My early childhood years as an evil little bastard are legendary. Many years later, family members are still talking about the things I did as a little kid. I was so bad that my grandfather would grab me by my head and look for “666” like Damien in the Omen. Satan’s son. My great-aunt performed the Italian malocchio on me at least a dozen times. Old Italian women who came over from Italy on the boat can tell what is going on in somebody’s life by dropping olive oil into a bowl. It’s true! I came up with the “evil eye” every time. My mother brought me to a priest. They told her to go to the Vatican and consult an exorcist. If you’re not familiar with what I’ve done, I’m going to share some of those legendary moments. And for all you parents out there, be thankful that your kids are not like this. My mother says that she hopes I have a kid like me one day. Hence another reason why I don’t have kids. Here we go!
Taught how to swear (Age 2)
My aunt/godmother was my biggest fan. She let me do whatever the hell I wanted. And she spoiled me rotten. At the age of 2 when I was learning how to speak she would whisper in my ear “Say shit”. I’d say “shit”. We’d laugh. She whispered “Say bitch”. I’d say “bitch”. Finally she whispered “Say fuck”. I’d say “FUCK!!!” It quickly escalated into “FUCK you!” “FUCK this!” “Where’s my FUCKING toy?!” My mother would take me to lunch and ask me what I wanted. “A FUCKING hot dog without the FUCKING skin Ma!” My aunt laughed every time. My mother? Not so much. There’s a famous pic of me with a cigarette in my mouth my aunt put there. I’m smiling. Giving the finger. Laughing. I was 3. Evil was born. I miss my Aunt. She made me funny.
Gene Gene the Dancing Machine (Age 4)
There was a show in the late 70s early 80s called the Gong Show. Contestants would come on doing stupid tricks and if one of the judges hit the gong, that meant they sucked. When the show would hit a slow moment a song would come on. Da dunt dunt dunt dunt! Da dunt dunt dunt dunt! And an old black man wearing a hat would come out and do a horrible James Brownish type dance. Gene Gene the Dancing Machine!!! He pissed the crowd off and they hated him and it was the coolest thing I had ever seen! I quickly learned how to dance like him. At any family get together if there was a slow moment or a fight amongst the adults, my mother, my aunt, my sister or my grandmother would immediately start….Da dunt dunt dunt dunt! That was my cue. I would come running in from wherever I was and do the dance! They would throw napkins and cigarette butts at me. Sometimes lit. Acting like the hating audience. It made no sense. But it was awesome. And they loved it.
Basket on my head at all times (Ages 4-6)
I was a big Boston Bruins fan as a kid. Terry O’Reilly was my hero. I was also poor as shit as a kid and would play hockey in the house using foil for hockey pucks. My mother got me a blue plastic hockey stick and I would shoot foil pucks at everybody thinking I was Terry O’Reilly. Easter came at age 4. And there it was Easter morning on my kitchen table. The Easter Bunny left me a big blue Easter basket. I ran to it, dumped all the shit out of it and shoved the basket over my head. I finally had my hockey helmet. I was now officially Terry O’Reilly. And I would never take the basket off my head. Every picture of me from the ages 4 through 6 are of me wearing the basket. I was skating down center ice AKA my grandparents’ bedroom and hooked my grandmother with my hockey stick. She went down. Hard. I dropped the stick and basket and spent 5 hours in the penalty box AKA the bathroom hiding from my father and grandfather. That was the end of my hockey career.
Flipping off cops through the sunroof (Age 7)
My aunt had a car with a sunroof to which I would love climbing out through as she drove around. My mother would yell to get down. My aunt would say “Oh he’s alright”. My mother would say “He’s going to do something fresh. Watch.” Neither one cared if I fell out and died or got decapitated though. As we pulled up to a red light, a cop in his cop car was next to us. He saw me. Rolled down his window. My mother and aunt watched. He said “Hey. That’s not safe. You can’t be up there like that. Sit down in the car.” In slow motion my mother and aunt tried to pull me down before I could do something. They were too late. They could only watch as I flipped both my middle fingers. While saying “Fuck you!!!” The cop pulled my aunt over. Gave her a ticket.
Piss in toy box (Age 7)
At the age of 7 I was fresh all the time. No reason needed. One time in the middle of the night, instead of going to the bathroom I decided to get up and piss in my toy box. My mother saw me get up and do it. She yelled at me. I had no idea why I did it. I actually spited myself. Because my toys were now soaked in piss. I think I was evil and a little mentally challenged.
First wooden spoon attack (Age 7)
Italian mothers used to hit their kids with the giant wooden spoons they used to stir the gravy. It’s a well-known fact. My first wooden spoon beating came at the age of 7. They came quite often. They were well deserved though. It’s also a known fact that little Italian boys build up a tolerance for wooden spoon pain. By the age of 10 the wooden spoon was no longer effective. We found this out as my mother smacked me with the spoon on my ass and I wasn’t struggling anymore. No more pain. She broke the end of the spoon off over my ass. I would later walk into the kitchen as she had to stir the gravy with just the spoon stick handle. We both laughed.
Ruined Christmas (Age eight)
I have to admit that I have ruined a few holidays in my time. Even as an adult. Oh well it happens. The first holiday I ruined was Christmas when I was 8. My mother had just put up the tree. She put the lights up. Put presents under it. And she then told my sister and I to put the ornaments we had made at school on it. She left us alone. I found a nice spot to put my clothes pin Rudolph on. I turned around to pick up Rudolph and when I turned back to the tree my sister had put her Charlie Brown ornament in my spot. She didn’t know what she did. But I attacked her anyways. We rolled around on the floor breaking everything. She screamed “Ma!” My mother came in as we wrestled on the ground with the tree fallen over on top of us. Smashed lights. Smashed bulbs. Smashed gifts. She grabbed me off my sister and yelled “Now you ruined Christmas!” I sure did.
First crank calls (Age eight)
There was a local number in Massachusetts that you could call and talk to Santa during Christmas time and the Easter Bunny during Easter time in the 80s. It was probably the same kiddie diddler who got off talking to little kids but it was free and this is where I learned how to make my first crank calls. I called up that Santa/Bunny guy at least 30 times a day. He knew me on a first name basis. I updated him on what I was doing at the time. Asked him all types of random questions. I would also threaten his life just for fun. Telling him “I’m going to make you bleed.” Then hang up. I don’t know why. It got to the point where he said that he was going to call the cops and hoped that the real Santa put reindeer shit in my stocking. Only I could piss off Santa Claus this much.
Terminator dick (Age 9)
Little boys are obsessed with genitalia at this age. You’ve seen SuperBad right? So my buddies and I would draw little stick people with large body parts. A stick girl with huge boobs and a giant vajeen. A stick boy with a huge penis. We’d draw them on pieces of paper and stick them in our trapper keepers. For some reason one day my mother went into my trapper keeper and found one of the little stick boys with a giant penis drawings. I was outside playing and she called me in from the window. I came in the house and she was standing there holding the drawing. “What is this?” Too which I nonchalantly replied “Terminator dick.” Like it was obvious. She didn’t know what to say. Or do. She just said “Oh. Ok. Go back outside.” I went back outside. That’s where I first realized I’m pretty quick on my feet with my one liners.
Andrew Dice Clay (Age 10)
I was first introduced to Andrew Dice Clay when he appeared on Rodney Dangerfield’s HBO special. We had a black box that gave us free cable. Free porn. It was awesome. When Dice came out onto that stage wearing a leather jacket, cigarette in hand, twitching and grabbing his balls I was in awe. Then he started “Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet eating her curds and whey. Along came a spider, sat down beside her and said ‘What’s in the bowl bitch?!’” I had found a new hero. I memorized every nursery rhyme. I perfected the cigarette over the head move. I had his dialect down. My mother ate it up. She bought me every album he would put out. We would go to cousins’ houses and she would tell me to do Dice. All the little kids would be playing and I would start. “Jack and Jill went up the hill with a buck and a quarter apiece. Jill came down with two fifty. That fucking whore! Ohhhh!!!!” It was awesome.
So that was the first 10 years of my legendary childhood. Pure evil. But a lot of fun. Those years really shaped me. My attitude, my passion, my sense of humor. Sure I was a little prick. But I wouldn’t change a damn thing. Some of my family may disagree however.
Until next time. Always take it there.