I woke up suddenly. It was morning. I felt wet and my pajamas were sticky. Oh God! There is something wrong with me. Really wrong. Dr. Holland doesn’t know what he’s talking about! I am so sick. This proves it.
Wait a minute. Wait just a minute. Maybe I had a wet dream. Yeah … I’ll bet that’s it. How about that? I thought they’d be different though. I thought a lot more stuff would come out. And anyway, I wasn’t sure I’d ever have one. At least not yet.
What am I supposed to do? Maybe I should stay in bed all day. But then my mother might call the doctor and he’d probably tell her the truth. I better get up. But what about my pajamas? I guess the first thing to do is get undressed. Okay … I will.
I threw my pajamas into the hamper in my bathroom. I soaked a washcloth and threw that in too. Then I mixed up all the dirty clothes so everything would feel damp, not just my pajamas.
When I went back into my room I sat down on my bed. There was a spot on my sheet. I touched it. It was damp! Oh no—does that stuff stain? I grabbed some tissues and wiped it up.
Will Maxine know? I suppose I could change my sheet … but that would look worse, wouldn’t it? Then she might think I wet my bed like a little kid. No … leave the sheet on and check it first thing after school to make sure nothing shows up.
I had an awful day. I couldn’t concentrate on my school work and I got yelled at in English class for not paying attention. How could I pay attention? I kept thinking that when I get home the whole family’s going to be there. Mom and Pop, Grandma, Ralph and Angie, Vicki, Maxine, even cousin Ginger! They’ll all know about me. Maxine will show them the sheet and my mother will say, “I don’t buy the best sheets for you to mess up, Anthony!”
I’ll say, “It was an accident Mom … a mistake … it won’t happen again.”
And Ralph will say, “If you hadn’t been thinking about that girl this never would have happened.”
Then Pop will say, “I expected great things from you, Tony … and this is what I get!”
After school I rushed home. Nobody was waiting for me. My mother wasn’t even home. What a relief! I ran up to my room, closed the door behind me and pulled down my bedspread and blanket. The sheets were changed! There were striped ones on my bed this morning and now they were plain blue. Does that mean Maxine knows? Did she tell my mother? Or … wait a minute … is this the day the sheets get changed every week? I can’t remember! I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at Maxine again.
Then Again,
Maybe I Won’t
Finally, I handed my mother my Christmas list. That night, after supper, I heard her tell my father, “Tony wants binoculars.”
“Binoculars?” Pop asked.
“That’s what it says here.” My mother waved my list at him. “It’s the only thing he’s asked for.” “What’s he going to do with binoculars?” my father asked.
All this time I was sitting on the floor leaning up against a chair, reading a book about Wilt the Stilt. Did they think I couldn’t hear or what? I didn’t look up from my book. I pretended to be absorbed in my reading.
“Tony …” my mother said. “What are you going to do with binoculars?”
I didn’t answer.
My mother repeated her question. “I said what are you going to do with binoculars?”
This time I looked at her. “What? Oh, binoculars …” I had my answer carefully planned. I knew they’d ask why I wanted them, but I had to be really casual about it or they might get suspicious. “Watch birds,” I said.
“Birds?” my mother asked.
“Yes,” I told her. “This spring. I want to find out all I can about birds.”
My mother smiled. “It all goes to show,” she told my father, “if you take a boy out of the city and put him close to nature he’ll become a better person.”
I wouldn’t exactly say Rosemont is close to nature but I didn’t argue with my mother. I knew I’d be getting my binoculars.
I had another dream about Lisa. This time I was hiding in her closet while she was getting ready for bed. When I came out she didn’t scream. She was glad to see me, like she knew I was there all along. Corky was in this dream too. She was dressed up like a cheerleader and all through the best part of the dream Corky jumped around and shouted cheers.
The next night when I started upstairs to do my homework my mother said, “Vic … go on up with him.”
Now why did she say that? Why does she want him to come upstairs with me? That means something. Maybe they know about me. Maybe I talk in my sleep!
My father followed me up the stairs. When we got to the top he said, “Tony … I’d like to have a talk with you. Just for a minute … okay?”
I looked down. My mother was standing at the bottom of the stairs, smiling. “Sure Pop,” I mumbled.
“In private, Tony,” my father said. “In your room.”
We walked to my room and when we were both inside Pop closed the door.
He knows! I’m sure he knows about me. I always knew he could read my mind. This proves it. Wait a minute … maybe it’s just going to be a talk about how I’m doing in school. Or what I want to be or something easy like that. I hope so. I really do. “Did I do something wrong, Pop?” I asked.
“No, no,” Pop said. “Nothing like that. I just thought we’d have a little talk. You know … kind of man to man.”
Oh-oh … here it comes! I was right the first time. What’ll I say? Nothing. I won’t say a word. I’ll let him say it. I sat down on my bed. Pop pulled my desk chair over and sat close to me. He looked around for a while, rubbing his hands together, almost like he was praying.
“Uh Tony …” he finally said.
“Yes, Pop?”
“Uh … well … now that you’re in seventh grade there are things you should know about.” While he was talking Pop cracked each of his knuckles.
“Yes, Pop?”
“Oh … I don’t know … maybe Ralph should be the one to talk to you. He’s a lot closer to your age.” Pop stopped talking and looked around my room. Then he coughed a little and started again. “You see Tony … there are things you should know about girls and about babies and about … look Tony, do you know anything?”
He doesn’t know about my dreams, I thought. This has nothing to do with what I’ve been thinking about. He really doesn’t know. He’s more scared than I am.
“Tony … I asked you, do you know anything?”
“Sure Pop,” I said.
“You do? You know about babies … how they’re made?”
“Sure Pop. Since third grade.”
My father looked like he couldn’t believe it. “Since third grade?”
“Sure Pop. Big Joe told me all about it.”
“You’re positive you have the right information?”
“Sure Pop.”
“Do you know other things too, Tony?”
“Sure Pop. A lot.”
My father looked relieved. “Well,” he said, “the important thing to remember is that I’m here to answer all your questions.”
“Okay Pop. I’ll remember.”
He rubbed his hands again. “I don’t know, Tony … I feel like I should say more. Your mother thinks there’s a lot for you to learn, but I don’t know what to tell you. I never told Vinnie or Ralph anything. I don’t even know how Vinnie learned. From his friends I guess. And Vinnie told Ralph. So I’m not too experienced when it comes to discussing the subject. But listen Tony … man to man … you can always come to me.”
“Okay Pop.” I got up and stretched. My father stood up and put his arm around me.
“Hey Tony … how about a quick game of chess?”
“Okay Pop … I guess I can do my homework later.”
When we were downstairs my mother gave Pop a look that said, Well? And he gave her one back that said, Everything’s taken care of.
The next day my father handed me a book called Basic Facts About Sex. He said I should read it in my spare time and if I have
any questions I should come to him. There’s a whole section on wet dreams and another on masturbation. Maybe they do know about me after all! My stomach jumped around so bad I had to take a pill.
We got ready for our first Christmas in Rosemont. First we bought a live tree. Not a little one—a big floor-to-ceiling one. We bought it at the high school field, where the Boy Scouts hold their annual sale. I’ve always wanted a real Christmas tree. In Jersey City we had a little white one that sat on top of the corner table. It looked nice but it didn’t have that great smell. Frankie’s family had a live tree every year and sometimes I used to just sit in his living room and sniff it for an hour.
My mother bought a million tree ornaments at Bloomingdale’s, including tinsel so wide we had to wrap it around the tree instead of just hanging it from branches.
My father, being an ex-electrician, lit up the outside of our house with a lot of tiny bulbs in the bushes. They twinkle on and off. He set up spotlights to show off our front door too.
Maxine was in charge of the door. She covered it with gold foil to match the twinkles. Over the foil is a huge wreath. I have to admit, the house looks good.
My mother tried to get Grandma to come downstairs to see our tree. Once a week Mom insists she leave her room so Maxine can clean it and air it out. But instead of coming downstairs for an hour, Grandma locked herself up in my bathroom.
I told my mother, “Grandma’s not looking so good.”
And my mother said, “How can she look good when she never gets fresh air?”
So I said, “Maybe she’d get some fresh air if you’d let her go back to doing the cooking.”
“How would that look to the neighbors?” my mother asked. “Like she’s the maid or something!”
And I said, “Who cares about the neighbors!”
“Grandma’s worked hard all her life,” my mother said. “Now it’s time for her to take it easy and enjoy herself.”
“She doesn’t act like she’s enjoying it,” I argued.
“Of course she is! Doesn’t she love that color TV?”
“How do I know?” I said.
“Well, she watches it all day doesn’t she?” My mother bent over to pick a piece of lint off the carpet.
“That doesn’t mean she likes it,” I said. “She just hasn’t got anything better to do.”
“What do you want her to do, Anthony? Play golf with Diane Hoober!”
Oh-oh. She was getting mad now. But so was I. I shouted, “Maybe I want her to cook!”
“That’s enough, Anthony!” my mother said. “Maxine will hear you and get insulted.”
“Maxine is a lousy cook,” I mumbled. That isn’t true but I felt like saying it. I was taking Dr. Holland’s advice—about when you feel like saying something, say it!
“Watch your mouth, Anthony!” my mother said very low, making each word sink in. “It’s growing faster than the rest of you.”
Joel asked me to go Christmas shopping with him. I told him okay, because I have a lot of allowance saved up and I want to buy something nice for everybody in our family. Now I’m sorry I said I’d go with him. Suppose he steals something?
I feel like calling him to say, “Forget it, I can’t go.” But then he’ll want to know why and what will I say?
When Joel called for me I was in the bathroom. My stomach hurt. But in a little while the pain went away and we went downtown together. Once we got to the store I followed Joel around like a detective.
Every time he put his hands in his pockets I was there to make sure he hadn’t taken anything. Once we were loaded down with shopping bags I really had a hard time. I paid more attention to Joel than to my shopping list. I was surprised to see that he paid for everything. Maybe Joel never really stole those batteries. Maybe it was all my imagination. It could have been a mistake! But what about the apples at lunch? He steals one every day and that’s not my imagination.
I helped Joel pick out his present for Lisa. We decided on this stretch sweater that the saleslady said fits like a second skin. Joel chose the color—green. I liked the orange one better.
The day before Christmas a piano arrived at our house. A baby grand. Six men delivered it. It was my father’s gift to the whole family, but my mother had gone along with him to pick it out, so I was really the only one surprised.
When it was all set up in front of the living room windows my mother got tears in her eyes and said, “It’s absolutely gorgeous! I’ve always wanted a piano. Oh Vic … I’m so happy!” With that she threw her arms around my father’s neck and kissed him. I don’t like them to act that way in front of me.
“Do you like it, Tony?” my father asked, untangling himself from my mother.
“It’s really neat,” I said. “But nobody here plays the piano.”
“Not yet,” my mother said, putting an arm around my shoulder.
I knew what was coming. Piano lessons for me. Sometimes I wish we didn’t have so much money. How can I tell them I don’t want piano lessons? How can I tell them I can’t even clap my hands in time to music. I don’t even sing in the shower—I’m that bad!
On Christmas morning we waited for Ralph, Angie and Vicki to arrive before we opened anything. Here’s what I got: Two V-neck cashmere sweaters—the kind Joel wears—one from my parents and the other from Angie and Ralph, a set of encyclopedias and super deluxe extra powerful binoculars! The card said:
For our son the bird watcher … with all our love
Mom and Pop
We gathered upstairs in Grandma’s room to watch her open her presents. She got a robe and slippers from my mother and father—a robe and slippers from Ralph and Angie—and a silver toothbrush from me. I bought it in the department they call “For the Woman Who Has Everything.” Grandma doesn’t have everything of course, but at least this was something different. The only time she smiled was when she opened the silver toothbrush. So I was glad I gave it to her.
That night I kneeled by my window and waited. Lisa’s lights were on and her shades were up as usual. I don’t think she ever bothers pulling them down. Finally she came into her room. My hands were really shaking. I couldn’t even hold my binoculars steady. The view was great. Just great! It was like she was standing right in front of me. I could even see the expression on her face. She was smiling. She has a terrific smile. The first thing she did was try on the green stretch sweater. She turned around and around in front of her mirror. She doesn’t have to worry. She’s beautiful from every angle. I wanted to tell her that. I watched until her lights went out. I love her, I think.
The next day Mrs. Hoober rang our bell and I thought, she knows! She knows I’ve got binoculars and that I watched Lisa last night. She’s going to tell my parents and they’ll take away my binoculars and tell me I’ve got a dirty mind. They’ll move me to another bedroom so I can’t see her any more. Maybe I’ll even have to spend six weeks in the Juvenile Detention Center. If I do, I hope Lisa will come on visiting day.
But I was all wrong. Mrs. Hoober only wanted to give us some candies from England and wish us a Merry Christmas. When she left she called to my mother.
“Don’t forget, lunch at the club in two weeks … on Friday. See you then, Carol.”
“Carol! Who’s Carol?” I asked when Mrs. Hoober was gone.
My mother laughed. “Oh, that’s what Diane calls me. She says Carmella’s too hard to remember.”
“Just like Millicent! Just like their maid!”
“What’s the difference, Tony?”
“Your name is not Carol!” I yelled. My mother just stared at me. “Why don’t you tell her if she can’t remember your name then you don’t want to be her friend!”
I wanted my mother to yell back at me, but she didn’t. She turned to my father and spoke very slow. “I don’t know,” she said. “You raise them with kid gloves and then they walk all over you. What’s the point?” She repeated “What’s the point?” over and over as she left the room.
I ran upstairs and locke
d myself into the bathroom. I knew I’d get sick now. And it would be my mother’s fault. She’d be sorry!
In a few minutes my father knocked on the door and called, “You all right, Tony?”
“I’m okay,” I muttered.
“I’d like to talk to you.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Come on, Tony … open up the door.”
I unlocked it and said, “It’s open.” Then I turned on the water and splashed my face. When I was through my father handed me a towel.
“A name’s not so important, Tony,” my father said. “What’s inside you is what counts. But not a name. It’s just like Tony instead of Anthony. What’s the difference if Mrs. Hoober wants to call your mother Carol and she doesn’t mind? It’s not going to change her. You hurt her, Tony. She’s very upset about you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. I felt like I did on Veterans Day when I stood over Vinnie’s grave … guilty!
The next week I started my piano lessons. The teacher is Miss Orenberg and she comes to the house every Thursday from four till quarter to five. She has bad breath, which I reported to my mother after the first lesson.
“Maybe she ate something she shouldn’t have,” my mother said. “Diane Hoober says she’s an excellent teacher. Lisa took from her for years.”
But Miss Orenberg smelled the same the following week. When I told my mother she said she’d see what she could do. After that my mother greeted Miss Orenberg at the door with Chlorophyll candies. “Take one,” she’d say. “It’ll refresh you for Tony’s lesson.”
After the fourth lesson Miss Orenberg asked me did I practice much. I told her about fifteen minutes a day. Miss Orenberg said she found that hard to believe. And I told her if she didn’t believe me she could ask my mother because it was true. Then she said I wasn’t progressing as fast as she had hoped I would. And I said that was because I wasn’t musically inclined and I really didn’t want piano lessons in the first place. I wanted to add that I didn’t like her, or her breath or the way she talked, but I didn’t.