Here I Thought I Was Normal: Micro Memoirs of Mischief

by Mr. Frank Rocco Satullo

  Ahhhhh. I was ready.

  I woke up with a weird sensation on the right side of my face. I figured I slept wrong and it would go away.

  On the long drive to the ole hometown, my face felt a little weirder instead of better. I asked Becky if I looked okay.

  “You look fine.”

  I don’t even think her eyes left her smart phone.

  We arrived in town and got ready. There was a pre-reunion party and more people were rumored to be attending that than the actual reunion planned for the following day.

  “My face doesn’t feel right,” I told my wife.

  “Oh honey, what happened?” she was looking at me now and not liking what she saw.

  The right side of my face was not working. I had a crooked smile because half of it was limp. I brushed it off as some anomaly that would pass. Becky was more concerned than I so I tried to lighten the mood by doing Elvis Presley impersonations. Something about my crooked smile, deepened voice and using the word, “baby” made her burst into tears …with laughter.

  On to the pre-reunion.

  It was really nice to see so many old friendly faces. My two best friends weren’t at this reunion due to vacation and work travel. So, I mingled.

  I could definitely feel my face gradually getting worse. I drank some beer so I wouldn’t be as self-conscious. Regardless, I thought a couple of people gave me funny looks. Maybe I was paranoid. In the middle of a conversation, a moment called for laughter.

  A girl said, “You have a really cute crooked smile. I don’t remember you having a crooked smile.”

  Another drink didn’t drown that last comment so Becky and I left – and eventually landed in the Emergency Room.

  A day and a half dozen tests later, they ruled out stroke and said I had Bell’s Palsy. By this time, half of my face was completely paralyzed and wouldn’t recover for months.

  I walked out of there with one eye taped closed because I couldn’t blink. Half of my face drooped off of my jaw bone. Still, I was thinking I probably looked good enough to make the end of the reunion.

  But my car mirror said, no.

  Walk of Shame

  Long before 9-11, terrorism was in my consciousness. When I was overseas, posters of the most wanted terrorists were prominently hung in our barracks. Those of us who drove were taught to examine the underside of vehicles for bombs.

  Once, I had to fly out of Frankfurt, Germany to the U.S. on the Fourth of July. Just prior to my trip, a broadcast warned of a terrorist threat planned for July on just such a flight. I remember expecting a boom the entire trip – and it was a long one – over the Atlantic Ocean to New York.

  With that backdrop and the world we live in today, I can understand the precautions that are necessary when we use airports, government buildings, and other public places. Sometimes, I complain about the loss of freedom but I’m really complaining about my personal inconvenience.

  On one of our family vacations, we stayed at the same hotel where, just outside, a sniper’s bullet almost killed President Reagan. We woke early to get a head start on a busy day. We had a pre-scheduled tour of the Capitol Building, located at the far end of The National Mall in Washington D.C. This would kick off a full day of walking through the Mall and visiting many of the museums and monuments. Heat was definitely going to be a problem. In recent days, the temperature had been in triple digits, and more of the same was expected. So, like a good Boy Scout, I was going to be prepared and filled up my camel pack (a small backpack that only holds water). Then I filled plastic bottles to go inside my wife’s and kids’ backpacks. Since we’d be on the go all day and well into the evening, I also threw in a fist full of snacks consisting of granola, crackers and trail mix.

  My wife mentioned something about restrictions and security checkpoint at the Capitol Building. I blew it off. I mean c’mon – it was going to be a hundred degrees! We only had water and snacks. Open the packs, take a look, let us through. There was no doubt in my mind that that would be the extent of it. It’s not like we live in Russia (my mind sometimes sticks in the 1980s).

  “Subway?” My wife suggested.

  “Let’s hoof it. It doesn’t look so bad,” I said glancing at a map.

  I definitely underestimated the time it would take, something I am not known to do.

  “Look kids, White House,” snap-snap and we had our pic to show we were there. Then we were gone.

  Once we were on The Mall, we ran in spurts in order to meet our time slot for our scheduled tour. The length of the Mall was grossly underestimated.

  “Damn map maker,” I muddled.

  My wife didn’t let it slide. I was to blame. Little did she know, I was just warming up.

  We joined the line, which was already snaking outside, and waited. It was getting hot outside.

  The kids asked for water and I said, “No, we need to conserve it.”

  You know kids, no foresight. They would deplete our water supply by the time we got inside and then complain they needed a bathroom. That was my thinking anyway.

  Every now and then as tourists entered into the building, we noticed they were sent back out to dispose of things not approved for entry.

  “We should dump out our water,” my wife said.

  I looked at her like she was crazy, “Are you kidding me – it’s going to be a hundred today. It’s water!”

  When we finally entered the building, there were scanners and commotion everywhere. We had to remove bags, belts, shoes, you-name-it, for inspection.

  “This can’t go in,” said security.

  I was directed to take my camel pack outside to pour it out and return. A guard at the door would let me in and out. But I wasn’t permitted to dump water just outside the door. I had to go into the grass off to the side of the long line of people waiting to get inside. They looked at me like I looked at others coming back out earlier. As I poured, I saw some couples exchange words resulting in either water being dumped or a shake of a head, no.

  When I got back inside, my wife was smiling and security was frowning.

  “This has to go, too,” security said, handing me a bowl full of snacks.

  I made a basket out of the front of my shirt, dumped in what I considered lunch to save a few bucks and headed back outside. This time, I was directed to the other side of the line where the dumpsters were located. I felt self-conscious on this walk of shame.

  Back inside, my wife and security guard were both frowning. Now I had to go dump the water bottles. I could have kicked myself for not thinking to dump them when I dumped the camel pack. As I poured away hydration in the greenest grass I had ever seen in July, I couldn’t even bear to look at the crowd of people who certainly recognized me by now.

  A guard at the door smiled out of familiarity when I re-entered.

  My wife and son were standing in the clear on the other side of the metal detectors. It struck me as a little off that my daughter was still on my side so I nudged her forward, anxious to put this freak-show behind us.

  “Hold up!” came a voice I was growing to despise.

  “Gotta take it out,” I was told.

  “Really?” I gave a look of c’mon!

  I didn’t mind the three shame walks because it was my fault for trying to get over. But they got me on all my goods. Yes, I was an idiot for thinking I was sensible. What could possibly be the hold-up this time, I wondered. Security pulled out sun screen from the bottom of my daughter's back pack.

  “The dumpster is just over there, outside the doors,” I directed my teen daughter.

  She looked startled. I had rattled her from her comfort zone. I was sacrificing my flesh and blood so that I could avoid a fourth strut down shame alley. Reluctantly, she complied. The doors and wall were glass so I could watch her the entire way.

  Meanwhile, my wife and son were shooed off to keep the throngs of people flowing.

  Commands echoed, directing us and others, “Clear the area, keep it moving.”

  �
�We’ll catch up inside,” I called out to my wife as she and our son disappeared from sight.

  “You too, sir,” said security putting a hand on me, pushing but not shoving.

  I stood pat and explained, “I have to wait for my daughter, she’ll be right back. She had to dump something outside.”

  “Doesn’t matter, you have to move on,” he said pushing against me again.

  I understood rules and why water and crackers had to be thrown out to keep large crowds from being bogged down by deeper inspection. It was easier and efficient this way, especially considering it was the Capitol Building. But there was no way I was leaving my 13-year-old girl to fend for herself in that crowd.

  “She’ll be here in a second, sir,” I said with a pleading smile.

  As he started to repeat himself, my look changed. Something about it made the guard step to the side as if I had complied and wasn’t there anymore.

  I felt terrible for wimping out on a fourth trip outside, but I was so familiar with the surroundings by then, I had convinced myself that my daughter would be just fine. Standing there was the most shame I felt. Although each second seemed like a minute, my daughter was by my side again and we entered the U.S. Capitol Building, safe and sound.

  The Supreme Court may ponder whether they are an equal branch of government because by the time we entered that building, we had replenished our water supply, compliments of a drinking fountain. Security looked at everything we had and let us through without having to dump anything.

  Suburban Standoff

  With my house located near the top of a hill, I noticed that cars tended to go over the speed limit coming down our street and sounded even louder going up it. This never concerned me until I had kids walking without the benefit of sidewalks to and from the school bus stop.

  One of my neighbors had been at war with speeders for quite a while. He had even posted a homemade wooden speed limit sign in his front yard. It wasn’t long before someone spray painted some additional words on it. He was later required to remove it. Up went one of those speed monitoring machines. The kind in which some people like to ring up a high score since there’s no consequence, just showing you how fast, or slow, you’re going.

  My barking at motorists began after one almost killed my kids and me. The driver hit a slick spot speeding downhill after a winter storm and sailed across the road to our side as we walked up. We had no time to react. I instinctively put my body between the truck and my kids. It was all I could do. Fortunately, the driver recovered and turned away just arm’s reach from me. I also had to deal with the lady who sailed down the road every morning in a minivan doing speeds nobody else ever approached. She had to exceed 50 miles per hour or more. Our limit is 25 miles per hour. I jumped out in the road and made my point clear. She drove like an old lady after that. On Halloween night, a teenager drove up the road recklessly, with no regard for the children who were out trick-or-treating. I stood in front of the fast approaching car, hearing the gasps of those around until he stopped. I’m stupid that way. When I went to his side window, he sped off. Numerous mailbox mishaps and other accidents have occurred over time. Many neighbors have called the police but as you can imagine, these reports are a dime a dozen in suburbia. So, the speed machine shows up again.

  Over time, you succumb to the facts of life. People are going to speed. People are going to eat bagels, apply lipstick or text on phones while they drive. I stopped consciously caring.

  One morning, I was chatting with another neighbor on the street. He was watering flowers at the foot of his driveway and I was retrieving the morning paper. I joined him in his driveway for a friendly conversation. We marveled at the gorgeous weather. A car approached so fast, it was clear it was speeding.

  As I took a precautionary step away from the curb, I motioned down with my hands as if to say, “slow down.”

  He slowed down all right. He came to a sudden and complete stop.

  I was no rookie to conflict so I came over to his car door to hear what he had to say. He delivered a mouthful. I blamed him for speeding. He didn’t like the accusation. It was hard to believe I alone had put him in this mood but I was certainly his outlet.

  “You know what …” he said in anger, opening his door to get out in an act of intimidation.

  I didn’t intimidate easily so I stepped in, closer, instead of away as he must have expected me to do. So we stood facing each other. His hesitation meant this was not going to escalate to fisticuffs. I had that much experience so I remained calm, stood my ground but allowed him an out. He argued I had it wrong. He said something about having kids of his own as if it proved his innocence.

  I simply repeated, “You were speeding.”

  I never resorted to shouting, although I maintained an assertive voice. I never used bad language, name calling or anything else to incite him further; typical mistakes made by people in the heat of the moment which inevitably make a contained situation spiral out of control. But I was not relenting on the fact he was speeding. That much was clear.

  Frustrated, he jumped back in his car and said, “Then call the cops!” and he drove away.

  I waived through the few cars backed up behind my suburban foe. Each driver had an alarmed look as they passed. I crossed the road back to my retired friend, who was still idly hosing down his plants.

  “I had your back if he took a swing at you,” he said, seriously. “I do what you did all the time and nobody has ever gotten out of their car like that.”

  Later, on a walk with my wife and dog, I could swear it was the errant driver approaching from the opposite direction, jogging. As we passed each other, we both chuckled and smiled like the middle-aged dads we were, finding humor or embarrassment in our earlier suburban standoff.

  SOME CLOSING THOUGHTS

  The experiences I’ve shared are only a part of my story. With all of my experiences mingling with the many backgrounds of people cited in, “About the Author,” I have gained some thoughts and philosophies that may not be embraced by many. Any similarity in my thoughts expressed in this section to what others may have written is unintentional.

  ~

  Sometimes we lose sight of what’s truly important to us. But when it’s rediscovered we’re liberated – for a moment anyway.

  ~

  There are two sides to the mirror. The side you see and the side you don’t.

  ~

  For every cause, there’s someone willing to lie for the “greater good.”

  ~

  Don’t judge others. You didn’t walk their path. Had you, your eyes may see as theirs do.

  ~

  You see only that which you want to see. If you disapprove and want to change somebody, simply choose to see them in a new and good way and so that is how they will now appear to you.

  ~

  Life is how you take it and what you make of it.

  ~

  The weak are aggressive. The strong are not.

  ~

  The secret to happiness is seeing life as a great adventure – nothing big, just discovering wonderment in the overlooked. When sorrow seeps in, it is only to remind you of the good times before and after. So, embrace it, for without it you wouldn’t know happiness.

  ~

  When I was a boy, I had fun with everyone.

  When I was a teen, some turned on me.

  When I became a man, I turned on some.

  Now, I’m a boy again.

  ~

  Building blocks make for shortcuts to thinking. The past builds the future. So the future is self-fulfilling until one day things don’t add up. That’s when you realize one of your building blocks turned you into an idiot. That is, if you’re smart.

  ~

  The world is so complex, it’s simple.

  Happiness is simplicity.

  ~

  Who are they competing against if you’re no longer competing? And is there a winner?