Thinking inside the box was usually not an option for my family. Most of the time my two boys couldn’t even find the box, neither could I. The book, Radolescents, is a humorous collection of stories inspired by the family’s “radolescent” adventures while in search of that ever-illusive box. It's a book for all ages.
It all started in a great neighborhood, Chicago’s Southside, with mostly two-parent households, and a lot of city employees, including police and firemen. The houses ranged anywhere from old, huge mansions with hidden slave transport tunnels to simple, old, frame farm houses like the one my two sons and I lived in. It was a good neighborhood for acquiring “street smarts,” but didn’t have the element of hard-core gangs, like the inner city.
I worked various jobs to provide for the family, and gram (my mom) lived nearby and babysat. There was no child support and money was tight, but I was fortunate in the sense that I was able to do a lot more with my kids than most moms, because I did a lot of “dad” stuff, too. I was far from perfect, but I loved them and I tried.
The boys survived being placed on their tummies as babies and never suffered a negative consequence from sleeping in their poorly designed, well-padded cribs that probably had lead paint on them. They grew up riding their bikes without helmets, trick-or-treating door to door, loving their cake and candy, and scarfing up gram’s rye bread fried in straight bacon grease with a big glass of milk to wash it down. They worked it all off by playing – playing hard.
The boys were accountable to me for their actions both in and out of school, and they knew that gram always let them get away with a lot more than I did. She, of course hardly ever let me know when they got into trouble, because then the three of them were in the hot seat! We all learned from each other. I had the boys’ respect by the time they were five, and by the time they were ten they were going on twenty.
Little boys’ toys gave way to dueling stereos, musical instruments, gadgets, and motorized vehicles. Playtime was replaced with part-time jobs, and other resourceful endeavors, to earn spending money at an early age. They worked, tried, laughed, cried, and searched hard as they walked the road less traveled, and exceeded expectations that the world had set for them.
The journey into their adulthood was challenging, but also a lot of fun. I wanted to share the fun and laughter, because I feel the world is often too serious. It is my sincerest wish that these stories bring a lift to your spirit and a pleasant break into your day. Please join the lead character in his adventures as seemingly innocent situations snowball into avalanches that will make you laugh, nod your head understandably in agreement, and slap your face in disbelief.
Rev up that smile and "RAD" on!