Whenever my mother did laundry, which was like every other day with four kids in the house, we had to completely rearrange all of the kitchen furniture to wheel that old wringer washing machine over to the sink. You talk about fun? Navigating that monstrosity across the kitchen floor was an adventure in itself.

The casters on the bottom of those washtub legs had a mind of their own. When you pushed left, they turned right. Whenever you pulled it back a few inches to straighten it out, they spun completely out of control. It was the only time I ever got away with banging something into the kitchen table without having to stand in the corner afterwards.

Ever notice how so many experts pop out of the woodwork when you try to do anything at all? That is especially so if you're the youngest one of the bunch. It makes you wonder as to where your older siblings get all this knowledge. And I'd also like to know why the youngest one is the only one who isn't gifted with all this inbred knowledge at birth.

That's what I had to go through every time I pushed that washing machine across the kitchen floor for my mother. The other three kids stood there criticizing my every move. "Your hands are in the wrong place. You're pushing too fast. You're going crooked. Straighten it out. You don't know what you're doing."

Gimmie a break, huh?

It ain't easy growing up with older brothers and sisters. They come pre-programmed with the steadfast belief that no matter what it is you're trying to do, they're an expert at it. They also believe that you benefit more from their wisdom than they do. It only stands to reason that because you're smaller than they are, you don't know your ass from your elbow. That must be Newton's second law of older siblinghood.

Their superiority complex takes all the fun out of everything sometimes. If I put a record on the record player they'd say I dropped the needle down wrong. If I dunked a cookie in my milk they'd say I was holding onto my cookie the wrong way. Like there's a written law on the books somewhere - right? I just thank God for that lock on the bathroom door. I'll bet ya ten to one they'd find fault with the way I wipe my - well, you get the idea, I'm sure.

As we grow older, we tend to lose our ability to see things through the eyes of a child. Yes, maturity and experience have a lot to do with that, but so does perspective. Ever take a stroll through the old neighborhood? Chances are you'll look at the backyard you used to play in (if it's still there) and think, "Man, that's ten times smaller than I remember it."

Truth is, the landscape did not get any smaller. That's the size it always was. What happened was that you got bigger. That changes everything. Think about that.

You want to see the world through the eyes of a child? Get down on your knees and rest your chin on the edge of your kitchen table. What do you see? Everything looks larger than life, doesn't it? Back then, everything was.

You didn't pick up the salt shaker between your thumb and forefinger when you were a little kid. You had to cup your whole hand around it. It took two hands to pick up a glass of milk. And it was next to impossible to wash your face and hands without getting water all over the bathroom floor because you had to stand up on your tippie toes to reach up over the wash basin.

By the way, are you old enough to remember back before we had light switches mounted on the wall? We used to have a pull chain that dangled down into the middle of the room from the ceiling light. It was years before I was tall enough to grab a hold of that without first having to stand up on top of a kitchen chair. I sometimes had to swat at it with the broom to turn the light on.

Kitchen chairs are a Godsend to a little kid. The world is your oyster if you've got a good solid kitchen chair. It levels the playing field between childhood and adulthood. Without one, all of the food stacked away on the top shelves in the upper wall cabinets may as well not exist at all. It makes no wonder why my mother always hid the really good stuff way up there.

Cookies are the number one reason why a little kid discovers the magic and wonder of a kitchen chair. And I'm not talking about those bland, prepackaged, crumbly hard things you get from the store either. I'm talking about those home made, mouth watering, soft and chewing, chocolate chip cookies like my mother used to bake. I'd even risk breaking my neck for one of those.

Once you slid that kitchen chair over to the cabinets, you could step up on top of the counter. Now all you gotta do is lean to one side when you jerk open the cupboard doors. I say "jerk" because we're talking back before they started using flat magnetic contacts to hold the cupboard doors shut.

We used to have these sharp metal clasps mounted at the bottom of each shelf. They grabbed onto the small metal prong attached to the back of the cupboard door. That's what held them shut. They posed little challenge to a grownup, but were a real pain in the ass to a little kid.

After opening and closing those cupboard doors a hundred thousand times, those little metal doohickeys wore out. So when you stood up on top of the counter you had to brace yourself for the expected resistance. You'd lean back to yank open that worn out cupboard door and it would fly open and send you ass over teakettle onto the floor backwards.

That usually only happens when you're trying to sneak a cookie in the middle of the night while everyone else is sound asleep. They'd all come running out into the kitchen to see what that big crash was all about. Next thing you know you're grounded for a week and banned from the cookie jar for life.

I'll never forget the time I crawled up on top of the kitchen counter looking for some goodies in the middle of the night. All I found was a bottle of maple syrup. What kid doesn't like maple syrup? So I unscrewed the cap and guzzled down about half the bottle in one fell swoop. Three seconds later I projectile vomited all over the kitchen cupboards. Even to this day I can't stand the sight of maple syrup.

Perspective is another reason why the candy counter down at the corner store looms so large amongst our childhood memories. Not that it actually needed another reason or anything, but do you remember how big those display cases looked like to us? Whenever you said "And I'll take one of those" to anything on the top shelf you were actually pointing straight at eye level. Anything up on top of the display case was almost completely out of view unless you got up on your tippie toes.

You got your money's worth back then even if you only had a penny. That's because your mouth was so small that it didn't take all that much to fill it up. Remember how far you had to stretch your jaws to soften up a whole piece of Bazooka bubble gum? Thank God for that groove running down the middle so you could snap it in half. One piece of Bazooka bubble gum used to last all day, not to mention how it made your jaw knock and wore you out in the process.

One thing I really liked about being a little kid in a great big world were all the hiding spots readily available to me. It was somewhat of a challenge to see how small of a place I could squeeze myself into. The skeletal elasticity of a skinny little kid is amazing.

I could twist myself up into a pretzel and fit down into the laundry basket under the dirty towels as soon as I found out we were having broccoli for supper. There was always that hope that they'd give up looking for me and just throw the leftovers away. That never did happen, but it was worth a shot.

Watching the world shrink becomes somewhat of a pastime the bigger you get. It is a mighty big world when you're trying to get from one place to another on a tricycle. Bumping up and down over the curbstones on a tricycle is a darn good way to lose the family jewels, if you know what I mean.

Sitting on a tricycle at the bus stop on the corner of Arlington and Ferry looking across at Whitehill Pharmacy is like gazing down into the Grand Canyon. On a tricycle, the corner of Nichols Street on the other side of Ferry is so beyond your reach it may as well be up on the dark side of the moon.

There's no way you're going to navigate through all that traffic on a tricycle. The top of your head doesn't even come up to the hood ornament. So when it comes to a tricycle, you're more or less limited to the sidewalk in front of your house. Any further than that and you might as well get off and walk.

The world begins to shrink when you finally take those training wheels off of your two-wheeler. I say "training wheels" because they became the norm when we grew up and started having kids of our own. They were virtually unheard of in our day.

If you're over forty, chances are that you've never ridden with training wheels in your life. You just wibble wobbled, fell down and scraped your knee, and then crashed into a dozen parked cars until you got the hang of it. I mean honestly. How long did it take you to master your two-wheeler?

My big brother, Billy, took me up to the top of Arlington Street, mounted me on his old bike, and then pushed me straight down the hill with all of his might. On the third try I zoomed straight through the traffic on Ferry and didn't roll to a complete stop until I reached Prattville Park at the far end of Nichols Street. From that moment on, the City of Everett shrunk exponentially.

Glendale Park, the Shute library, and Everett Square were now just a hop, skip, and a jump. The bottom of Arlington Street, which once encompassed my entire being, became nothing more than a pit stop. Before very long I was trekking it all the way over to Pine Banks in seconds flat.

Do you remember that? Do you remember how small the world looked once you took control of your two-wheeler? And it only took about a day to muster up enough confidence to zoom in and out of heavy traffic without giving it so much as a second thought.

That transition from a tricycle to a two-wheeler is one of the biggest transformations you'll go through in your lifetime. It is the defining step in the process that prepares you for the day when you'll take behind the wheel of an automobile. Once that happens, you'll feel like the whole world is small enough to fit down inside your watch pocket. If you thought Glendale Park and Everett Square were such a great accomplishment, just wait until you book it up to the Kangamangus in just a couple of hours.

And there it is. That is exactly what happened to your worldview as seen through the eyes of a child. You willfully threw it all away to quench that inbred thirst to spread your wings and fly. Your long awaited journey brought forth new discoveries and experiences. That wealth of knowledge gave you a broader scope of awareness. I guess we needed that for some reason.

The further you advanced through that school of hard knocks, the deeper your innocence sank beneath the rubble and turmoil of adulthood. It's a vicious cycle that makes you long for the good old days when life was so simple that all you really had to worry about was getting through an entire school day without having to stand in the corner.

To quench that thirst for a simpler life you come here. And so you should. This is where you belong. Here is where you're surrounded by people who think like you. They share your worldview as seen through the eyes of a child. You do not stand amongst strangers here, and you do not stand alone. All around you are the neighbors, the classmates, and the friends you grew up with. We're reaching out to take hold of your hand. And just like you - "We're from Everett!"

Nobody To Blame But Yourself

Reliving the good old days growing up in Everett is so multi faceted that even the simplest recollection can explode into an epic journey. Just the mere mention of Vargi's Diner, or Kresge's lunch counter, or even shopping at Grants down in Glendale Square conjures up a lifetime of memories. So does hopping over the stadium fence, lining up for a free Hoodsie on the Fourth of July, and screaming our lungs out during the balloon breaking contest at the Park Theatre.

Reliving those cherished memories makes you realize how it wasn't so much the landmark as it was the people who breathed life into the Everett experience. Let's face it, without Leo the Park Theatre was just another building. Without Rosie a taxi is just a cab. Without Lenny, the singing bus driver, it was just another bus ride.

That is the very reason I chose the "We're From Everett" chant as the theme for our nostalgic on-line experience. Screaming that chant in unison at the football games instilled a sense of pride and fellowship amongst us. And that spirit of camaraderie will live on in our hearts through all of the days of our lives.

What we had was so special that it truly deserves its very own niche in the historic timeline of humankind. We stand together as one from many neighborhoods, and from many generations, even to this day regardless of how we are spread out all over the planet. It makes no wonder that the growing up in Everett experience has found its way onto the World Wide Web. It really is that special.

Our descendants will know the sincerity of our character just by the fact that we seized this golden opportunity to reach out to them on such a personal level across the vast solitude of time. Perhaps it will inspire them to build upon our foundation of kinship to make the world a better place in which to live. You never know.

If nothing else, they'll realize from within that humble two and a half square miles we so lovingly refer to as Everett, flourished the magic and wonder of the human condition. And when they scratch beneath the surface they won't find the pomp and circumstance of high society. They'll find the heartfelt comforts of home.

They'll see us gathering around the living room to watch Annette Funicello sing "Who's the leader of the club that's made for you and me?" They'll catch us having an all out pillow fight with our brothers and sisters in the middle of the night. They'll watch us make a tent out of an old blanket and two kitchen chairs. And they'll know how we crossed our hearts and hoped to die to bear witness to the truth upon our lips. That's what life is really all about anyway.

There is, however, another important aspect of our everyday lives that they should know about. They should know how the definition of the typical American family has changed over the years. And they should know why.

I'm not even talking about the considerable differences that I'm sure will exist between the typical family back in our day to theirs in the distant future. What we had as a family was worlds apart from what exists today. And if it's anybody's fault it's ours. We failed to give our kids the one important element that our parents gave to us. And that was a clear distinction between right and wrong.

They really were hard on us sometimes. And we really did deserve it. That's why I'd like to invite our grandchildren's grandchildren to take a closer look at our families.

We were the generation who spared the rod and spoiled the child. We were also foolish enough to carry that philosophy out into our daily lives. Because of us criminals have more rights than their victims. Our sidewalks aren't safe enough for our children to go outside to play. And our elected officials have no concern whatsoever for the constituents they are elected to serve.

None of that was true when we were little kids growing up in Everett. The way our parents disciplined us is politically incorrect by today's standards. It's actually illegal.

For the life of me I cannot picture my father saying "go sit over there for a ten second time out to get in touch with your feelings" after he found out I deliberately threw a rock through Mrs. Coolin's window. What he did was smack me across the lips with the back of his hand. And if that sounds so politically incorrect to you, then maybe I shouldn't even bring up the part about getting whacked across the legs with a garrison belt. Man, did that sting.

We had rules and regulations to follow. When your dad got home from work it was time for supper. If you didn't eat all of your broccoli then you sat there at the supper table until you did. When the streetlights came on it was time to go in. And if your mother ever caught you saying the "F" word she washed your mouth out with a bar of soap. Ivory soap tastes the worst.

On the other hand, it is also important that they experience some of the simple absurdities we lived through that are normally associated with growing up in an Everett family. Like when your father comes storming into the living room holding up his pants shouting, "All right! Who was the last one in the bathroom?"

I'd sit there dumbfounded thinking "How am I supposed to know whether or not I was the last one in the bathroom?" It's not like I kept tabs on everybody. Maybe somebody went in there after me and maybe they didn't. I never paid any attention to things like that. There was way too much going on in my life to get bogged down on something so trivial as that.

The kind of things I concentrated on were things like finding my other sneaker, especially when a game of "off-the-wall" was breaking out down on Arlington Street. Now that's important. Hey, if I couldn't be bothered to sit through the rest of the Little Rascals to find out if Alfalfa was gonna apologize to Darla, then I'm certainly not gonna get all hot and bothered over who was the last one in the bathroom. You know what I mean?

What got my father all bent out of shape is that somebody used up the last of that roll of toilet paper and just left it like that. So instead of just grinning and bearing this minor inconvenience like everybody else, he feels compelled to make damn sure that everybody knows that if it weren't for him there'd be no toilet paper on that roller right now. That to him was a big deal.

These are the kinds of things that our grandchildren's grandchildren should know about their grandfather's grandfather. Don't ya think? Another thing they should know is that back in our day our households were ruled by a monarchy. Our mother and father served as the reigning king and queen. Our country was a free democracy, but our households certainly were not.

The average Everett kid donned the role of the royal subject. And just as the word "subject" suggests, each kid was "subjected" to the rules of this sovereignty. Standing tall before the king and queen to face infractions to the household rules was much like facing the Spanish Inquisition. During that inquisition they'd introduce witnesses and present evidence against you.

Like the Spanish Inquisition, you never knew when that monarchy was about to come down on you. Maybe you would have seen it coming had you paid attention to the same details that the king and queen always seemed to get hung up on, but that was rarely the case. Let me give you an example.

Let's say it's a Saturday morning. Let's even be more specific. For the sake of argument let's say it's 8:24 A.M., Saturday, May 12, 1962. Just as my favorite episode of the Little Rascals was winding down, I heard the distinct sound of a broom handle whacking a pimple ball outside. So naturally I ran to the window to peek out through the venetian blinds. Sure enough, there's Stanley pitching one in to Jacky in front of the Storm Shield building across the street.

Now just last night I got called on the carpet for not putting a fresh roll of toilet paper on the roller in the bathroom. The reason I got in so much trouble was because I had vehemently denied the accusation. And just as one accusation always leads to another, my act of denial led to the additional charge of having lied during the inquisition. Before I knew what hit me I had more charges piled up against me than I could shake a stick at.

Let me be honest here, I did not intentionally lie at my inquisition. I denied the charges against me because I honestly did not know if I was guilty or not. I had no idea whether or not I was the last one in the bathroom. And I could not remember if there was any more toilet paper on the roll the last time I went in there. So, I pleaded not guilty.

You don't think they were just gonna leave it at that do ya? No way. To ignore so much as one minor infraction of the rules would undermine the integrity of the whole system. Justice must be served so that's why I had to stand tall before the household monarchy to hear the evidence presented against me.

First, they presented a witness. My big sister, Julie, was called into the kitchen. "Okay, Julie," my father asked, "Who was the last one in the bathroom?"

"It was Paul," she triumphantly announced.

"How do you know that?" He asked.

"Because the whole time I was in there painting my toenails he was jumping up and down outside the door shouting, "Hurry up! I gotta pee my brains out!"

"You mean to tell me that the whole time I was jumping up and down in agony you were in there painting your toenails? I almost peed my pants you stupid jerk."

"That's not the point," my father snapped. "And you watch your mouth mister cuz you're in enough trouble already."

The evidence against me was overwhelming. My sister's testimony wasn't the only incriminating bombshell they dropped on me. For you see, my dad distinctly remembered going directly into the bathroom just as I came running out. That was when he discovered the empty toilet paper roller. So the question becomes "Was it I who used the last of the toilet paper or was it already empty when I went in there?"

"So was the toilet paper roll empty or not?" My dad asked.

"I don't know because I didn't use it."

"You went to the bathroom, didn't ya?"

"Yeah, but I didn't use any toilet paper. I'm a boy.

"That's disgusting," my sister snapped back.

"What do you care? You're just having a good time seeing me get in trouble. Girls aren't happy unless they're making somebody else's life miserable anyway," I shouted back at her.

That's enough of that," my father shouts. "The point is you're guilty and you lied about it. If this sort of thing ever happens again you'll be grounded for a week. You got that?"

Life within this feudal sovereignty was like walking on eggshells sometimes. Your whole world could come apart over something so simple as a roll of toilet paper. Believe me when I tell ya, when you stood accused you stood alone. Nobody's gonna take the rap for ya, so don't even think about it. They'll even bear false witness against you if that's what it takes to keep their fanny from feeling the wrath of that strap, let me tell ya.

So here it is Saturday morning and there's a game of stickball breaking out down on Arlington Street. The last thing I need right now is to gum up the works with an absent-minded disregard for the household rules. So not to do that I made damn sure I washed my face and hands, and brushed my teeth before booking it down the front stairs to join that game already in progress.

Three kids, one broomstick, and a pimple ball equal a game of homerun derby. You get three swings. One strike equals one out. Each kid is his own team so you can have as many teams as you'd like in just one game.

To score a homerun you had to hit that ball clear over everybody's head without them catching it. It also had to clear the fence to my front yard. Even catching it on a bounce was an out.

You can always tell when something is about to go wrong. It always happens when everything else in your life seems to fall perfectly into place. Like when you've got a three way tie at the bottom of the ninth and you're getting your last ups. You've already got two outs against you so this next pitch means everything.

So I step back and spit on my hands and rub them together. Don't ask me why. I saw Ted Williams do it on TV so I figured I'd give it a shot. Then I spit on the sidewalk and step up to the plate. Before assuming the position I tap the bottom of each sneaker with the broomstick and I'm finally ready for the inevitable.

Stanley winds up and lets her rip. "Thwack!" I had to cup my hand over my eyes to block out the sun as I watched that beauty sail effortlessly over the telephone wires. And just as she was coming down behind the fence to my front yard I saw my mother hanging out the window.

"Paul, come up here this instant. I need to talk to you."

You must know me by now. How many homeruns do you think I've hit in my lifetime? One, maybe two, if I'm lucky. Look, I know you've gotta take the good with the bad in life, but can't I at least get a five minute break to wallow in my victory?

Stanley looks at me and says, "Whoa man, you're mother looks really mad. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes right now for all the tea in China."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Let me ask you something. Am I the only kid who had to face a household inquisition almost every day of his childhood? No matter how hard I tried I couldn't win. The whole system was stacked against me. It wasn't just a matter of knowing the rules here. They were making them up as they went along. Every new ruled seemed to focus around whatever it was that I did on that particular day.

So anyway, as I soon as I stepped in the door my mother says "Take a look in the bathroom."

As soon as she mentioned the bathroom I knew I was in trouble. I know this sounds mental but that bathroom hated me. No matter what I did in there it was always wrong and I always got in trouble for it.

So here I am standing in the middle of the bathroom and for the life of me I can't see anything out of the ordinary. "What is that?" My mother asks pointing at the tube of toothpaste.

"That's a tube of toothpaste," I answer innocently enough.

She looses it. "Don't get so smug with me mister. Now, you tell me what that is," she demands. She's still pointing at the same tube of toothpaste. This is like playing Russian Roulette with a fully loaded pistol. No matter what comes out of my mouth next it's gonna get me into trouble. You can see that, can't you?

"What is that right there?" She screams at the top of her lungs. She's pointing firmly down at that exact same tube of toothpaste with fire in her eyes.

"Ma, I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want you tell me exactly what that is," she's ready to explode.

"That's a tube of toothpaste."

"You son of a...." Now she's chasing me all over the house with the belt. Maybe I should have said, "That's Pepsodent." My only chance for survival now is to pull off one of my famous jump slides under the bed where she can't reach me.

"If you don't come out from under that bed I swear you're gonna be in big trouble mister."

As if I'm not already - right? Every kid knows he's in big trouble as soon as his mother calls him mister. It comes with the territory. At least being out of reach gives me a chance to try to reason with her. "Ma, I don't know what you want me to say."

"Get out from under that bed and I'll tell you."

"Put the belt down first."

"Get out from under that bed this instant."

This is a no-win situation anyway so I may as well come out and face the music. As soon as I slide out from under the bed she demands that I march back into the bathroom. So here we are again standing in the bathroom and she's pointing at that same tube of toothpaste asking, "What is that?"

"Ma, you may as well go ahead and hit me because that's still a tube of toothpaste."

"That's not what I'm talking about," she yells. "I'm talking about that."

Now I'll be the first to admit that I can be a little thick sometimes, but she's still pointing at that same tube of toothpaste.

"I don't know what that is, Ma." I didn't know what else to say. From the moment I could talk they told me to call that a tube of toothpaste. They even say it on the TV commercials.

Well anyway, what it boiled down to is that she was all hot bothered because I had squeezed the toothpaste from the middle of the tube. So what she was actually pointing at is that great big dent in the middle of the tube. And just because of that I gotta stand here in the bathroom playing "What's wrong with this picture?" with somebody who was about a fraction of an inch away from whacking me with a belt.

All in all, she came up with three infractions of the household law. First, I left the cap off the toothpaste. Second, I squeezed the tube from the middle. And last, I didn't put it away in the medicine cabinet when I was finished with it. One small mistake added up to three crimes. I should have pleaded the Fifth Amendment from the very start.

I suppose I should count my blessings. She was so bent out of shape over that tube of toothpaste that she didn't even see the dirty hand print on the towel, or the puddle of water underneath it on the floor. If she really wanted to she could have padded on enough charges for a life sentence in Leavenworth.

"Didn't your father just get finished telling you that if you broke one more rule you'd be grounded for a week?"

"That was about the toilet paper. I didn't even touch the toilet paper this time."

"Well, you're grounded for a week mister. And you've got nobody to blame but yourself."

There it is again. It's the old "You've got nobody to blame but yourself" routine. And I thought everyone was going to be so proud of me for washing up and brushing my teeth without being told. Instead, I'm grounded for a week. That's what you get for going that extra mile. You can't win. I told you that.

Our parents weren't really the monsters we sometimes made them out to be. For the most part, they were actually kind of funny. The things they focused on sometimes were so way beyond the mindset of a kid that you couldn't possibly anticipate your next infraction of the rules by their standards.

Maybe it's me, but I actually had to bite my lip not to laugh when they made me stand in the corner for getting a microscopic dot of jelly in the peanut butter jar. You talk about little things amusing little minds? That takes the cake.

God forbid that you should ever get toast crumbs all over the margarine. And don't you dare crack a smile when you find out that your sister fell in because you left the toilet seat up again. And you may as well start packing your bags if they ever catch you red handed drinking straight from the water bottle. Trust me on that one.

That may seem so superficial on the surface, but as they say, "The little things mean a lot." What they did accomplish was to instill upon us a true sense of right from wrong. Because of them whenever we do something wrong a subconscious guilt trip kicks in and torments us to go back and do the right thing. No question about it, they loved us with all their might.

The magic and wonder of a mother's love. Now there's something that never changes over the ages. That's why we hold the sanctity of Mother's Day so dear to our hearts. My mom was always there when I got home from school. I can hear her now, "Wipe your feet. Wash your hands. Hang up your school clothes. Put that away. Don't go running in and out. And stop slamming the door!"

"Thanks Ma, I wouldn't have you any other way."

And might I add ... A Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers from Everett. Above everyone else you made the growing up in Everett experience come alive. Thanks for washing our clothes, picking up after us, cooking our meals, and for that little peck on the cheek before sending us off to school. We love you with all our heart and soul.

Without telling you about these little eccentricities you just couldn't grasp what our lives were truly like in our time. There's more to it than just hearing us say it. You've really gotta understand what it's all about when we say, "We're from Everett!"