We all know the stereotype of the high school jock who continues living his glory days long after graduating. He still has his varsity jacket, talks about “the big game” all the time, and he’s gotten fat and gained a drinking problem. I used to think these people were nerdy screenwriters trying to get vengeance on the jocks who they wish they were in high school but I know for a fact people like this really do exist. Like aliens, people obsessed with their glory days are out there.
(An X-Files poster. And as my friend Rob always points out, how do they not believe in aliens when in the pilot episode they nearly get abducted?)
The person I will talk about here is someone I guess you could say I was “close” to. By close I mean one time he tried wrestling me. He climbed onto my back and to get him off I comically kept ramming him into the wall because I fight dirty. This man was a guy my mom dated. He was a guy whose glory days were far away into the past.
The first sign that my mom’s relationship with this man would be a mess was the fact they met at an AA meeting. A more loving couple could meet while executing a terrorist attack than at an AA meeting. The guy didn’t drive anymore because of all the DUIs he had. He owned a gigantic truck for work which was incredibly obnoxious. The only good thing was I could see it from 5 miles away and I’d know I should hide somewhere else until he left.
My mom first introduced me to him on an August evening. I hope if I’m ever divorced and have to introduce new girlfriends or boyfriends (you never know, I could become infected with the gay bug) to my children I do it differently. Everyone I know, whenever they start dating someone new, forces the person down my throat. Suddenly they’re no longer who they used to be. Now they’re one entity and I cannot talk to one without the other there to chime in. The guy seemed fine at first. My mom told me he played hockey for the Montreal Canadians at one point but for some reason this was never brought up and I could find nothing on the Internet about it. I asked him about this and he said he never ice skated in his life. Either my mom misheard him or he was the worst player ever and all history of him in the NHL has been erased.
(The worst wrestling gimmick ever, The Goon. I think my 4th grade class photo had the same background)
The guy’s main story he would always tell was about how he was a high school wrestler. Who am I kidding, this was his only story. He never even talked about any legendary matches. All he talked about was trying to sweat off pounds and ringworm. He still did have his varsity jacket too which is such a jerk thing. He’d try on numerous occasions to get me to be more physically active. He even bought me a silver insolated suit that could help me sweat extra to drop some weight. I think my biggest mistake was actually using and enjoying this gift. Scratch that. My biggest mistake was wearing the pants to the gym once.
(I see they’re called sauna suits. Screw getting your wife a trip to the spa. Buy her one of these and put cucumbers over her eyes and it’s the same basic concept)
Despite both were in AA, their drinking problems persisted. I’m not sure who the troublemaker was between the two, but if you put two addicts together one will probably break down and take the other with them. My mom’s boyfriend always insisted he would one day take us to his cabin in Quebec. The guy lived with his mother (I don’t live with her, she lies with me!) and still had a Canadian cabin? Why do I have a feeling this cabin was incredibly alone up there and in a town without police?
My mom knew how much we disliked the guy and one time they slept outside in the driveway in his truck rather than come inside because “he didn’t feel welcomed.” What about me who didn’t feel safe with some strange man who wrestles me in the house? I really didn’t hate the guy though. What I hated was invasiveness into my life. Between the ages of 13-18 my house was a revolving door of random people coming and going. I like to describe it as a soap opera cast where instead of killing off characters you’re replaced with new actors to play the same person. My family was clearly broken and having other people from broken homes entering wasn’t doing any good for anyone
My favorite memory of the guy though was when he explained to me what his life’s goal was, to teach retarded people how to play the stock market. Huh? First off if you want to work with retarded people you don’t call them retarded, you call them something nicer like mentally disabled or waterheads. I attempted once to record a conversation with the guy on how he would go about teaching retarded people to play the stock market. It turned into a drunken tirade about high school wrestling and would be pointless in searching for on my old computer. If the current state of the American economy suggests anything maybe it’s that he did achieve his dream. A lot of people who do run Wall Street are pretty retarded so kudos to him for destroying America.
(It’s hard for me to decide who I hate more, the retards pictured here or the entitled dummies outside with all the shiny posters whining about how they can’t afford everything they want)