...okay, now I'm ready! Would someone tell Dan to shut his mouth...he's letting all the flies out! Notice Dan's gun, his fixation started early!

Cleveland was expanding right after the second world war. Like the famed Levitt-built houses in Long Island, New York, the Forest City was seeing its own housing boom. The houses on Erwin Avenue had crawl space foundations with hardwood floors above. Postage-stamped sized lots with cement driveway and single car garages as an option. Back then, the houses were built for $7,000 to $12,000 with low interest rates and twenty year mortgages - practically affordable for any individual working fulltime with a child or two. The streets had tree lawns with the same small tree in front having been assembly lined by developers who didn't consider as the trees grew, the roots would eventually raise the sidewalks in front of them...something not realized by the buyers as well. However, the construction of the houses themselves were built to code, sixteen inch off-centered studs and four inch concrete slabs. Today, they are still worthy of renovation.

Between Erwin and Longmead Elementary School we had a small shallow creek where the water was still clear, home to crawdads, small fishes and turtles. The creek may still be there, however, I'm not too sure of the water quality anymore. For a small child crossing it on a normal day, it could be adventuresome. The neighborhood was filled with small children born during the late 1940's to the mid-1950's. It was a more innocent time for the block, and in most cases an okay place to grow up in. Halloween? Well that was pretty safe, even if the treats were homemade. No one was tricking the apples with imbedded razor blades or syringing the candies with hallucinatory drugs - it was what it was with homemade costumes, parents accompanying their children with an occasional candle-lit carved pumpkin on the front stoop.

Dan and I had the traditional bag with handles to hold our Halloween booty in. However, the bags' usefulness was limited to the bag staying dry. Any moisture where one sat it down, or a steady rain or snow would quickly disintegrate the bottom of the bag causing the candy to fall out the bottom - and over the years it would happen to the both of us. Rule was, if it hit the ground, one couldn't retrieve it - it was considered ant food from that point on. Candy at that time was wrapped in printed wax paper, foil or cellophane which easily contaminated. Thanks to more durable wrappings, one within reason could now retrive it from the ground, rinse the packaging off at home - if it had no rips in the packaging, its edible.

My mom cooked whatever she could get on the meager grocery budget my dad gave to her. In meats it was usually tough cuts of beef, chicken, pork and liver. Now liver is a tough meat to cook properly - and to be honest, my mom got a failing grade. When she cooked it, it had the consistency of shoe leather. It really wasn't that edible. And liver under my father's efforts like anything he cooked was a lost cause! To get me or Dan to eat it, she would brag that my dad's brother Lester loved her liver! I told her she could send him my portion. Failing to act on the suggestion I'd made, it was time for Plan B. I'd cut it up, stuff my mouth and excuse myself to go to the bathroom. Once the door was shut, I'd spit it into the commode, wait a few moments and flush the toilet, hey, it would eventually end up there anyway - I simply stepped up the process a little. Like anything, it will usually work a few times, but eventually you always get caught. And I did! My father waited until I closed the door and listened for me to spit, catching me in the act. I don't think he would have bought the excuse the liver went through me that fast - instead I got leather on my bottom and verbally chained to the plate, not allowed to leave the table until I actually ate it! Thankfully most of my mom's other culinary creations went down a lot easier.

While living on Erwin, I would have my initial sexual awakening before I even hit kindergarten. First, Dan and I found some suggestive color pictures my mom had taken of her girlfriend and her husband Stanley at a party. My parents quickly destroyed the photos after they realized we kids got into them. Then while Dan had already started school my mom would take me with her whenever she went someplace. One time she babysat for a friend who needed someone to watch her eight year-old daughter. The woman lived nearby some railroad tracks that cut through her back yard. I was fascinated watching the train engines approach - big black iron horses with the puffing black smoke rising out of the stack. In any case, the girl and I played in the living room at her house - realize I was four years-old at that point. She asked my mother to make some hot chocolate for us. Since there were no microwave ovens at this time, it took longer to boil the water before it could be made. While my mom was busy in the kitchen, the eight year-old girl indicated she wanted to show me something in her bedroom. When I entered, she quietly closed the door and immediately stripped. I really wasn't ready for this moment. She wanted me to suck on her vagina...I immediately ran out the door and went back to the living room. She quickly got dressed and came out as if nothing happened. Well, I missed my shot!

When my dad got mad at us, anything went. My dad would give us the strap, sometimes using his belt like a bullwhip. This scared my mom, and she would ask him to stop - he would just beat us all the harder. Back then, abusing your kids was not a criminal offense. My mother would eventually back off and allowed my Dad to punish us anyway he saw fit. My mom's explanation is that after a while she felt that by not interfering with my Dad's form of punishment, we would get less of a beating. Aside from the belt, my dad would make us do Duck Walks up and down the front sidewalk in broad daylight. Here's how it would work. We were to be in a stooping position and would waddle up and down the sidewalk within my father's vision - which meant almost down to the corner on each side. Meanwhile he would be sitting on the stoop in the shade with cold drink in hand, keeping an eye on us until he got bored and went inside to watch television on the old Muntz. Dan and I were expected to keep waddling. If we stopped and he caught us, he would come out and beat us on the backside. The neighbors nor my mom did nothing.

There were many times my dad would go too far in his sadism, angering my mom to the point she would threaten divorce running into the bedroom slamming the door. My dad would suddenly cool his antics and say to her all was well and forgiven, begging Dan and I to play along. As small children we were scared of the unknown. So at least the first dozen or so times, we'd play along. However, he'd use that ruse too many times and Dan and I would no longer do his bidding, and my mom no longer believed him. However, as mentioned, she allowed my Dad to do whatever he wanted, short of killing us.

Dan was reacting to the violence by becoming vicious himself - and I became a very easy victim. Dan would push me, punch me, box my ears whenever he was frustrated. One time we argued over a crayon, he screamed at me, picked up the child's table made of plywood and chrome and threw it into my forehead making a solid hit. I ended up a bloody mess, having to be rushed to the hospital for stitches -such was the anger of Dan. Another time he was angry with me and slammed the living room door on my finger - I still have the slightly disfigured fingernail to this day.

We really didn't get much as children, although my dad could afford more than he let on, he was loathe to buy us anything. We certainly were never given any choice in what we wanted, one year all we got were some army surplus water flasks - one for each of us - period! Therefore there was a desire to acquire material goods on our own. One problem, we didn't have access to money. However, not a problem for Dan. Next door lived a young lady only two or three years older than Dan and I. She was a really nice kid - Dan being older got most of her attention - I was already the tag-a-long sibling. Dan had his own way to thank her for her attentions. It was a summer day, warm, bright and quiet save for an occasional breeze and some small fluffy white clouds. Next door, Lee Anne had left her record player on a picnic bench outside her bedroom window in the shade. On the platter sat a Disney children's story record. Dan decided the record should be his - as for me, I thought it would be nice to have it, but it wasn't ours. Dan had a more devious mind and an ability to make me go along with him. I'll plead stupidity as a small child in not knowing right or wrong on this one. Dan made himself the lookout, and me the one who actually remove the record and take it. We succeeded in getting the record into our house unseen. One problem having something that doesn't belong to you and your parents hadn't purchased it - the object sticks out like a sore thumb...Dan didn't consider this in his plan. However, Dan did have an alibi, I'm the one who actually physically took the record. My mom caught Dan and I with the filched record red handed. Dan tried to have me take the blame as a lone perpetrator, but thankfully my mom didn't buy it. We both ended up with deserved swats and made to return the ill-gotten record. Later, my father was told and we got spanked again. After that, I wouldn't be so easily agreeable to do Dan's bidding. Of course every time I refused Dan's requests, he'd pummel me with his fists.

The question would be, why didn't I fight back? I did. But Dan's adrenalin always ran high, and frankly I wasn't a fighter. Personally, I have no problems with that fact. However, Dan had no problems pitting neighborhood children against me as well. Dan had a lot of anger issues early on. He hated my fathers' abuse every bit as  much as I did. However, since he couldn't take on my Dad, he got out his misplaced aggressions on me. It made for a very painful childhood between Dan's anger and that of my dad. Did I blame myself? No, very early on I realized I was a victim with no escape. Did it have an effect on me? To this very day, yes.

When I finally started school, my parents took both me and Dan the first time - after that, Dan and I were on our own. Naturally I followed Dan, and we were always looking for a shortcut. However, any shortcut meant we'd have to cross a creek. Therefore for much of the time we'd have to walk up West 130th Street and walk over the creek overpass to get to Longmead Avenue in turn getting to the elementary school. However, as time went on, we finally got brave enough to climb down the ravine, cross the creek over foot stones, climb back up the ravine and be at the school. More than likely, we put as much work into the shortcut as to go the long way. One January day, there was a bit of a thaw. The ice on the creek had melted somewhat and the creek was flowing. Dan and I decided to take the short cut. Dan made it over okay - I didn't! The foot stones were slippery and about the middle of the crossing I fell right into the drink. It was not deep, so there was no chance of drowning, however, I was soaked and cold. Dan went on to school leaving me to fend for myself. Cold as I was, I managed to climb back up the ravine and headed home - wet and very, very cold. My mom met me at the door, got me into warm clothes, dried my jacket, had me wear different shoes, and when the jacket came out of the dryer, drove me to school. Thankfully, nothing was said to my father, and Dan and I avoided another beating.

My dad made an attempt at tutoring us in spelling and math with flash cards. Now, there is something you need to know about flash cards, especially math cards. On one side is the problem without the answer, on the other side is the problem with the answer. Its a no-brainer for the person giving the problem - worked well, my dad didn't have to think. However, by now you realize my dad was into negative reinforcement. We would sit at the kitchen table together, the card in one hand, a belt in the other. A right answer didn't draw any fire - of course there were no "good answer" either. A wrong answer meant you'd get hit with the belt on the rear or slapped in the face. I was not having a good time with this. I was so nervous, I rarely got the answer right, but I was getting a lot of bruises. Something had to be done, and I was on my own. While my dad was at work and no one was (i certainly was not going to tell Dan or my mom in fear they would give it away) near, I snuck the cards to the bedroom with a number 2 pencil. Quietly, I put the right answer in light pencil in the smallest print I could handle. The next time he sat me in front of the flash cards, I looked like a genius - got all the answers right, he was overwhelmed! I got away with this for about a month before he caught up with my flash card alteration. When I got home from school after discovering he'd been had, he beat the shit out of me.

However, as violent as my home life was, there were still some normal kid stuff. I'd go to birthday parties, spent time with a girl my age named Elizabeth whose father was into fishing. Her dad had a large above-ground summer pool in back. It wasn't to swim in, he'd catch catfish and store them in the pool. I'd peek in and see these monstrous (i was five at the time) fish with long tentacles. Occasionally the fish would ram the side of the pool and the water would splash out - kinda scary when you are small. Or I spent time watching the afternoon broadcast of Bishop Sheen on ABC - I kinda liked the guy, and he seemed pretty friendly and understanding with a sense of humor. From a very early age I was seeking normalcy where I could find it. Of course, there was the Mickey Mouse Club, I had a real crush on Darlene! Then there was Gale Storm Show and Dagwood on tv.

While living on Erwin, Dan and I went through surgery to correct our bowed legs, a by-product of our hereditary birth defect inflicted on us by the Vitamin D Rickets our mom had passed down to us. My mother also had surgery to correct the deformity as a child, however, like us, my mom had her legs straightened at the Mayo Clinic, but no one treated the underlying cause. So over time, her legs bowed again and she had to endure learning that her own children now faced a similar plight. In our case, Dr. Rizzo did the honors in trying to straighten both Dan's legs and mine. I really don't remember any of the surgery, save I had it. The stitch marks on my legs are a constant reminder. The good doctor performed the operation, but there was no follow-up. I should mention what rickets are. It is a condition where one's bones do not absorb the needed calcium to maintain healthy bone structure. A lot of it occurred during the Great Depression of the 1920's when proper nutrition and pre-natal care was hard to come by. Over my life I've seen a small number of adults born during the depression years suffer a similar fate. Many never survived past childhood. It was preventable being based on proper nutrition, but at that time many were out of work and couldn't afford the proper care. My mom's reality became Dan's and my reality - a decade later it would become Marks'!

The leg casts were uncomfortable, especially over the summer. And hauling me around was a real bother. So my parents bought a little red Radio Flyer wagon to haul me in. One time my parents finished putting up a garage, and decided to have a party. At the time, both my mom and dad smoked L&M cigarettes. I was placed in the garage where the long aluminum picnic table with the food spread - it was shady and not all that bad. People would come in occasionally grabbing cooked hot dogs, hamburgers, chips and cold drinks. My father went into the garage to grab a cold drink, cigarette in hand. When no one was looking, he flicked the ashes on the open toe area on one of my casts, a small red ember fell off into the opening, falling into the cast - I screamed like a banshee in pain - my dad quickly looked away as if nothing happened.

With my dad's behavior being so boorish, there were soon very few parties held at our place - almost non-existent over the years, no one wanted to come. Most parties were held at my Aunt Hope and Uncle Al's house on Clifford. Some at my Uncle Paul's and Aunt Helen's house in Strongsville where they owned quite a bit of land. They lived in an old farm house in the beginning, however, a couple of years later they built a large brick ranch with a finished basement. Being my uncle was in law enforcement, the basement was decorated like a jail, my uncle was really great at coming up with concepts and building things - he was an accomplished wood carver in his own right. In any case he would hold a clam bake every August next to a pond he owned. As a small child, I thought the clams came from that small body of water. My Uncle Paul was my Grandmother DeJeans' brother.

Usually when a baby is newborn, the doctor will make an incision on a male infant to circumcise the child's penis. No such luck for Dan and I. My parents came to the conclusion it would be more healthy and sanitary in our third and fourth years. Down the street was a clinic that offered the service. Dan and I had an inkling what was about to happen and the reality we were about to be clipped settled in very quickly. Dan as the oldest went first. When he wailed (couldn't blame him), I got scared - thinking I'd be perfectly happy to have a natural "hoodie" over my penis. Funny thing, when you are three years old, you don't get very far in resisting the process. My turn came..."YEOWWWWWWWWW" came from my mouth as the doctor cut the foreskin. This was one procedure among many I could do without!

About this time, my father lost his autoworker job at GM's Tank plant where heavy duty diesel engines were made. He was out of a job with a family to support. When the war ended, there was no need to keep continuing to turn out tank engines. So the facility was shut down. Lucky for my father, he was a veteran. No, he didn't serve overseas in Europe or Asia during the war, he worked stateside in a motor pool. Now there is a story to this. My father smoked cigarettes, but didn't have the intelligence not to smoke over a truck engine with the battery filler caps off. You guessed it, "BANNNG" went the battery and my dad lost his sight for a couple of months. He easily could be blinded for life! In any case, there were not many good jobs for someone with a GED home study diploma, so his options were very limited. He became a Nursing Assistant at a VA Hospital called Crille in Parma. Its now the western branch of Cuyahoga Community College at York Road and Pleasant Valley.

With this change, my dad wanted to be closer to his job, and the Boggs family was moving again!