Sunken Treasures

So far I haven't had my transcendent moment. I'm looking for that BIG epiphany, you know how it goes: the protagonist enters into a higher consciousness. I'm looking for the moment when my consciousness shifts from the personal "I" to the universal "thou". I'm looking for my Buddha under the Bodhi Tree enlightenment.

The first house I lived in was on Cottonwood drive.

I thought driving to each house I lived in as a child would lead me to my Big Moment. For months I've been looking for to exploring this possibility. For years I've been tormented by recurring dreams regarding Sherman, Illinois. Sherman is where we lived from 1983 to 1989. Population 2900 today, population half as much when we moved there 23 years ago. I went to school in Sherman from 1st grade to the first semester of 6th grade. Very formative years. By the time we left, my friends started puberty, and I was only a couple years from joining them. I remember my mom asking me for updates on my "progress". I wanted to puke. She told me my buddy, Clayton Brockman, updated his mom, Mrs. Brockman. "I'm not going to update you. That's final. I don't care who Clayton Brockman tells."

In all these dreams about Sherman I'm doing the same thing: driving down the road. Driving down Flagland Drive, or Old Tipton Road, or down by the Rail Golf Course. The Dream that really plagued me was the most simple: walking down Stardust Drive. Brandon Taylor and Mandy Stewart lived on Stardust. The most socially entrenched people lived on Stardust. Their homes are unremarkable, but to me they were keepers of a truth. I longed to be invited into them. I longed to walk through their backyards as the sun fell and they were sitting down to dinner, and just observe how they passed the potatoes.

I think my subconsciousness has always sensed something important changed during our time in Sherman and it needed more processing. I think my life changed radically in Sherman, Illinois. For one, my brother Joe was born in 1988. My mom was 40 at the time. Dad was 41. This seemed irresponsible to me. I was a conservative child. I thought it was embarrassing mom got knocked up at 40. We had the textbook American family. 2 parents, 2 kids. Now mom was walking around with a swelled up belly? At the time I was embarrassed by the obvious lack of control on the part of my parents. I wanted to ground them, take away car privileges, put the child up for adoption, and install my mother in a convent, any convent, something impressive like the Carmelite Order of Benevolent Stricture, where the Sisters of Everlasting Chastity could help her get a handle on herself.

But I was only ten at the time. I was conservative. I'm conservative now. I'm puritanical at heart. Everything disgusts me. It's horrible. I can't accept anyone for who they are. I'm very judgmental about people's choices in life. I like religious people like nuns, I like artists, musicians, writers, and filmmakers. But only the ones whom I respect as people. I use to be obsessed with the Beatles. I never had a favorite, but I did like Paul McCartney because he was married to Linda for 35 years and appeared distraught when she died. But then he started dating Heather Mills, and it really offended my notion of true love. Two legs or bust. Bruce Springsteen dumped Julianne Phillips, a professional model to marry Patti Scialfa, not a model, but a Jersey Girl. Jeff Tweedy has been married for 12 years.

I'm conservative, by nature a Puritan; but I'm a seeker too. I need my Big Moment. I thought Bob and I could find it. I thought we could recreate the dreams I had been having and the Big Moment would happen. We walked throughout the old neighborhood. We took pictures. We walked through backyards. I shared anecdotes about Brandon Taylor and Missy Fitch and Mandy Stewart. We went to old Schools and Churches. We found out Father Mascari was excommunicated for scamming senior citizens. We were forbidden from walking around the halls of my Junior High because it was school hours and I told the school secretary, "but I just cut my hair and bought a new shirt."

No big moments. I felt terrible for dragging Bob along. He was a good sport. Always is. We talk. Bob told me how he met his Japanese girlfriend. And we sing along with the Radio. Bob knows the lyrics to many songs, even if he doesn't know who sang them or when. He's the Jason Bourne of lyrics. He teaches me the lyrics but I never remember them. But it's not enough. There's no Big Moment.

Reminds me of a story my Uncle Mike told me about The Treasure of Grandpa Clarke. When he was on his last legs, dying of Parkinsons, Grandpa Clarke hid his possessions around the house. A few hundred here, a few hundred there, a little between the mattresses, behind a book, etc. Just before he passed away, he gave my Uncle Mike a detailed map. Mike stashed it away for 21 years. Didn't take it all that seriously. Last Thanksgiving Uncle Mike and my Dad, and their kids went looking for the treasure. Thought it was in the front yard of 2544 Holmes. Asked the new Owner, a guy named Duffy, for permission, "to look around," and he told them, sure, come back in an hour, and he left. After two hours, the family got impatient, and began their search for the Treasure of Grandpa Clarke; that is until they were interrupted by the sound of shrieking sirens and flashing blue lights. Turns out Duffy was spooked and called the cops. The Brothers Clarke were foiled. No treasure.

So Bob and I will continue our quest for the Big Moment. We're going to document, in photos, more homes of the past today. We're also going to a high school football game. The Williamsville Bullets take Mt. Olive. I would've gone to Williamsville had our family stayed in Illinois. I would've worn the purple and gold. Then again, had we not moved to Wisconsin, I wouldn't have eaten cheese curds, which are salty, and I wouldn't have gone to Catholic Memorial and met Sara, and wouldn't have gone to Madison, and wouldn't have walked to Atlanta, and wouldn't have driven Badger Cab and lost my license, and wouldn't have moved to New York City, and wouldn't have become a teacher at Bronx Letters, and wouldn't have met my wonderful students, and wouldn't have asked Bob to come with me on a journey to Springfield, and wouldn't have written this sentence.

Until Then.