High Fashion for Witches, Gypsies and Nuns

      My next notable memory was that I was along with my entire family at my Aunt Peggy and Uncle Justo Gambino’s house in Trooper, PA. I was getting ready for my first day of first grade.

      This would be my first exposure to a social contagion from a very large and powerful organization. This contagion was methodic, ruthless and insidious.

      Early that morning as I was all set to prepare for my first day of school. I was filled with excitement and anticipation. I couldn’t wait to get there! I was visualizing how school would be. In fact, my excitement was boundless. I was already anticipating my senior year of high school. I just could not wait to grow up!

      As I sat in Uncle Justo and Aunt Peggy’s living room I could visualize in my mind’s eye that I was walking down the hall of a school with a girl in each arm. In my mind, I looked strong and I felt confident. Even though at that time of my life girls did not hold any interest for me, I somehow knew that one day they would be a pivotal part of my existence.          

      My mother and my Aunt Peggy was upstairs getting my wardrobe together as I sat immersed in the future, until finally they came downstairs for this special day. The clothes that she purchased for me were not the plaid or checkerboard shirts and nice slacks that you would see Ward, Wally, or Beaver Cleaver wear, “Oh no!”

      The clothes that I would be required to wear were the required uniforms of the Catholic school I would be attending. Even though I was required to wear specific type of outfit, my mother for some odd reasons decided to take it to the next level of nerdness. The shirts that she purchased for me were very baggy and very starched. A bow tie was to accompany the shirt. To add insult to injury, my mother had bought me slacks that I called Ricky Ricardo pants, because they were much like the pants that he wore on the “I Love Lucy” show.

      They were the style in the 1940’s and 1950’s. They were very baggy with a very high-waist -- so high that the belt line was just under my chest. I had to wear oxford shoes over plaid argyle socks. I looked like Erkel. 

      My super sized skull, high and wide forehead, my hair buzzed close to the skin with the exception of one prominent curled forelock dollop front and center of my hairline.

My mother had created that forelock just so I could take out my comb and go through it once.

      For some odd reason my mother thought I looked adorable with this new look. Personally, I think that she intended for me to keep this horrible style for the rest of my life. It was a look that would have insured that I would never have a chance of getting laid and thereby my DNA packed seed would go fallow.

      So there I was forced stand this way and then that in front of a mirror, dubiously resplendent in my Catholic uniform. I looked like a fucking real life Mr. Potato Head and appeared as if I was the personification of conformity.

      The first day of school was very cold foggy, and drizzly. It was still very early by the time we got to the school and the predawn sky was still dreary gray. I was to attend St. Francis of Assisi, a Catholic school located in Norristown, PA.

All of the buildings were made of stone and looked gothic and very medieval.

      I saw numerous women, -- the like of which I have never seen before. They were dressed almost entirely in black. Long black dresses and cowls, which left only the front part of their face showing, from chin to eyebrows; besides their faces only their hands were the only body part that was visible.

      Because of the fog and the long skirts, I was unable to see their feet.

It appeared as though these women were floating just above the grounds.

I thought that they were witches or gypsies. I thought that my parents were selling me to the gypsies, (Abandonment issues again?).

      My mother opened the car door to let me out. I refuse to get out of the car and I clung with all of my strength to the car door handle on the opposite side of the interior.

      My mother was cussing and pulling on my legs with all of her strength to pluck me from the interior of the car. I was terrified and I was screaming and crying, my bio-computer was traumatized and in response crashed and then memory fades….