I am visiting with my oldest daughter, Tori, and I asked her to share her memories of her Uncle Mike.
Tori remembers him wearing his paper boy hat and carrying a cane to help him walk. He carried a handkerchief to constantly wipe the sweat from his face. He always wore blue; every article of clothing was blue. Black was acceptable if blue wasn't available. One day we went to pick him up to take him to the store, and she had to give up the coveted front seat for him and go sit in the back seat.
Mike would try to bait Tori and Ben and discuss religion with them. He would tell you he was agnostic, or better yet, and iconoclast. The definition of iconoclast is a person who attacks cherished beliefs or institutions. He would argue any point he could get someone to talk about. I finally told him to stop questioning the kids, who were only in middle school, and to keep his opinions to himself.
Tori remembered one day when he was staying with us, and he started lecturing all the kids about the sugary cereal they were eating. This is definitely the pot calling the kettle black. His favorite foods were frozen breaded chicken nuggets, frozen pizza, sausage patties, soda pop, and white bread. They all just starred back at him, dumbfounded, and kept eating their cereal.
Tori also remembers how he hated Ohio. He actually hated the entire United States. The government was watching him and conspiring against him. He wanted to move to Canada very badly, but never got around to figuring out how to do it.
He was good at chess and loved Star Trek and Marvel comics. One time he started arguing with my husband, Tim, about some detail involving Star Trek. He must have hit some of Tim's buttons because Tim got really irritated with him, and Tori was alarmed as she listened to this argument escalate. Mike loved to argue about anything, just to get a reaction out of you.
These are some of Tori's memories of Uncle Mike. I always told him he had to behave around the kids and not try to convert them to his way of thinking. Most of the time he was able to control himself, but not always!
Thursday, July 27, 2017
Sunday, June 18, 2017
A few photos
This is a family photo. I am not sure where we are in this photo. My dad and mom are in the back, I am the tallest standing in front of my mom, Mike has the brown hair, and my sister has the blond hair.
This is from a trip we took to visit Mike when he lived in Pittsburgh, PA. At the far left is my son, Ben, then me, then my oldest daughter, Tori, then my mom, and then Mike. In front of me are my other two daughters, Allison and Jessica.
This is a photo of our maternal grandmother. This photo was taken in our living room in our house on Hale St. She is pictured tying something into my sister's hair, while Mike watches.
This photo was taken at my grandmother's house in Royal Oak, MI. Mike and I are playing a game or doing something together.
Big Wheels
Mike loved to ride his Big Wheel. He had a Green Machine with a plastic hand break for quick stops and sharp turns. One time he was riding his Big Wheel down the sidewalk, head down, pedaling as fast as he could. He never looked up to see that he was headed straight for one of our neighbors who was walking down the street. I don't remember what exactly happened during the collision of Mike on the Big Wheel and the elderly neighbor who just wanted to walk down to the VFW on the corner for a drink with friends. All I do remember is the rest of us regularly reminiscing and saying "Remember that time Mike ran into that old man with his Big Wheel!"
We would visit our grandparents in Griffith, Indiana several times a year. They lived in the Mansards Apartment complex. They had a big indoor pool and my grandmother would take us there to swim. They also had a storage area under the stairs where they stored, you guessed it, Big Wheels, for when the grandkids came to visit. As soon as we arrived for our visit, we would quickly say "Hello, Grandma and Grandpa" then run for the Big Wheels and start riding around on the sidewalks in the complex.
In our house on Hale St., we had a basement where the furnace and hot water heater were in the middle of the basement, leaving the outside space open. We had a ping pong table down there at one time, which I remember getting unfairly yelled at for dancing on the table top. No one ever said don't dance on top of the ping pong table! Anyway, in the winter, we would clear an elliptical track around the furnace/middle section so we could roller skate and ride our Big Wheels. Mike would get on his Big Wheel and go as fast as he could around and around the basement. Now as much as I would like to only remember the heroic and selfless actions I displayed toward Mike, I was a typical older sister that looked for ways to torment him too. One such despicable prank I played on Mike is actually linked to playing video games where you have to get the timing just right to hit the enemy or score the points. One day, while Mike was riding around the basement in his predictable circular pattern always in the same direction, I would lay in wait on the end closest to the washing machine. From the nearby pile of dirty laundry, I would uncover someones dirty underwear, ball it up, and wait. As soon as he came around the corner and was in range, I would launch it toward him, directly into his face. He would yell and scream, giving me the reaction I was after. I would feign ignorance, saying the laundry must have fallen down the chute at just the same time he was riding by. I don't remember getting in trouble for this little disgusting prank. And I do feel a little bad about it, now, but not then. I was just doing what all loving older sisters do to annoying younger brothers. Good old Mike and his Big Wheel.
We would visit our grandparents in Griffith, Indiana several times a year. They lived in the Mansards Apartment complex. They had a big indoor pool and my grandmother would take us there to swim. They also had a storage area under the stairs where they stored, you guessed it, Big Wheels, for when the grandkids came to visit. As soon as we arrived for our visit, we would quickly say "Hello, Grandma and Grandpa" then run for the Big Wheels and start riding around on the sidewalks in the complex.
In our house on Hale St., we had a basement where the furnace and hot water heater were in the middle of the basement, leaving the outside space open. We had a ping pong table down there at one time, which I remember getting unfairly yelled at for dancing on the table top. No one ever said don't dance on top of the ping pong table! Anyway, in the winter, we would clear an elliptical track around the furnace/middle section so we could roller skate and ride our Big Wheels. Mike would get on his Big Wheel and go as fast as he could around and around the basement. Now as much as I would like to only remember the heroic and selfless actions I displayed toward Mike, I was a typical older sister that looked for ways to torment him too. One such despicable prank I played on Mike is actually linked to playing video games where you have to get the timing just right to hit the enemy or score the points. One day, while Mike was riding around the basement in his predictable circular pattern always in the same direction, I would lay in wait on the end closest to the washing machine. From the nearby pile of dirty laundry, I would uncover someones dirty underwear, ball it up, and wait. As soon as he came around the corner and was in range, I would launch it toward him, directly into his face. He would yell and scream, giving me the reaction I was after. I would feign ignorance, saying the laundry must have fallen down the chute at just the same time he was riding by. I don't remember getting in trouble for this little disgusting prank. And I do feel a little bad about it, now, but not then. I was just doing what all loving older sisters do to annoying younger brothers. Good old Mike and his Big Wheel.
Friday, June 9, 2017
Politics in a Diner
Here is a story Mike told me about how he was kicked out of a local diner.
Mike was living on his own at this point in his own apartment in Lakewood. He was around 35 years old. He would eat at local diners and other inexpensive places. He had a phobia about germs, and no amount of dish washing could remove all the germs. When I would take him to a restaurant, he would bring his own plastic utensils to use to eat his food. He would order a soda pop to drink, and he would use his hands to describe to the waitress that he wanted a tall, large, ice-filled glass with Coke. This description doesn't really describe how long it took him to animate the size and amount of ice he wanted in his drink. The memory of him ordering a beverage makes me smile.
Anyway, back to the diner incident. One day, I picked him up from his apartment to take him to the store and out for lunch. He no longer had a car or drove anywhere, and he would have to take a bus to get around. It was hard to transport large or heavy items on a bus, so I would periodically take him to the store. As we passed this local diner, he casually said, "Oh yeah, I can't go there to eat anymore. I was kicked out." Naturally, I followed up with some questions about what happened. He said he was just sitting there minding his own business when (his words) "that Bitch Hillary Clinton" came on the TV. He did not like Hillary, at all. Well, he could not keep his dislike of her to himself, so he must have started muttering about her and all the other things he hated about our government. As the TV program continued, he became more enraged about whatever politics were being discussed. This surely lead to him swearing at the TV, which bothered the other diner patrons. It must have escalated to the point where the owner of the diner had to ask him to leave. Knowing how much Mike liked people telling him what to do (insert sarcasm), I am sure he started swearing at the owner about living in a free country and how he had a right to vocalize his disdain and hatred for politicians and anyone or thing associated with the US Government in public. Well, the owner had to kick him out and tell him never to return.
Poor Mike. He had so much anger and hatred inside him. Especially for things like the government. And doctors. And the Catholic Church. But those stories are for another day.
Mike was living on his own at this point in his own apartment in Lakewood. He was around 35 years old. He would eat at local diners and other inexpensive places. He had a phobia about germs, and no amount of dish washing could remove all the germs. When I would take him to a restaurant, he would bring his own plastic utensils to use to eat his food. He would order a soda pop to drink, and he would use his hands to describe to the waitress that he wanted a tall, large, ice-filled glass with Coke. This description doesn't really describe how long it took him to animate the size and amount of ice he wanted in his drink. The memory of him ordering a beverage makes me smile.
Anyway, back to the diner incident. One day, I picked him up from his apartment to take him to the store and out for lunch. He no longer had a car or drove anywhere, and he would have to take a bus to get around. It was hard to transport large or heavy items on a bus, so I would periodically take him to the store. As we passed this local diner, he casually said, "Oh yeah, I can't go there to eat anymore. I was kicked out." Naturally, I followed up with some questions about what happened. He said he was just sitting there minding his own business when (his words) "that Bitch Hillary Clinton" came on the TV. He did not like Hillary, at all. Well, he could not keep his dislike of her to himself, so he must have started muttering about her and all the other things he hated about our government. As the TV program continued, he became more enraged about whatever politics were being discussed. This surely lead to him swearing at the TV, which bothered the other diner patrons. It must have escalated to the point where the owner of the diner had to ask him to leave. Knowing how much Mike liked people telling him what to do (insert sarcasm), I am sure he started swearing at the owner about living in a free country and how he had a right to vocalize his disdain and hatred for politicians and anyone or thing associated with the US Government in public. Well, the owner had to kick him out and tell him never to return.
Poor Mike. He had so much anger and hatred inside him. Especially for things like the government. And doctors. And the Catholic Church. But those stories are for another day.
Tuesday, June 6, 2017
A little background
I have been thinking about my brother quite a bit lately. I'm not sure why, but a memory of him pops into my head at random times, or I see someone that looks like him. Some times I read articles and stories about other people and their struggles and journeys, and it helps me to put my own journey into perspective. It is especially helpful to know that I am not alone in my struggles and others have had similar episodes in their lives.
While my journey may not be all that exciting, there is one person that provided me with some good stories to share. My brother, Mike, struggled every day of his life. He always seemed compelled to see the negative aspects and to argue with other people. I am sure he would not want me to blog about him, but something is pushing me to share his story with others. All the stories included in this blog are my memories and are most certainly skewed by my perspective, reactions, emotions, and time. I am sure my parents or sister would remember the same incident differently. But I will start with what I remember, and which story wants to be told next.
Mike was born on August 7, 1971. I was 16 months old. I don't remember this day. But I remember playing with Mike all through my childhood. He was mostly a happy child and a willing playmate. I am sure I bossed him around as the older sister, and took charge of our play time. One early memory of him was in grade school. I was called to see his first grade teacher. She showed me the laddie pencil (remember those big, thick, blue laddie pencils?) Mike had been chewing on. I guess she wanted me to take it home to my mother. I think Mike had chewed up the whole pencil. I took on the mother and protector role for my brother, trying to watch out for him. I remember confronting some older boys on the playground who were teasing him. I am pretty sure Mike did not want my help or protection, but I felt that was my job. It's not that my parents weren't around and also his advocates, but I was taking my role as older sister seriously.
However, later in high school, I was often embarrassed by what he did. Here is one of my favorite stories.
As you may have guessed, Mike was often teased and made fun of in school. He retaliated with anger and sometimes mean actions. One day, he was in biology class, and they were dissecting fetal pigs. I can only imagine how hard it would have been for someone to be his lab partner. Anyway, I was leaving a class, and in the short time between class periods, several students ran up to me and said "Did you hear what your brother did?" After the first person asked me, I of course said "No." They proceeded to tell me that Mike got mad at his lab partner for something (it didn't always take much to set him off) so to get back at her, he took the tray with the fetal pig and shoved it into her backpack!! I was horrified, and wanted to deny any relation to Mike the fetal pig thrower. But when I think back, can you imagine how that girl felt? I am sure she had to throw away her whole back pack with all its contents. The smell!! It makes me laugh just thinking about the scene. She probably stayed far away from him from then on. This story comes back to me since I am now a high school science teacher (although not biology) and I can applaud Mike for sticking up for himself. I am sure he felt pushed to the breaking point, both from having to dissect the smelly pig and the comments from his lab partner. But the poor teacher that had to deal with that situation. What did the phone call home say? Is there a punishment in the school handbook for putting slimy, smelly dead things into another student's backpack? Oh, Mike.
While my journey may not be all that exciting, there is one person that provided me with some good stories to share. My brother, Mike, struggled every day of his life. He always seemed compelled to see the negative aspects and to argue with other people. I am sure he would not want me to blog about him, but something is pushing me to share his story with others. All the stories included in this blog are my memories and are most certainly skewed by my perspective, reactions, emotions, and time. I am sure my parents or sister would remember the same incident differently. But I will start with what I remember, and which story wants to be told next.
Mike was born on August 7, 1971. I was 16 months old. I don't remember this day. But I remember playing with Mike all through my childhood. He was mostly a happy child and a willing playmate. I am sure I bossed him around as the older sister, and took charge of our play time. One early memory of him was in grade school. I was called to see his first grade teacher. She showed me the laddie pencil (remember those big, thick, blue laddie pencils?) Mike had been chewing on. I guess she wanted me to take it home to my mother. I think Mike had chewed up the whole pencil. I took on the mother and protector role for my brother, trying to watch out for him. I remember confronting some older boys on the playground who were teasing him. I am pretty sure Mike did not want my help or protection, but I felt that was my job. It's not that my parents weren't around and also his advocates, but I was taking my role as older sister seriously.
However, later in high school, I was often embarrassed by what he did. Here is one of my favorite stories.
As you may have guessed, Mike was often teased and made fun of in school. He retaliated with anger and sometimes mean actions. One day, he was in biology class, and they were dissecting fetal pigs. I can only imagine how hard it would have been for someone to be his lab partner. Anyway, I was leaving a class, and in the short time between class periods, several students ran up to me and said "Did you hear what your brother did?" After the first person asked me, I of course said "No." They proceeded to tell me that Mike got mad at his lab partner for something (it didn't always take much to set him off) so to get back at her, he took the tray with the fetal pig and shoved it into her backpack!! I was horrified, and wanted to deny any relation to Mike the fetal pig thrower. But when I think back, can you imagine how that girl felt? I am sure she had to throw away her whole back pack with all its contents. The smell!! It makes me laugh just thinking about the scene. She probably stayed far away from him from then on. This story comes back to me since I am now a high school science teacher (although not biology) and I can applaud Mike for sticking up for himself. I am sure he felt pushed to the breaking point, both from having to dissect the smelly pig and the comments from his lab partner. But the poor teacher that had to deal with that situation. What did the phone call home say? Is there a punishment in the school handbook for putting slimy, smelly dead things into another student's backpack? Oh, Mike.
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