Autobiography of DOOM! – Chapter 1
Archive - Andrew's JunkAuthor: Andrew Traweek
People often wonder what I was like as a kid. Hell, half the time, even I ponder that question. I look back on my life, and see myself as being three distinctly separate people, that share a common streak of varying levels of dementia.
So, to answer that very question (and hopefully find out what my purpose in life is) I will take a trip down memory lane, and hope I don’t break down somewhere along the way. Plus that, I plan on dying before I reach 25, so I need to tell my story so that it may be handed down for all time.
Chapter One: The Early Years
I was born in a weird way. I guess that was to mark the irony in my existence for all time. My mother suffered from ‘Placenta Previa’, a condition in which the child can bleed to death within a matter of seconds, with the mother following in mere minutes. I was taken via cesarean, which gave me my beautifully-round melon I have today. I don’t think I was ready to be squeezed out of a keyhole anyway. Sure, C-sections are common these days, but in 1980, they were only done in emergency situations. The very way I came into this world was unorthodox.
I was born with a small birthmark on my forehead, slightly between the eyes. An old-time nurse explained to my mom that it was an “angel’s kiss” that would bless me for the rest of my life. That it would grant me true love, happiness, blah freakin’ blah. Well, either this chick didn’t know her theology, or the Devil was filling in that day…
The first thing I can distinctly remember about my life was when I was about a year old. I remember being changed, and how it was my favorite thing to do in the whole world. Mom would lay me on my back, and I would instinctively shove my feet in my mouth. The funny thing is, I did this for one reason, and one reason only… to let out the beefiest ‘thunder’ a child that age had ever produced. Of course, I’d rattle off my patented demonic laugh, and run away stark-ass naked. My dad’s Marine buddies would cheer me on, and would chime in, “He’s the coolest kid! Let’s teach him to drink beer!”
I had my first drink of beer around that age thanks to those Marines. But back to my laugh. For some reason, I used to bathe with the blonde girl across the street. I can only deduce that my mom was babysitting her. At the time, I remember how cool it was to be with a naked chick. Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to express it, so I’d just try to drown her. Evil laugh included. I’m rather glad that I broke that habit.
A year down the road, I was still in love with poop-related hilarity. I had just started potty training, and wasn’t taking to it without a fight. I used to walk over to a corner in plain view, put my arms on the wall, and proceed to push doody. The Marines got a kick out of this, but the relatives were rather closed-minded. Especially after my cousin (who was potty trained and out of diapers) tried this himself. It still escapes me why the hell he proceeded playing with it afterward. I was chained to the toilet after that whole scandal…
Kindergarten rolls around. The days of finger-painting, taking naps, and drawing tanks killing Moamar Khadaffi on the walls. This was when my intelligence began to take notice with the school people. For Show and Tell, I dispensed with the typical ‘toy of the week’ crap, and went right to showing off my stuff. I read an entire Orange County Register article on the military campaign in Libya. No stumbling over words. The teacher simply looked on in awe.
That was also about the time the daredevil in me came out. I had my Huffy BMX, and I was determined to destroy it, or myself in search of the perfect adrenaline rush. We’d set up ramps and go jumping off at full-blast. One day, I attempted jumping over a 4-foot tall rose bush. That didn’t bode well, as you can imagine. I went to school the next day looking like a mummy, wrapped in surplus military gauze. I jumped off a small drop that someone had dug into the hillside… the forks fell off in mid-air, leaving me with an almost certain endo-of-doom. I built a 400-foot long Slip ‘n Slide down the hillside, complete with a jump. Broke my wrist there. Almost killed my best friend while playing with a crossbow. Fell out of my bedroom window into a rose bush. Tried to ride my bike down a slide in the park. Rammed my dad’s Jeep into the neighbor’s front porch. Fell out of a tree house while testing a new zip line we built. And that was all in one year!
It’s a miracle I made it out of childhood alive.
Flash ahead to the 4th grade. This is when the cruelty of youth really begins to kick in.