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The Life and Times of a Nerd
I was born on May 13, 1986 in Houston, Texas, at Memorial City Hospital. I am the second of two children in a fully functioning dysfunctional family. From the day I was born, I knew I would have problems. My mother loves to remind me that one, my heart stopped while I was in the womb and was a premature birth, and two, that the doctor thought that I was one of two twins. However, he was wrong. I did however get to stay at the hospital for a few extra days with some skin condition. I’ve never really understood it, all I know is my mom wasn’t glad I had it.
I would consider most of my childhood to be pretty ideal. We, being my parents, sister Brooke and myself, have moved a few times, but never all over creation or anything. I was too young to really remember either time we moved, but I’ve been told countless times, and have gone to see the house we used to live in. I don’t hold much of a connection to the place, it just looks like another old run down house to me. But, I digress, and reiterate that I had a very good childhood.
My sister and I have always been close, as far back as I can remember. My first real memory, which she played a very big part in, is not all that positive. I remember it quite well actually, somewhat rare because I was four at the time. We were in the backyard of our home, which we still inhabit, and we out playing on our swing-set. It was this hideous blue monstrosity, with two regular swings then this sort of four seat swing that, in retrospect, was a terrifying idea. But Brooke was playing on the four seat swing, which we often did, and I wanted on.
“Let me!” I pleaded to her.
“No, I’m on it, you can get on it later,” she shot back.
“Let me!” I said again.
“Shut up, and get on it later!” she said back.
Well, not understanding the laws of physics, I decided to try and stop it myself. What resulted was the first time I was hit in the head. I don’t know how far I was thrown back, all I do know was that the next thing I knew I was lying on a table in a children’s hospital of some sort with stitches being put into my head. The most vivid sensation was the anesthetic they put on my head, it felt like jello as it was massaged in. I managed to later hit my head on a slide at McDonald’s, but I don’t remember that wonderful moment at all.
With that behind me, I would say that much of my early years went off without a hitch. I went to school just fine, nothing ever truly remarkable ever really happened. I made honor roll throughout elementary school at Spring Shadows Elementary, a place which I still have a very strong connection to these days. I still run into and speak with teachers I had there, and it makes me appreciate going there all the more. I even volunteered in the library there two years ago. My job consisted mainly of destroying books that were going to the literary graveyard, but I got some kicks out of it, mainly because I saw books that I know for a fact I read as a child.
After Spring Shadows I started going to Spring Woods Middle School, or as I like to call it, “three years of torture.” The school was mostly awful, with these terrible rooms and hallways that consisted of grey walls. There were a few standout teachers here and there, but for the most part I still hold my middle school years with a bit of disdain. I really didn’t know who I was or where I was going, and I guess it really showed. I dealt with a fair share of teasing, but I got over it. When you’ve heard the line, “Hey Trey! Getting a TRAY lunch today?” as much as I have, you start to stop listening when people make fun of you.
My eighth grade year however, holds one of my favorite memories. It’s not really a positive memory by any means, but it is something that certainly sticks out in my mind. It was a Sunday afternoon, and I had a fair bit of math and English homework to do for school the next day. Rather than actually do it, I sat in my room playing WCW vs. NWO, a wrestling video game, for my Nintendo 64. My mother would periodically walk by and chime in, “Clean your room!”
My room is still a bit of cave, littered with loose papers and clothes that have yet to find their homes in the closet or dresser. This day, however, it was exceptionally bad. And I really didn’t feel that I needed to clean it up.
“Clean your room. I’m not going to ask again,” mom said. I just kind of glanced at her, then went back to my very important activities. She didn’t say anything for a minute, and just stared at me before she left and went back to her own devices. I suddenly felt thirsty, and decided to get a drink. That decision would come to haunt me for the coming week.
“When you go back in there, clean your room,” she said sternly as I walked by. I decided to be smart with her. Bad move.
“No,” I said back, plainly.
“What? If you don’t, I will give you a reason to,” she responded.
“There is nothing you can say or do, that will make me clean my room,” I slyly said. That was a bad idea.
Mom didn’t say anything back. She simply stood up, walked into my room, and almost effortlessly picked up my twenty inch television and preceded to throw it onto our guest room bed. The will was broken. Mother had won. Let’s just say that I spent the next two weeks without so much as a CD in my room. My lesson was, most assuredly, learned. Mother is not to be trifled with.