Manhood: How to Be a Better Man-or Just Live with One Read Free Page B

wanted that image to come true. Finally, I fell asleep. When morning arrived, I usually woke up in a wet bed.
    Since I couldn’t fly away from our problems like a kite, I decided I would work even harder to be strong like a superhero. I ran around the house, lifting one end of the couch, and then the other, as if my superpowers were about to kick in. The fabric was yellow with a black paisley design, and I used to fight it as ifit were a vicious lion. You know, ghetto games. From the couch, I raced over to the gigantic entertainment console, an enormous solid block of wood and metal that looked like a brown refrigerator lying on its side. The radio was on one end, the record player on the other. On top, my mother kept a heart-shaped box given to her by Big Terry. Its Valentine’s Day chocolates long gone, it remained, a symbol of many things. Although the furniture was impossibly heavy, I’d grab one side and heave it up, just to see how far I could lift it into the air. Something about the voluntary stress and strain of lifting things made my brain calm down. I needed to move things. It was my way of feeling like I was taking control of my situation.
    It didn’t take long for me to end up with a sharp pain in my side. When it didn’t go away, Trish took me to the doctor. I’d given myself a hernia. I was five.
    As I was pushed down the hallway of Hurley Medical Center on a gurney, I watched the holiday decorations slide by on the walls, and the ceiling tiles pass by above me. I was a kindergartener with a Technicolor imagination, and Christmas was a big deal. Every song, image, or decorated tree had a seasonal story. Even though I was in the hospital, I was happy. I felt special because I was getting extra attention.
    I was so small, and everything seemed so big. A man put a plastic mask over my face, and I looked around—like,
what?—
until the anesthesia pulled me under. I was afraid I was going to feel the surgery, but when I opened my eyes again, the procedure was over. It seemed like I’d closed my eyes for only a second and then magically moved from the hallway to a bed in a hospital room in the kids’ ward.
    The room smelled familiar, like our kitchen, with its scent of food and Pine-Sol. Toys were scattered on the ground, but I was feeling weird, and in no mood to play. I looked around and sawI was trapped in a giant crib, its jail-like bars encircling my bed. There was another little boy in a bed across the room near the window. He kept talking and talking and talking. I wanted him to stop, but he wouldn’t. Finally, I couldn’t stand it.
    “Hey,” I said.
    He just kept right on chattering away. I looked around. Trish was very strict, not only about the music we listened to, but also how we behaved. I wasn’t allowed to swear at all, and even “shut up” was considered a cuss. I didn’t see anyone.
    “Hey … shut up,” I said.
    For a moment, I experienced the rush of having broken the rules. It felt good to be bad, even if it was only for a second.
    “Who are you talking to?” Big Terry’s voice grumbled down from above me.
    I was lucky that I was already stretched out, because I had a baby heart attack. I knew I shouldn’t have said it. I was generally a good kid who didn’t break the rules, and not only because I didn’t want to get caught. I really wanted to be good. Here it was, the one time I’d dared to disobey, and now I was going to get it.
    I can’t get away with anything
, I thought.
    But Big Terry started to laugh. I don’t know if it was because Trish wasn’t around, or because he felt bad I was in pain. He was much more patient with me while I was in the hospital. Up until then, the entire experience had been overwhelming and scary, but now I saw that maybe it had an upside, too. Not to mention that I got to roll Big Wheels in the halls during the week I recovered.
    AS FRIGHTENING AS MY SURGERY HAD BEEN, IT DIDN’T lessen my attempts to prove how strong I could be. Oneof