Читать книгу The Kid from the South Bronx Who Never Gave Up - John Giordano - Страница 6

I will never forget the way my parents looked at me. They seemed surprised, angry, and confused. They tried getting the principal to change his mind, but it did not work. It was not bad enough that I got left back but I also got punished for the whole year. I was only allowed to go out to play occasionally. I felt so out of place when all of my friends went to the seventh grade and I was the biggest kid in the sixth grade. I felt stupid and thought I was a real loser. I stuffed those feelings way down with all the other ones I carried.

My teachers were very tough; we had the Sacred Heart Brothers and the Dominican nuns. I remember getting hit with the ruler on my fingertips when my face would get too flushed or I became too sweaty during lunch. The brothers hit us with the crib stick if we acted out in class. I was the one who always got hit in the butt for not doing my homework or talking in class when I was not supposed to. I could never sit still in class; my mind was always wondering. One day I knew I was going to get hit so I wore ten pairs of underwear so it would help with the pain. As expected, the teacher called me up to the front of the room for my punishment. When I got up in front of the class, he hit me once and all you heard was a thud. The whole class started to laugh.

“Be quiet,” the teacher said. The brother immediately looked down my pants and saw I had a bunch of underwear on. “Go take them off,” he said, pointing to the closet. When I came back out, he gave me five extra shots.

I could not sit down for a least a couple of days. I did not want to tell my family otherwise I would wind up getting more hits. So, I kept my mouth shut. I felt so humiliated, as usual I stuffed those feelings as well.

Looking back at my life, I can now see why I made so many poor choices. I believe that some of the reasons were all the shame, guilt, and anger I was carrying with me. I believe these emotions caused me to act out by fighting, joining gangs, and later, escaping with drugs. I was always trying to prove myself to both others and myself. I had all this pent-up anger and mixed emotions. After I got molested, I stuffed those feelings and became hypersexual. When I was nine, some of the kids in my neighborhood would go under the staircase of the building where I lived. We would then touch each other’s genitals and have sex with each other. I was always afraid that my other friends, who did not do those behaviors, would find out. I knew if my family ever found out, I would kill myself. After a couple months of this behavior, I finally stopped doing it. But, I always felt this tremendous shame and guilt along with anger at myself. This was also around the same time that I had a fourteen-year old female babysitter. She wanted to play doctor with me. I remember her asking me to take her clothes off and then she would take off all of mine. She asked me to touch her in her vagina while she touched my penis. I remember this feeling of extreme pleasure and fear that someone would find out. I believe this is when I started to masturbate and fantasize, sometimes daily. This also gave me pleasure, shame, and guilt.

This behavior did not stop as I got older. A few years later when I was twelve, I went to 42nd St. with a couple of my friends. This area was known for its gay clubs. We waited for the gay guys to pick me up and then I would lure them into the bathroom to beat them up. Sometimes I would let them touch me and then I would beat them up afterwards. This was another phase I went through. I got a sick fascination out of it and is directly rooted in the way my sexual experience was twisted so young. I equated feelings of pleasure and shame, anger, and joy, with sex. As I got older, I would always have a girl or many girls. Perhaps, I was trying to prove my manhood or that I was not gay. My violent behavior started when I was ten years of age. First I joined a black gang and had to fight my way in. I was always interested in different ways to fight and experimenting with things. I finally left that gang because I felt kind of out of place. While with them, my experimenting took an extremely hazardous turn. I do not know why I got interested in making bombs. But I did. I made pipe bombs, watch bombs, and all kinds of different weapons. I really did not want to hurt anyone, I just enjoyed making things and experimenting. I stopped making bombs because I almost blew myself up one day.

I then joined a Hispanic gang. I was going out with the sister of a member of the gang and he told me if I wanted to keep going out with her, I had to join their gang. I really liked this girl, so I joined. The initiation was fighting three guys in order to become a member of the gang. I got my ass kicked but I did not do too bad either; they felt that I had a lot of heart, so I got voted in. After I broke up with the guy’s sister, I left the gang and joined an Irish gang. These were a bunch of crazy Irish men who drank and fought all the time. There was no initiation and besides, I went to school with most of them.

One of the biggest problems I faced was that when we were going into a gang fight, I knew all the people on the opposing side. Some of them were my friends so I became the war counselor and, most of the time, I made peace. Sometimes we would have fights and I would have to sneak home because my house was on the main street and I did not want anyone to see where I lived. I had to go through the alleys and climb up on the rooftops to get to my house. This was a pain in the ass but also extremely exciting. Looking back, I can now see the makings of an addictive personality living on the edge and an excitement junky as well.

As I reflect, one of my fondest memories is of an old wino named Allie-oop. He used to sit in doorways, drinking wine and talking to himself. Some of the kids used to tease him, laugh, and run away. For some reason, I started talking to him. He looked at me and asked me to sit down next to him, so I did. He then began to tell me he had been a Merchant Marine who traveled all of his life. Whenever I would see him, I would sit down with him and listen to his stories. One day after I had sat down next to him to talk, he told me, “I’m going to give you a gift.”

I smiled and said, “What is it?”

“It’s not a physical gift,” he said, “but a life gift.”

I did not really understand what he meant by that, so I let him continue.

He said, “Son, here’s a life lesson for you. Whatever anyone wants to teach you learn it, for you’ll never know when you will need to use that knowledge.”

I did not realize that little bit of advice would stick with me for the rest of my life. Today I realize what an impact he had on my life. He stirred in me that thirst for knowledge that has been the foundation for my successes and my journey through life. He also created in me a longing to travel the world and to learn from other cultures. I wish I had known then the importance of this information and how it would improve my understanding of the world. I was young and naïve, still oblivious to the finer workings of the world. I firmly believe there are no coincidences in life and that people are placed on our path for a reason. As time goes on, more shall be revealed. When I became older, I seemed to be looking for something. I believe it was the reason I was born. I kept testing my boundaries with myself. Sometimes, in foolish ways, but I guess that is what youth is all about. Now talking about being foolish or a better term just being stupid. I was about to make a decision that would change my life forever.