Anthony was a devout Catholic, very traditional and extremely conservative. He attended church regularly on the weekends and sent both of his children to private Catholic schools. Even though Albany, New York, would always vote for a Democrat as mayor, he was involved in politics and at one point was the chairperson of the city’s Republican Party. He did hold some different views than my mother. My mother loved watching Lifetime movies, usually featuring abused women who prevailed, and she often donated money to groups that worked to stop or prevent domestic violence. Anthony made fun of these movies, asking, “Why don’t the women just leave?” Anthony also believed that there was no such thing as mental illness and that it was only an excuse for not working or contributing to society. My mother always wanted to be a psychologist, but Anthony said that mental health practitioners were “crazier than the patients themselves.”
Even though Anthony and my mother were dating, they would rarely see each other. They would visit together only twice a week or so. My mother still had to attend to my grandmother’s needs, after all.
When I entered the sixth grade, I was able to develop a close group of friends. Prior to that, I had various friends in the neighborhood that I would see at birthday parties and other events. In my class that year was a new student named Eric. He lived only a few blocks away from me and was very funny and enjoyed entertaining others. Being a shy, quiet kid myself, we were opposites, but Eric helped me overcome my shyness.
Eric came up to me the second day of school with the “Luke, I am your father” line. He would also ask me, “So, how many times can one go into zero?” When I told him that mathematically that wasn’t possible, he would make a hole with his fingers, shove another finger through it, and say, “One can go into zero as many times as it wants.” He’d go up to our other classmates and say, “I’m really upset because my Chia Pet died.”
When I was growing up, my mother forbade me from playing sports or throwing anything in the house. When she told Eric and some of my other friends, “No balls in the house,” Eric told me, “Guys, that means that we have to leave.” I even remember Eric licking dimes and nickels that he had found to get a laugh from his friends.
Eric also got along with my grandmother. He found her quirkiness entertaining, and he never asked why she walked around the house in a bathrobe all the time. One time when Eric was over for dinner, my grandmother just shouted out in the middle of the meal, “I think a penis is the ugliest thing I have ever seen.”
In sixth grade, Eric and I teamed up with another friend for the school talent show. We pretended to be little people and danced to “Funkytown.” We originally wanted to dance to “YMCA,” but the director wouldn’t allow it. Soon Eric and I and some other friends were hanging out on an everyday basis. We would usually go to the corner store and buy candy, or go to the mall and walk around or play arcade games. Once we went to the pay phones and called and talked to one another just to get a reaction from the other mall-goers. Eric rarely censored himself and would often make comments that upset others. One time, when he saw a student in our class adjust his pants, Eric told him that toilet paper must have been on strike.
In April 1995, when my mother and I were at Anthony’s house watching Little Giants, to my surprise, Anthony proposed and my mother accepted. The wedding was scheduled for August. In July, my mother and I moved from the suburbs to the city of Albany into Anthony’s house, where Julie and Paul lived. We would only live there for six weeks before we moved back into my grandmother’s house.
That summer, my mother made arrangements for me to go to Holy Cross, the Catholic school that Julie and Paul attended. Julie and I grew close, and I didn’t mind moving in with her family. Every morning we would watch American Gladiators on television, and we would often walk to the movie theater a few streets away. The only thing blocking Anthony and my mother’s marriage was Anthony’s son, Paul. At fifteen years old, Paul was very quiet and arrogant. He had few friends and spent most of his time in his bedroom. With his father’s help, Paul bought and read The Anarchist’s Cookbook. He would tell me that he was planning to make a bomb from his chemistry set—a bomb that could destroy his living room. The first conflict that arose with Paul was actually the night that Anthony proposed. After my mother said yes, Paul cornered her in the kitchen and said, “Don’t think that this changes anything. This is my house.” The first time that my mother made dinner after we moved in, Paul took a bite of his food and then ran to the garbage and spit it out. Anthony let this happen.
Besides having limited social skills, Paul was very mean. He would make fun of the way I chewed my food. When Anthony complimented my mother on her beauty, Paul would remark, “Oh yeah, she’s pretty,” in a very sarcastic tone. So, six weeks later, my mother and I moved out, mainly because of Paul. Anthony had waited until he was thirty-nine to become a father. He always did what his children wanted, and since Paul didn’t like living with my mother and me, Anthony
