The Year of the Possum

The Year of the Possum

It was my first election. I had been prepped for it most of my life. I rarely lost. Anything. Items, yes, particularly keys (my mother had to put in combination locks on the house). But not contests. Not competitions. Races. My time in the 50 yard dash .. 6.5 seconds. Add to that success, the fastest time in obstacle courses, choreographer of disco contests, parts in plays, like my latest role of Hector the bloodhound, in the musical, “The missing part of speech”. The missing part of speech, by the way, was adjective brown racist, perhaps, but it was 1979, almost 1980, and I was the campaign manager for the Possum, a candidate for the Illinois State Animal.

There were several animals to choose from: the white tailed deer, fox squirrel, but I chose the possum… it had and has always been about the underdog. The oppressed. The stomped on. The ants. The first black kid at the school. Mr. Rogers. The one’s nobody wanted or liked. Always. Still. My motto for the campaign was, Vote for the Possum, keeping families together and warm, or something like that.

I knew who Lonnie Nasatir was, but I didn’t KNOW him until he had played baby bear in a play. Spunky. Short. Fearless. My young life was always full of love.. Steven Farber, we were married at 4, divorced at nine, Brian Lawrence, a new kid with kinky hair, and Bobby Kinsley, the beginning of my penchant for blonde boys who are out of my jew-frizzy-hair,strong-profile league, Matt Cohn, they called him Puke, and then there was Lonnie. This was different. I was nervous around him. sometimes I couldn’t get the words out. He bought me nailpolish and wrote me love notes. Sometimes after school we would listen to Styx’s Paradise Theatre and watch his mom teach jazzerize. If you liked someone, you rode down the twisty-slide together. And on an autumn day we did. Our arms around each other, we slid and twisted and rode the slide of 6th grade love. I remember thinking I hope this never ends..this feeling inside. warm. like the possum...it felt like life inside,

Some time between the twisty slide and roller skating day Lonnie and I were at a pool party. Laughing. dunking and then a look. My heart burned... raced. Maybe it was 60 seconds. maybe I had made it up. Maybe this was the beginning of a body no longer mine, a body which would take years to shape and shift until it settled into comfort and ease. Soon.. body pain moved from knee scrapes to heart skips. Before we left 6th grade, Lonnie told me he wanted begin junior high, "clean, a new start, beginning." Heart skips into heart breaks.

My dad, the first man, not boy I fell in love with, decided to begin his life again. out of state. out of reach. Before he moved far and away, before he lived out a life of lies, he took me dancing at the discos. I was ready for this, had been since 4th grade. I knew the moves..understood the language, felt the funk. I knew I had arrived -- could feel the world, inside. Scientifically, adrenaline. Poetically, spirit. A beginning. Beginning of the end. My dad moved to Houston shortly after but before Disco died, and before forever- another man moved in his place, my stepfather. He liked Neil Diamond and fast cars. My dad liked Richard Pryor and fast women. He began his life with us, by giving away that which I loved. Loved more than anything or anyone.. a dog. my companion. confidant. the underdog. the oppressed. the scruffy. the stomped on.. my soul and the sole-connection to my dad, Sammy.

To fill the vastness left - my mother bought me a bike, a 10 speed, red, Schwinn. Years later I left it outside to rust away.

I remember the day of the election. It was Spring. I seem to recall lights of light and sun shining into Ms. Hill’s 6th grade classroom. I also remember the ballots. You could write your name in print or in cursive. And then just check the box next to the animal: White tailed deer. Fox squirrel. possum.

The possum, keeping families together and warm: vote for the possum--keeping families together and warm! I made several last pushes. It had been a year, the campaign, this contest, this race, hard. It seemed so obvious. How could you not vote for the one who had the hardest fight...Why would you not vote for the one who you know - feels. I mean a possum keeps their family inside of them, safe. The results were posted- the winner- White Tailed Deer, followed by the Fox Squirrel, and then the Possum. This year, this year of the possum, keeping families together and warm was no threat.. no challenge to the white tailed deer. Pretty, I would soon discover, would almost always win over passion.

These were new kinds of races and contests. Didn’t matter if you ran fast, of if you campaigned hard. It seemed these contests were more about the body, the outsides, and less about the tingling, less about the soul.

And then came middle school.