1988-1993

The first chapter of my memoirs

CHAPTER 1

I came into the world on November 1^st, 1988 on a stormy evening in Portland, Maine. My parents, Peter and Piper were in the United States Coast Guard. They were stationed at Portsmouth Harbor in New Hampshire. My father had been in the coast guard for thirteen years at that point. My mother had enlisted in 1986 after she dropped out of high school her junior year. He came from a well established and known family through his mother; my grandmother Regina. My mother did as well; the well known and respected Blodgett family. Her exit from school didn't sit well with my grandfather in Saint Louis. To counter this, she enlisted. They were married on January 10^th of 1988 in the family home in Saint Louis, Missouri. By early April, my mother had found out she was pregnant. That is how I came into the world.

My first weeks were hectic. My grandmother had come up from Nantucket to visit my parents in their South Berwick home. She gave them a crash course in parenting. My father, whom had never really had to deal with babies and/or small children found himself a swift learner. My mother was new to everything. She too, was beginning the greatest adventure of a lifetime. It was decided at this point that I was to be raised on Nantucket, close to my grandmother. On November 14^th, 1988 we packed our things and we moved to Nantucket. Mom and I went first. It rained the day we arrived. My father came two days later. We stayed in that cramped front room upstairs in the house known as Chicken Hill. By December, my father had left the coast guard and he found new found free time. My parents started looking for apartments to house their growing family.

Chicken Hill was built in 1834. The house was your typical New England colonial. The front room downstairs was where Christmas was celebrated. The fireplace in the rear wall hadn't been used in years. The damper was broken. The front room was connected to the rest of the house by a long hallway. On the left hand side of it, the stairs to the second floor were located. The hall had an old bureau in it. Above this bureau was a large mirror. I can still remember staring into it as a child. Through the door was the very impressive dining room. The chandelier that hung above the table is gone now, but it was always on. A large hutch was on the wall towards the front door. It contained many unique pieces of glassware, such as a red glass set from 1904. The china was always stacked in its place, waiting for large get togethers.

The kitchen was the brain of the house. I can still remember how small it was. The tiny table large enough for four adults. The plates and cups were always in the cabinets closest to the door leading into the dining room. The coffee grinder always sat near the sink. The mornings were incomplete without hearing it running. My grandmother always brewed her coffee in a percolator. It was an older one, but it was electric. On the far end of the kitchen was the bathroom. The door stopper was a little Gloucester fisherman. You always had to put him in front of the door lest it blow shut on those breezy summer days.

My grandmother's second husband, Bill was always found on the sun porch. It was added to the house in the late 80's. This seemed to be before the days when you had to have a permit for everything. He always played opera records on the old tape machine. I would sit out there sometimes, listening along with him. I had no idea what they were saying, but it sounded so beautiful. Perhaps my best memories from that sun porch were of playing with a goose that hung down from the ceiling. It had a string that made the goose flap its wings when you pulled on it. The sun porch is often where I did most of my playing when I was little.

We found an apartment on Old South Road in the middle of the island. It was above a now defunct plumbing supply store; R.B. Corcoran. My father began working there in 1989. Our apartment was quite large. It was above the store. I can remember hearing the low murmur of the customers voices every day whenever I was in my room. My window looked out over the back of the building, above a skylight in the roof of the store. Our kitchen was modest, just the right size. My parents seemed to be getting along, and quite nicely. Mom would always be taking care of me while my father worked downstairs. It really was quite a nice setup. My grandmother came by to check on us, or maybe it was me.

Our dog was named Oreo. She was a black lab and cocker spaniel mix. She was a little dog. They had gotten her up in New Hampshire. She seemed to get along with our two cats; Muggins and Jasper. Muggins was your average run-of-the-mill cat who had a tortoiseshell coat. Jasper was a calico. She was mainly white, but she had black splotches on her face and ears. There was a large black circle on her side. I always seem to remember pressing on it like it was a button. She hated this, but she dealt with it. Muggins didn't last too long with us however. She died in April of 1989. She was sick. Jasper was to last the longest. Oreo and Jasper hung on together without their friend until the end.

I was christened in March of 1989 at Our Lady of the Isle on Federal Street in downtown Nantucket. David and Ellen Rocowicz were my godparents. The day of my christening it snowed. My mother had had enough of the snow by late February of that year. One time, we ended up driving through people's front yards. That's what it was like living on that island that is so far away from everything. The island seemed to be accepting of us, especially my father. They had grown up with him. They all knew my grandmother. Most of them went to school with her, and even had her father as their superintendent from 1925 to 1937. All of the island showed up for his funeral in 1982. My grandmother always said that Grandpa Joe as he was known by my father would've loved me.

My mother became pregnant in May 1990. To her, this meant that her family would grow by leaps and bounds. She had hoped that this baby would mean the end of Old South Road and into an affordable rental home. I always remember her telling me that I was going to have a brother, but later on I remember her saying it was going to be a girl. My father hoped that it would be another son. I've always felt that way, maybe he didn't know how to handle a girl. My father and I would often go on rides around the island. I remember hearing the Heart song “All I want to do is make love to you” on the radio. My father loved Heart with a passion.

Christmas of 1990 was perhaps one of my favorites. We went to Edaville Railroad a week before Christmas. The goats jumped on my mother and tried eating her purse. I remember laughing at my mother's face as she hit the goat on the side of the head with the purse. After we left Edaville, we went to Wakefield, a town on Route 128 north of Boston. My grandfather, Walter lived there with his wife Ellie. My grandparents divorced in 1970. After the divorce, my father and my grandfather hardly spoke to one another. Perhaps my birth softened the “cold war” that was raging between the two. My mother began to complain that this latest pregnancy didn't quite feel like one at this point. She didn't know what that meant, no one did.

The day after Valentine's Day, 1991 my sister Josephine Burgess Creedon was born. She was a day late. This began the period when I spent a lot of time at my grandmother's. When I was at home, my parents began to argue. My father became distant towards my mother. I didn't know what was happening of course, but I would find out many, many years later. At about this same time, a remarkable thing was happening to me. My grandmother noticed that my words were becoming mixed up, and eventually they would just become coos, as a baby would make. My mother didn't know what to make of it. My sister would never leave the hospital of course. She was much too sick to do so.

That didn't mean I couldn't see her though. Mom brought me to see her every day. She was small. Smaller than a baby is supposed to be. She had six fingers and six toes on both limbs. She had a raucous cry that seemed to hurt my ears every time she was held. The nurses fed her with an eye dropper. She had cataracts in her eyes. She was practically blind. Still, my mother held her. How sad she looked. When we would leave, she seemed to hold it together, but she would cry later. This was the beginning of the end. My father always wanted to be alone at this point. He would go fishing, or just drive around. He also began to drink more beer at this point.

On April 27^th, 1991 Josephine went home. My mother and I went to see the daffodil parade in town. The island just go nuts for daffodils. My grandmother was the proof. She had so many, she would give bulbs to her friends. The antique cars were decorated with bright yellow ribbons and flowers. Ray Owen, the local farmer would bring his new lambs to the parade for display. We went home after the festivities. The phone rang. My mother hung up the phone and let out the longest cry she could. My father was on his lunch break. She told him the news. It was the only time I've ever seen him cry. My things were loaded up and I was brought to my grandmother's. My mother's mother was in town from Saint Louis. I was convinced, as some small children are that she was my mother.

The conference that they held around the dining room table at my grandmother's house was something my father wouldn't forget. They discussed her funeral arrangements. My mother couldn't stop crying. My father looked shocked, as though he couldn't understand what had just happened. There was an argument after that. He wanted to let it go. She wanted to hold it in. On the first of May, she was buried in Prospect Hill Cemetery; next to Grandpa Joe and Grandma Doris. After the services, we all went over to my godparents house in Miacomet. It was warm that day and it rained during the afternoon. My parents avoided each other the whole afternoon.

That August, Nantucket had quite an angry visitor. He was a wayward traveler from the Bahamas looking for cooler air. His name was Bob. The morning of Bob's visit the air hung low. Louie, our whirligig that looked like a cardinal barely moved his wings. There was rain, but it came in spurts. For days beforehand, my father and I would watch the Weather Channel, tracking Bob's movements. The day grew worse. Mom just stayed in bed. This infuriated my father. He never did hit her; he was always the bigger man. By 11:30 the wind was bad. My father decided to drive over to my grandmother's house. He took me along. The wind blew his little gray GMC Truck all over the road. When we arrived at her house, I looked up and saw the fuzzy sun, diffused by the high thin clouds that marked the central dense overcast of the hurricane.

We went home. My mother decided that I needed a nap. The power went out. Then I heard a loud explosion. Across the road, the transformer blew. The fire rained down on the road and into the state forest. A convenient rain shower put the fires out. So, for the worst of Hurricane Bob I slept in my crib. My mother has told me in recent years that I had a habit of “swimming” in my bed. She would put me down at one end, then I'd half crawl and half drag myself up to my pillow. Even when things were going bad, I'd still put a smile on her face. After the hurricane, my father and I went out again to look at the damage. The lights were coming on, casting their purple glow that would turn into orange. I stared at the lights. I tried saying purple, but failed.

Every night before I'd go to bed, I'd have to see the “Purple Light.” It was a metal halite bulb on the main building of Valero Nursery. I couldn't just see it, we had to take a ride to see it. We would leave the parking lot and turn right down Old South Road. We went around the rotary and headed up Orange Street. After Orange Street became one way, we'd turn onto Union Street, where the ride entered town. We clambered over the Belgian building blocks that made up the pavement of Candle and Easy Streets. To our right, in all of its glory at night was Steamboat Wharf. It was lit up at night as though it was an airport. The Low Pressure sodium bulbs and metal halite bulbs would all be shining. It really was something else to see. We'd then swing 'round the wharf then up Broad Street, past the “strip” then off towards Brant Point, or the area I called “Mowgli's House” (It's actually John Kerry's house now.) I had to also watch The Jungle Book every day at this point.

The rest of the trip took us back through town, but we made a right up Main Street to Orange Street, where we hung a left. We headed back to the rotary and then towards Fairgrounds Road. Fairgrounds Road takes one past The Pines Restaurant, which in recent years is no more. It's now called The Faregrounds. Past the restaurant, we made a left onto Rugged Road. This road takes a person behind the Ray property and through the Pinelands and past Camp Richard, the Boy Scout camp. Rugged Road comes to an end at Lover's Lane. If you go left, you wound up right in front of the purple light itself. I saw it. At that point, I could go to sleep.

Days with mom were fun. We would go on errands, and she would show me off to her friends about town. Marine Home Center was always the favorite destination, especially their flower department. All of the stores there are connected. It was in a sense Nantucket's own version of Walmart. One day in September, 1991 we were in there and I heard a song that made me stop everything; it was Gloria Estefan's “Live for Loving You.” Mom had me in the stroller and I was just rocking back and forth and doing my “happy hands” as my mother called them. Our other errands involved going to the fabric store. While there I would root through the pattern book. I would look at the little circles on the back of the pattern packets. They were all colors, but the black ones were the most elusive. Since my words were still mixed up, I'd say “parents” instead of patterns. So, when Cheryl, the owner of the fabric store above the Hub asked me what I was looking for, I'd say “Looking for black parents.” I'd say that I learned my colors in that fabric store alone.

Two days before Halloween of 1991, another great storm arose. The name of it now is “The Perfect Storm,” but to the locals it will always be known as the “No Name Storm.” The most crucial part of the purple light route was closed. Six feet of water was in the parking lot of the A&P. Most of downtown was flooded. We went out to look at all the damage during the storm. It was what most islanders were doing. Halloween itself was raw and wet. I was an ear of corn that year. I was always known for eccentric Halloween costumes. Many people in the neighborhood of my godparents lived near Bartlett Farm. They saw the ear of corn as “The pride of Nantucket Corn.” To this day, many people consider Nantucket corn the best in the world. I agree with them. I nearly got blown away that night by the high winds and spattering rains. One house we went to was where this old lady lived. She passed out a bag of mixed candy and Wrigley's spearmint gum. On the way home (we incorporated the purple light route into the evening's festivities.) We stopped for beer at Old South Liquors, across the street.

I was very much into flags at this point. My birthday cake on November 1^st, 1991 was a flag cake. My mother made it herself. It was the American flag, and had all 50 stars and thirteen stripes. I could point out which flag was which. I even knew what flags belonged to the new countries of the Commonwealth of Independent States; those countries that were once part of the former Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. My grandmother fostered my obsession with flags. She would sit with me and we would open the World Almanac to look at the flag section. Namibia still did not have an official flag because of internal problems. My knowledge of flags impressed everybody that came into contact with me, a then three year old.

Christmas, 1991 marked the first Christmas in which I could barely walk. It wasn't until the middle of 1992 in which I could fully walk. I got a Breo wooden train that year. It was the standard figure eight configuration, plus there was a car ferry. This was also the same Christmas that I saw Santa Claus face to face. I had wandered out of my bed, and on my shaky feet I managed to go down the hall, past the laundry machines, where I saw him in front of the tree. I stood there open mouthed. I sat down and went into a crawl. He quietly came over and told me “Merry Christmas, Peter. You can go back to bed, it's okay.” To this day, I consider it one of the most awe inspiring things I've ever encountered. Mom made a turkey dinner for Christmas, like every year.

Christmas Eve was when we'd go over to my grandmother's. In 1991 I received a play kitchen and a shopping cart with toy food. I also received a thing that I called the “Bumble” which was a dome shaped Fisher Price toy that had a button on the top that you pressed and “bees” would fly around in the middle as if they were buzzing about. I remember watching a home video Christmas morning. I also had no idea that I was being taped. My mother seemed to be a trooper through it all. Christmas afternoon, my dad and I went out for a ride. It started to rain as we drove through town.

1992 began on a sunny note. I sat at the table in my high chair on New Year's morning blowing a noisemaker. I remember my mother coming into the kitchen. She must have been hung over, for she groaned when she saw the sunlight. She took the noisemaker from my hand and put it at the other end of the table so she could feed me. She put the bowl of cereal in front of me. I always ate with my hands. I hated the feeling of the silverware in my hand. She would always get mad when I ate with my hands. My sippy cup was one of those double handle deals. I was clumsy and was prone to dropping it. She would get mad when I dropped it. I watched Sesame Street afterwards, then I'd take a nap. I was still on the two nap schedule.

By spring of 1992, my parents barely talked to each other. When they did, it dissolved into an argument. He would then leave and go to my grandmother's. Mom was beginning to unravel. She didn't like how he always had to be alone and aloof. Around this time, I was put into the Bridge Program at the Nantucket Elementary School. Years later, I found out it was a special education program. I remember a girl in there named Rachel who seemed to be in love with me. There was another girl in there named Sophia. Both of them seemed to like me. The teachers would talk to my mother sometimes. I didn't know what they would say.

After the Bridge Program ended, I went to Wee Whalers, a daycare on Newtown Road. I enjoyed the play there, and the tricycles. We played outside in the morning, then came morning meeting on the risers in the main room. Afterwards, we would play in the main room. Lunch was at noon, followed by going outside. We would be read to, then it was nap time. My mother wanted me to have the afternoon nap. After napping, we'd go back outside to play. Late in the day, a movie was shown. I would always hate it when my mother would pick me up early. Wee Whalers was fun, and I made many friends there.

In December, 1992 there was a great nor'easter that ate at Codfish Park. Three homes were swept into the sea. I watched them slip away. My mother was disgusted that my father did that. She would never understand why he did the things he did. That month was relatively warm. Christmas was warm again and it rained on Christmas Day. New Years was dull. I had a meltdown when the tree was taken down and thrown out. This was around the same time that I began to line things up and “organize” my toys. My mother would watch this with great interest. I don't think my father noticed.

I had also seen the Disney movie Aladdin in the Burlington Mall. We had gone up to Wakefield again. I remember coming downstairs from the room I was sleeping in. The full moon was shining through the windows. My parents were out on the porch talking with my grandfather and Ellie. My mother joined me in bed moments later. My father talked low to my grandfather. We didn't spend Christmas up there, we went back to the island a few days prior. This was the Christmas that things began to fall apart. Perhaps all too swiftly.

1993 was brought in on a sour note. My mother got drunk and was too hungover to take care of me. My dad did, he cursed out my mother the whole time. I could see the hurt in his eyes when he did this. His dream of the happy family was disintegrating and he didn't like it. By spring, they were barely on speaking terms. Both of them thought I was oblivious, but they were wrong. I spent more and more time at Grandma's house. One night in April I had a meltdown over my parents.