A little bit of American paradise in a foreign land.
If you haven't read my pinned story, I grew up as a Navy brat, well, mostly. My parents divorced when I was five, and I would end up living with both of them a few times.
When I was seven, I was living with my mother, her dad, and his parents. My great grandmother got sick with shingles, and for some reason, I was convinced to move in with my dad and my soon-to-be step-mother and step-sister.
Almost two years later, in 1989, and not long after I lost my left pinky, we moved to Naples, Italy. Needless to say, it was a culture shock for me right after a quite traumatic event.
I honestly don't remember struggling to acclimate, though. I was always that kid that could fit into almost any clique in school. I was athletic, intelligent, and good-looking enough, but I did struggle with undiagnosed Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder along with sub-par self-esteem.
I was also dealing with a step-mother who was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. She was a bit of a nightmare, and a big detriment to my self-esteem, but that's a story for another time.
In any case, Carney Park would become my escape. Situated in a dormant volcano, this park was, and is, a piece of American paradise in the middle of one of the more notorious cities in Italy. Especially the parts right around the base, although we never had much trouble with the locals. We even lived outside of the base.
I honestly don't remember the first time going there, but it was most likely that first year when I played soccer for the first time, which I call football. I had only played baseball up until that point, but I picked it up quickly. My dad was assistant coach, and I got chosen as the starting goalie.
Although it was very undisciplined play, our team was really good. I ended up with a 0.89 GAA, and for those of you that don't know sports, that means I let in just under one goal per game.
I say, 'undisciplined', because late in the season, our team was chosen to play an Italian team of the same age group, and they annihilated us 13–1. I got so frustrated in goal after letting the first six goals in, that I faked an injury so that I could get off of the field, which almost didn't happen because my dad could see through my act.
I remember that we ended up losing the championship game, but several of my team, including me, were picked for the all-star game. I want to say that I was in for the whole game, but I do know that I blocked the only shot the other team had, and boy was this a doozy.
My dad was assistant coach again, but we had different head coach, and since it was raining heavily, he wanted me to use gloves, which I had never used before. I remember being nervous about how they would affect my game, but it would turn out not to matter very much.
The only shot the other team got was from a breakaway caused by an error by someone on our team. He was far off at first, and not having been taught to charge the striker, I kept my spot just in front of the goal line as he entered the 18-yard box. It felt like an eternity watching this kid struggle to dribble in the puddled grass, but he made it to almost the six-yard box before he kicked, and it came straight at my head.
I managed to dodge and catch at the same time, and I remember the ball spinning in my hands a few times before I let out a sigh and held the ball until he had retreated. Looking back, I can't believe he kicked it right at me. They were regulation size goals, so he had a lot of real estate from which to choose. My guess, is that, I must have had a reputation as being the best goalie, and that, that was enough to make him choke and kick the ball at my head. Maybe, it was the rain. I sometimes wonder if he regrets that choice, because it would've tied the game. Maybe he'll read this and I can learn his side of that story.
Along with my father playing in a softball league, and there being an Olympic-sized swimming pool, we would end up frequenting this place many times. I can remember a few instances of entering the park, where the road enters coming over the lowest part of the caldera, and you can pretty much see the whole park as you enter. You can see in the picture where the sunlight hasn't yet breached the caldera to its south from where you enter. Come to think of it, that must be a sunset from summer.
I also played baseball while I lived there, and I remember the first year I played, we had a pitching machine as the pitcher. I don't remember much of that season, or how our team did, but the next year, I would be a left-handed pitcher.
I remember this season well. Our team was a mock of the Athletics, and my dad was head coach. Interestingly enough, I would have my best game when his softball team was playing a double-header that same day, and so he couldn't coach that game. I ended up throwing a one-hitter, meaning the other team only got one hit against me. I have to thank the umpire in that game, because he was calling this pitch I was experimenting with a strike every time.
I learned later that I was doing a knuckle curve, but it would fly straight right up until the edge of the grass before home plate, then it would suddenly curve down and to the right. It was cutting just passed the shins of left-handed batters, and just out of the reach of right-handed batters. I remember being shocked the first time he called one a strike, because the batter had to jump out of its way, or it would've hit his back foot, and luckily, no one was on base because the catcher failed to stop it. I must have somehow been catching the front right corner of the plate from the pitcher's perspective. Even still, it looked to me like it was going below their knees as it crossed the plate, which should've been called balls.
I know this is going on long, but there are only a couple of other poignant moments to mention. For instance, I would have my first kiss, well, actually, my first forty or so kisses at Carney Park.
They were all with the same girl, too. I think her name was Melissa, but I can't remember exactly. If she aged like I did, then I could probably pick her out in a crowd, even today. I was hanging out at the pool, and she was there, too. I don't remember how we got started kissing, but it was in the pool and under water each time. I guess it was like a fun game for her, but I was thinking that we were to get serious, only to find out on the bus ride home, that she had other plans.
Now, for the last part, I'm going to keep it as 'PG' as possible, but it's about a porn magazine, so, fair warning and all.
I'm pretty sure I was eleven by this time, but I was not at that part of puberty yet. For some context, I was a very sheltered child, but had managed to see a portion of a porn video not long after we moved to Italy, and occasionally would see some tits on the Italian talk shows as the dancers would often be topless. And that was on their network channels.
I had gone to the park alone to hang out and have some fun. I was on my way out, and as I passed an aluminum trash can that didn't have a lid or a bag in it, I glanced into it. I immediately stopped in my tracks having recognized the name on the magazine; Penthouse. I later did some research and discovered that it was the June '91 issue. Like I said, I wasn't at that age yet, but I knew I should cherish the images within.
I took it to an empty dugout and went through every page. I remember being grossed out by one of the sex scenes that involved fake scat. So, enough detail about that. There was also this one-pane comic that I laughed heavily at:
I laughed so hard, that it attracted two boys to come see what I was doing. I ended up giving it to them, knowing there was no way I could keep it a secret from my step-mother. Her OCD would sometimes have my whole room re-arranged, even down to the drawers in my dressers.
I was surprised to find that the current Google Earth image looks no different than how I remember it, except that it looks as though they turned the pool into an indoor one. I had a lot of good times there. It truly was a paradise for me, and I can't wait to visit it again.
Thank you for reading. Please consider leaving some feedback. Have a wonderful day....[[|:-)
Thanks for this interesting memoir (not action/thriller).
While I come from a much earlier era and from a much different upbringing, we do have common experiences, especially in sport.
While we had just young money problem parental arguments, we grew up in a loving family and I had a twin brother to be my partner in almost everything… Often my adversary in play. We grew up in a very small town, and then a big industrial town in a bad neighborhood. And then, in the outlying fringes of a farm town. We adapted to each quite easily. Later, I adapted to living in five different parts of this great country, the United States. Probably why I never belonged to any cliques in high school or after. And why I enjoyed very different cultures and in other countries. I started kissing maybe in grade school, especially the sixth grade where I had a girlfriend and our mother put on kissing games for us to kiss our girl classmates. That was sure fun.
I was rejected by Little League in the big city because our father had no pull. But in the farm town, I played in the city league. Our loudmouth team leader was pitcher, so we lost a lot of games except when he wasn't there and I pitched five games when I was about 15. We won three of those games and one of them was a no-hitter. I needed eyeglasses and could only hit grounders without them. My dad told me that I through a natural curve ball. I thought I only had a fastball pitch.
I played football until my sophomore year in high school when I learned that I was too small for the roughness of football. There was no soccer in our town at that time. I probably would have been very good because I had quick reflexes, was a lightning fast runner, and I could punt a football like an NFL punter. I had very strong legs.
I can underwater like a fish but never met a girl there that I could kiss. You were lucky!
My dad was a softball player. Finally quit when he was about 45 and all his teammates were in their 20s.
When I climbed the volcano Agua in Guatemala in 1977, I didn't get into the crater because of clouds and I didn't find the entrance. A young college student trio that was on the mountain the same day I was, told me that night that they entered the crater and found the Guatemalan Army playing fútbol.
I have a collection of Playboy from 1968. When my mother and I were going through my papers, we came upon the boxes including a couple of Penthouses and she was not at all shocked. She always knew what I was doing no matter what I hid. But she did object one one day when my father wanted to give my brother and I keychains that had little risqué girlies on them. He objected, "They need to be more broad-minded!" He didn't know how much my mind was on broads. ;-)
I'd say you adapted well to living in a foreign country and having a difficult stepmother. I think sports provided an outlet for you to excel and rise above any situations.
Very interesting indeed! We all went through puberty when our curiosity was at its peak. I'm also glad you were such a good sportsman! I guess having a dad as a coach helps a lot too. We all know you better now. Thank you for sharing a slice of your life with us!
After a long awaited weekend visitation caused by false allegations of sexual abuse, Glen got to see his children for the first time in over two months. He promised them that they would never be apart again and then they disappeared.
