WHAT HAPPENED TO YESTERDAY?

CHAPTER ONE  

I was born in Cook County Hospital near Chicago in August of 1955. My mother was unmarried and placed me in a foundling home. Many months later a young couple, Bill and Barbie, adopted me. Three years later they adopted my sister, Beth, from the same place. 

Barbie was a popular hairdresser. She was outgoing, pretty and fashionable whereas Bill, a college-educated insurance employee, led a very "plain" life, she often said. But in 1959 Bill was promoted and transferred to LA, which was his worst nightmare. Performing his current job required all of him; not to mention Barbie. Now he was driving across the country alone, starting a new position and buying a house while Barbie packed in Chicago. And though his siblings moved to California as well, they settled far south of Alhambra, beyond the orange groves. 

Bill felt alone and powerless. Everything was just beyond his control. To calm himself, he drank scotch after dinner and then, when Barbie arrived, before dinner too.

Barbie loved California. She took no time in meeting the neighbors, finding a Methodist Church and making an appointment with a family physician. She also planned Saturday trips which made her husband crazy. In Chicago, people take trains. To go places in LA everyone raced on frightening freeways. Each day Bill drove downtown during the rush hour and coming home was no better. It was just too much for him. He never left the right lane and rarely exceeded 50 miles per hour. Many drivers cursed him as they passed.

I first heard the story of my adoption while driving to Disneyland. That summer was quite hot, and our car did not have air conditioning, but Barbie insisted the windows remain up to preserve her hair; styled with massive amounts of hairspray and, they were both heavy smokers. Bill liked his Chesterfields and Barbie loved Salem filter tips. The containment with heat and smoke was unbearable, so I cracked my window a sliver, then placed my lips on the opening and took deep breaths. The air whistled, exposing my crime, but Barbie did not scream. Rather, she rubbed her cigarette into the dashboard ashtray and turned to face me.

"Billy!" she said. "Listen closely. I have something to tell you." 

Bill jerked the car, as if swatting a fly. His Chesterfield fell onto his lap and he began slapping at it.

"Damn you! I told you last night we’re not telling him!" 

Barbie leveled her sunglasses, "You know I don't give a damn about what you tell me, so keep your eyes on the road and don't kill us." She returned her attention to me, "Are you listening?" 

"Yes, Mommy." 

"Mommy and Daddy love you very much, but you are not our son. Do you understand? You are not our son." 

What does a person know about themselves at five years-old? I loved trains and music. I loved building with Tinker Toys and my Lincoln Logs and, I loved watching Captain Kangaroo on TV. An emotional reaction was certainly called for, but my response was not alarm. Somehow, this made sense to me. 

"What happened to my Mommy and Daddy?" I asked. 

Bill chimed-in, "Now what?" 

"Well," Barbie began, "They were in a terrible car accident and died. You were put in the foundling home and later we came to take you with us...to be with us, like you are now." 

"Why wasn't I killed?" 

She hesitated, then grabbed her purse and started digging through it. 

"Because...you weren't with them. You were somewhere else." 

Barbie found her Salem's and pulled one from the pack. She depressed the dash lighter, tapping her finger on the stem while staring at me, then quickly said, "We went to the foundling home because we couldn’t have a little boy of our own. So there." 

"Why not?" I asked.

Bill smiled, "I warned you." 

Barbie lit her Salem with a deep drag. She held the smoke then blew it at Bill's face, clouding him for a moment as she thought.

"Because…God wanted us to have you instead. We went to a big room filled with baby boys and both of us pointed to you. Now, that is enough explaining. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, Mommy, I understand." 

Eventually we pulled-off the freeway. Traffic signs pointed to the Disneyland entrance where thousands of cars were converging, each determined to pass the next. Bill rolled-down his window and began cursing loudly. Then he pumped the horn. My sister Beth had been sleeping next to me the whole time. The horn woke her. 

"Bethie," I said, "We're here! Oh, and I'm not your brother." 

Then came Disneyland.

If you never visited the magic kingdom as a child, my only comparisons are great LSD or a deep, psychotic state. It was a spectacular world of robot animals and people set in the past, present and future. The indoor rides swiftly carried you in little cars that tipped and dipped through magical settings with sound effects, spinning lights, flying objects and hissing steam. There was a cool submarine and a pirate ship, toboggans, motorcars and the famous Monorail. I flew on Dumbo and huge, cartoon characters roamed the park with hugs if you had the courage. I may have been in a trance during it all. 

When it was time to leave I begged Bill to stay, but we left as we arrived; with the windows tightly sealed, cigarettes lit and cars passing us. I squirmed and struggled the entire way home and put myself to bed after dinner. My lava lamp was on and I was staring at the ceiling when Barbie entered and sat on the bed. She could see that I was trembling with sweat popping from each pore. It was my first anxiety attack.

“Are you alright? You didn’t eat much.”

“Mommy, if my parents are dead, why can’t I live in Disneyland?"

She placed her palm on my forehead, “Nobody lives in Disneyland.” 

“But if my parents are dead, then who am I?”

Barbie got angry. She shook my shoulders and screamed, “You’re my son! And if that’s not good enough for you, blame God!”

Then she hurried away.

Later that night Bill and Barbie fought in their bedroom. They argued with the door closed, but the room was next to mine. I always heard every word.

“Are you happy now?” Bill asked sarcastically. "That boy will never look at me the same.”

Barbie took a Salem from her pack, “What do you care? You barely speak to, that boy.”

Bill gulped some scotch, “Somehow, you have to fix this.”

Barbie laughed, "Fix what? Fix you? There is no fixing you! That's your son!"

Bill was drunk. He pointed his glass at my bedroom and defiantly stated, "He will never be my son!" 

Barbie lit her cigarette. In an even tone she said, "It's been five years, Bill. You can’t return him now because you're unhappy."

Unnoticed, I slipped outside. It was a starry night. My Sunday School teacher said that God lived at the end of the sky in Heaven. I laid on the grass and looked for the farthest point. 

"God,” I began, “I want You to be my father…just You, forever and ever.”

And that was the beginning of my relationship with Jehovah.

CHAPTER TWO

Our next car adventure was a trip to the beach. Barbie wanted to see the Pacific Ocean, so, she took the AAA map of California from the Dodge and called the local office for help. A week later, she brought her request to Bill at the dinner table.

“I’d like us to go to the beach next Saturday…and, I’ve done my work on this, Bill, so please; just listen for a moment.”

“Go on,” he said.

“I talked to a nice woman at the triple A. Since you drive the Interstate 10 freeway to work, she suggested that we go to Santa Monica. We just stay on the 10 until it ends and, get this, there’s a pier where people fish.” 

Bill was an eager fisherman. He was excited to go but getting there involved the usual freeway mania fraught with argument…still, we made it and I was blown-away. Being at the beach was wildly exciting. Kids of all ages were playing on the sand and in the shimmering water; it was windy and the air tasted salty; waves were crashing just yards from us and everything was bathed in bright sunlight. I loved it all (and still do). 

As soon as we settled on our towels, Bill took-off with his rod and tackle box. Barbie gave Bethie a pail and shovel, then she began introducing herself to the people around us. I was very tall and hated attention, but every time Barbie met people; she would focus on me and say, "This is Billy!” He’s my big boy!" I wanted to melt and asked her many times to stop doing this, but she loved to embarrass me and I was powerless to stop her.

After that, I watched the water and thought about God; how He made the ocean. I wasn’t afraid. I wanted to feel the waves, but it was too crowded; other kids would be watching me, so I walked down the beach to a vacant area. Getting up to my waist wasn’t scary…the water was cold, and the sand was soft, except for broken seashells that poked my feet. Suddenly, I took a wave to the chest! It smashed me back! But I was still standing! Now I wrestled these waves as they hit me, over and over, until I decided to go out deeper, but I knew nothing of under tow or how waves gather. The next big one caught me by surprise. It rapidly sucked me into its curl, then smashed me face-first on the ocean floor. I was thrashing, scrambling; anything to get above water, but pounding turbulence kept me under until my breath expired. Salt water was entering my mouth when someone strong grabbed my right arm and pulled me up to the beach. It took several seconds of coughing before I could focus. When I looked to see who had saved me, no one was nearby...or, in the water. The area was still vacant...and I was alone. 

Running back, I expected to get in trouble, but I didn’t care. I was too excited to tell Barbie about what had happened. She was reading a Harold Robbins paperback when I landed on my towel.

“Mommy! Mommy! I was drowning and God saved me!”

She lowered her book, “What did you say?”

“I was drowning…I  couldn't breathe…then, God pulled me out of the water!”

Barbie wasn’t interested. She just shook her head and said, “God doesn’t play in the ocean, Billy.” 

No matter. I knew what had happened. Bethie was still digging with her shovel, uncovering mole crabs. We played together until Bill rejoined us, without any fish. He took a photo and we drove home.