As a young lad growing up in Flushing Meadows, New Jersey, I was sick a lot. It wasn't like I had something exotic or exciting like flesh-eating bacteria or Groats? Syndrome. I just seemed to get the stomach flu once or twice a month. My mother shuttled me all over the Garden State to see specialists, but all the white-coats were baffled. Except for the puking, I didn't really mind being ill. Elementary school was a bore, and my homeroom teacher had this horrible lazy eye that would creep me out and give me nightmares. So I relished staying home. I'd lounge on the couch, eat cinnamon toast (when I wasn't doubled-over with diarrhea), and watch my most favorite game show: Double Dare. I was captivated by all those healthy boys and girls wading through pools of baked beans and picking through giant noses filled with green frosted cream. No matter how crummy my tummy was feeling, I'd always perk up whenever my show came on Nickelodeon.
This routine went on for nearly 2 years, and I was adjusting to my infirmity nicely. That was before Child Protective Services came knocking on our apartment door. Apparently, my primary doctor had been keeping an eye on my case for some time, and he ran some secret blood tests that showed low levels of insecticide in my system. After a brief inquiry, the doctors discovered that my only sickness was Munchausen by proxy because my mom was poisoning me to get attention. She was shipped off to jail, and I got placed in a foster home with a couple of Mormons with bad methadone addictions. They were very distant, but they did have cable television. Double Dare became my only source of solace, and Marc Summers was like my surrogate father. I wouldn't have survived without him.
Those trying days are past me now. I grew up, became a carpenter, and live alone in a house that I'm building from scratch. So far, I've got the foundation all poured and the walls mostly framed, so there's still plenty of work to do before I can move in. The only project that I have finished is the backyard landscape, which is basically a replica of my favorite Double Dare obstacle courses. There's the Sundae Slide, Down the Hatch, and even the Human Hamster Wheel. But the piece de resistance is the giant foot with a built-in toe jam generator. Every morning before work, I make a run through the course to get my mind ready for the day. It's my Starbucks. Even when it's cold and the creamed corn is icy, I'll still slide around.
As a young lad growing up in Flushing Meadows, New Jersey, I was sick a lot. It wasn’t like I had something exotic or exciting like flesh-eating bacteria or Groats’ Syndrome. I just seemed to get the stomach flu once or twice a month. My mother shuttled me all over the Garden State to see specialists, but all the white-coats were baffled. Except for the puking, I didn’t really mind being ill. Elementary school was a bore, and my homeroom teacher had this horrible lazy eye that would creep me out and give me nightmares. So I relished staying home. I’d lounge on the couch, eat cinnamon toast (when I wasn’t doubled-over with diarrhea), and watch my most favorite game show: Double Dare. I was captivated by all those healthy boys and girls wading through pools of baked beans and picking through giant noses filled with green frosted cream. No matter how crummy my tummy was feeling, I’d always perk up whenever my show came on Nickelodeon.
This routine went on for nearly 2 years, and I was adjusting to my infirmity nicely. That was before Child Protective Services came knocking on our apartment door. Apparently, my primary doctor had been keeping an eye on my case for some time, and he ran some secret blood tests that showed low levels of insecticide in my system. After a brief inquiry, the doctors discovered that my only sickness was Munchausen by proxy because my mom was poisoning me to get attention. She was shipped off to jail, and I got placed in a foster home with a couple of Mormons with bad methadone addictions. They were very distant, but they did have cable television. Double Dare became my only source of solace, and Marc Summers was like my surrogate father. I wouldn’t have survived without him.
Those trying days are past me now. I grew up, became a carpenter, and live alone in a house that I’m building from scratch. So far, I’ve got the foundation all poured and the walls mostly framed, so there’s still plenty of work to do before I can move in. The only project that I have finished is the backyard landscape, which is basically a replica of my favorite Double Dare obstacle courses. There’s the Sundae Slide, Down the Hatch, and even the Human Hamster Wheel. But the piece de resistance is the giant foot with a built-in toe jam generator. Every morning before work, I make a run through the course to get my mind ready for the day. It’s my Starbucks. Even when it’s cold and the creamed corn is icy, I’ll still slide around.
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