Seasons Beatings - or, The Night My Older Siblings Got Drunk At Christmas

Today I am reminded of my father and a Christmas story of years and years ago.

My father was not always a patient or tolerant man. On Christmas, though, he would strive to be extra patient with us. The standard rule of Christmas was that we were not allowed to come downstairs, nor to open any gifts, until our Dad was out of bed for the day. Mind you, it was not a tortuous thing – my dad was naturally an early riser and would typically be up by 6:30 on Christmas, which was actually sleeping in for him.

On this particular Christmas, most of my siblings – and in applicable cases, spouses – were at home for the Holiday, and sleeping at out house. Mind you, I say “sleeping” with tongue firmly in cheek, which is why this particular story exists in our family’s repertoire.

So one of the older kids decided it would be a good idea to go out and imbibe some “Christmas cheer.” The problem was that they rolled back to the house, full of said “Christmas cheer,” around 3:00 AM. And of course, being rather giggly and clumsy, they woke my father up and he was forced to arise, like a bear from a cave disturbed during hibernation, to enact retribution and to generally kill the buzz, as it were.

Sleep was elusive for the younger children anyway since it was Christmas morning; we were already sleeping lightly, on pins and needles, waiting eagerly to see what was under the tree. Once we heard our dad’s voice, booming even when he whispered, we were awake and out of bed like soldiers hearing Reveille and ready for action. This would be the downside of the standard rule, of course, and an unexpected twist for my dad: the rule is the rule, and the fact that he was not wakened naturally didn’t matter to us. The rule said once he was up we could attack the tree. And by golly he was up. And not particularly thrilled by it, either.

Now, of course, the “Christmas cheer” would slowly degenerate into “Christmas hangover.” That was not important to my father. He had been woken up in the middle of the night, and his loss of sleep would be matched by those who had disturbed him – willing or not. My dad decreed that since he wasn’t able to sleep, no one else (specifically, the offenders) would be allowed to sleep either. This is where the story REALLY gets interesting.

One of the offenders, thinking that my dad was busy with preparations for Christmas dinner, decided to lay out in my dad’s LaZBoy recliner for a short Winter’s nap. This was not to be allowed; there was to be no unsanctioned sleeping! It was a foolish and ill-considered choice in hindsight. Because there was about to be trouble in Christmas town…

I can’t tell you how my dad knew. I won’t say that the offender wasn’t ratted out to him, as that was something we did to each other when there was amusement bound to ensue. He may have discovered the treachery on his own. It didn’t matter how he found out, the punishment was about to be dished.

Looking around the living room, my father searched for an appropriate means by which to deliver his commentary on his sleeping child’s unfortunate state of unconsciousness. He found his means close at hand. So, picking up a roll of wrapping paper and wielding it like a Samurai Warrior, my father approached his prey – and then, with great vigor and joy, my father delivered a beating that would be sung about for decades to come, proclaiming for all to hear once again that there would be no slumbering while he had to stay awake for the day. No one else attempted to sleep for the rest of the day.

And a Joyful Christmas was had by most…

The End

Genetics, Heredity and Defects...Oh, My!

In High School, I was in BSCS Honors Biology. One of my favorite units that we studied was Genetics. If only I had known then...

Genetics. It's a wondrous concept. Genetics is how we become who we are when our parents create us. Two people's disparate genes, all of which were contributed by two other people each, combine to create the wondrous individuals that we become. In my case, somewhere something went horribly, horribly wrong.

Because, you see...I was born with Tourette's Syndrome. Nobody knew what that was at the time; in fact, it would be 23 years before someone officially diagnosed me with the condition.

For anyone who is not familiar with this particular genetic disease, WebMD defines it as follows:

"Tourette's Syndrome is a hereditary neurological movement disorder that is characterized by repetitive motor and vocal tics. Symptoms may include involuntary movements of the extremities, shoulders, and face accompanied by uncontrollable sounds and, in some cases, inappropriate words. Tourette Syndrome is neither a progressive nor degenerative disorder; rather, symptoms tend to be variable and follow a chronic waxing and waning course throughout an otherwise normal life span. The specific symptoms associated with Tourette Syndrome often vary greatly from case to case. The exact cause of Tourette Syndrome is unknown."

For me, the most important two points in the above paragraph appear in the first and last sentences. The first is the fact that the disease is supposedly hereditary; the second is that the cause is unknown. When I was in my early 30's, I decided to do some hardcore research after a conversation with my father. I had already done some basic research, learning that the condition is passed down. I asked him if anyone in either family (his or my mom's) had ever shown any signs of anything like this. He informed me that I was the first. So when I dug deeper, I disovered a couple of interesting facts.

Smoking can be a contributing factor (then again, what does smoking not contribute to?). My dad smoked heavily.

My mother had an at-risk pregnancy with me. My parents were 41 when I was born; in that age this was almost unheard of. In fact I was really fortunate that my mother lived; she almost bled out and they almost lost her. Imagine living with that your entire life...

Anyway...

Here's the one that actually gives me a clue to why I am how I am: Parkinson's Disease is a neurological condition that directly relates to Tourette's Syndrome. Almost every uncle on my mother's side had Parkinson's disease, which means the gene for that obviously runs in my family.

There's a good chance that all of these factors combined and conspired to skew my genetics and create this defect. Lucky me.

So for anyone who was in school with me at any level, you may remember that I was saddled with a particularly nasty "nickname" all through school because of this disease. I put "nickname" in quotations because nicknames are supposed to be an affectionate way of addressing someone, such as "Honeybunch" or "Blue Eyes." The name that I was called (and I refuse to give it credence by putting it in here) was particularly hurtful and nasty, and caused two particular individuals greater pain than what it caused me when their bullying went a bit too far. I retaliated. With great enthusiasm and more than a little force. And those are the only two instances in my entire life where I was forced to use my fists rather than my words. But those are tales for another time.

My first symptoms appeared when I was about five years old, entering Kindergarten. My father, who was not necessarily a person who was tolerant of the idiosyncracies of others (to put a kindly spin on it) said that I was doing the things I was doing because I didn't like my Kindergarten teacher. I was the third child in my family to be in her class; she retired the following year, which was kiddingly attributed to my behavior for years after by my family. Which didn't add to my stress or anxiety over the whole thing at all... :(

The teasing became so bad in Second and Third Grade that I began not going to school. Pretty regularly. To the point where the School Counselor, my teacher and the Principal all had a meeting with my mom, and then with me, to find out what was going on. Unfortunately, not much changed after. And as I got older, it got much worse.

By the time Junior High School rolled around (Onward, Olson), kids had become even more cruel and mean, which tends to happen pretty much in general anyway. But if you've got a condition or something that sticks out and makes you different from everyone else - even more so than the norm - they can turn that up to a whole different level. At least in Junior High I was lucky enough to make some friends, something which had been lacking up until then. There was a group of about five of us, all misfits of one sort or another, and we accepted each other despite our standing out from the norm and being labeled as "nerds" or "geeks" or "different."

In High School, I was able to make a few more friends; at one point there were about ten of us or so that hung out together. And they were all great friends for the most part. To offset this, of course, the torment and teasing got much worse. At least for most of my Freshman year, when I was forced to defend myself (inadvertently beating the holy Hell out of someone in the process, for which I still carry some level of remorse to this day; this is one of the two instances mentioned above).

When I was 23, I was finally diagnosed with Tourette's Syndrome while I was in the US Air Force. A military doctor whom I was seeing for a completely different reason decided to send me to a Neurologist, at which point I finally had my answer. However, it didn't really provide any relief. Later in life, after spending a number of years being medicated (medication which I decided I didn't want to take anymore after my first marriage ended - I quit it cold turkey, just stopped taking it, which in retropect was probably not a very sound decision), I learned how to control the symptoms by force of will. Now when someone meets me for the first time they can't even see the symptoms for the most part, and when I tell people I have Tourette's they are really surprised. The only time my control falters is when I'm really tired or really angry.

The real problem in all of this is that the disease is hereditary. I didn't know this yet when my first son was conceived; of course, in my defense that was before I was diagnosed officially. And that doesn't explain my youngest son...but again, that's a story for another time.

   The other two parts of my own personal Three Amigos, my two buddies -
                                           my Pug Mooch and my son Jacob.

Next time...I start to talk about my family.

Not QUITE a Monkey's Uncle...

Hello, and welcome to my blog.

Why are you reading this blog?

Well, hopefully, to be entertained. I guess we'll see. :D

So I guess I'll start with a little bit about me for this first round.

I'm the youngest child in a fairly large family, raised in Woodstock, IL. If you ever want to see what my neighborhood looks like, watch the movie Groundhog Day with Bill Murray. Every time he looks out of the "bed and breakfast" (which was actually a home owned by a family named the Ratchfords when I was a kid, whose family was even bigger than ours) you can see my neighborhood, and more specifically my house. I own three separate copies of the movie - VHS, DVD and Blu-Ray - and it drives my wife a little nuts. Mostly because if I see it on the guide then I have to watch it. :D

I'm married for the second time - our 12 year anniversary is this Sunday, November 6. In those 12 years I've aged about 40, thanks to the three children who were raised in the house - one of whom is still being raised. More on this in a minute.

The URL for this blog - terrymcdannellmonkeypops - contains my Internet Nomme de Plume / Nomme du Guerre (depending on the day, I suppose), a name by which I've become known many places across the Web: Monkey Pops. This is due entirely to my youngest son. When my wife was expecting him, I would refer to him as my little monkey.

My wife would say, "Don't say that! He'll come out looking like a monkey!"

To which I would reply, "Of course he will - he'll look just like me!"

At that point in time I was looking for a new identity to use online. And that's how Monkey Pops was born.

To say my youngest son favors me would be a huge understatement - he's my little clone for the most part. We share in common many things, not the least of which is looks; he looks just like me, but fortunately he appears to have gotten his nose from his mother, avoiding my family nose (you'll understand once I've started posting images).

Unfortunately, he also inherited my genetic defect: Tourette's Syndrome. But since everything in life is a trade off, he received a blessing in exchange for the curse: a near genius level IQ (which is also my trade off).

One of my fondest memories of when he was very young was a conversation I had with him. I can't remember the details; all I know is that as he walked away, my wife laughed and asked me, "So how does it feel to have a conversation with yourself...?"

Pausing for thought for a brief moment, I replied, "Well, at least now I know why people look at me like that."

OK, I guess that's enough for the first post. Thanks for reading and I hope you'll be back for more.

(Here's a picture of my best bud, my youngest son Jacob with me - on the right - and Pro Wrestler and WWE Hall of Fame Hacksaw Jim Duggan, taken in August, 2011)