Too old for Ritalin, to young to die

2005-12-08T20:16:30-08:00

I met Gerald when he was twelve years old in 1978. My dad met his mom at a club called Parents Without Partners. We all went to see Superman together. I will be honest, I was surprised when dad and Gerald's mom got married. Gerald's mom was doing everything that my dad used to yell at my mom for doing. I was sixteen, what the hell did I know?

My dad married his mom when I was living in the dormitory at Eastern Michigan University in 1980 in the court of Judge Michael Merritt in Howell, Michigan who, interestingly enough, had also handled (as a lawyer) my mom and dads no-fault divorce. I was one of the signing witnesses to that marriage, it was probably the first thing that I did as an adult. I really was mostly interested in my dad being happy. You don't pick your step-family, your parents pick them.

The "Bloomfield's" as my mom and I called them were a difficult family for me to step into. Gerald is the oldest of two boys. There was Paula, the oldest. Ger Jr., Tom and Katie. The boys were agile for enough for sports and cool enough for other high school groups. The girls were by all counts beautiful. Being a straight girl, I understand the competition. I always understood with Paula and Katie that I was out of my league -- they actually might have, without knowing it or intending to do so, encouraged me to take more difficult classes in college. These were very beautiful girls and I am certain are still very beautiful women. Not stupid either -- all the worse for someone like me who doesn't always feel so good and honestly does have to watch her weight and feeling of self-confidence and all that which make a girl feel beautiful to be one. This is about Gerald though.

Gerald and I took the same classes at the same time at EMU. This is where he became my brother in as much as this is how we were remembered there. He was so busy all of the time and studying and partying and making friends all over the place. If I understand men at all, it started with Gerald. He loved to explain to me how his brain worked. Once he told me about what he liked about his new girlfriend, I called her "Fluffy" and unfortunately, this is the only name I remember. After he explained what was so good about Fluffy, all I can still say is that it was more than I wanted to know.

We had the same Calc I teacher, Dr. Northey. We both loved this man. You would to, I think. He was a teacher of Calculus. We both also really adored the EMU Physics Department Head, Dr. Trochet. Our having the same teachers changed after that though. He took off towards more competitive teachers and I gravitated towards the more sharing type teachers. It is good to have an option. Interestingly enough, I went towards a male instructor in the physics department, he found a female instructor. Competitiveness or not has little to do with gender.

Ger needed some money once. He needed a car for himself and his girlfriend whose name I do remember, Bonnie. I had just gotten a student loan and had the money to lend to him. I did. He paid me back -- he was good for it always. Later, maybe a few years later, I dunno, I had a really bad night. I was grading astronomy labs -- I had let them stack up. I had several accidents/incidents with the available lighting. Every single source of artificial lighting I had had been blown out or somehow removed from life. I called Gerald and asked if he could help me. He gave me a ride to a store where I could purchase a new lamp and some light bulbs. This seems silly in the retelling, but he helped me so much that day! I was in tears with very few options and he helped so much. It was like $12 against my $350 for the car but the situations were so similar in helplessness. It was difficult to call him as well. I put myself in the position as older sister in this new morphing of the family. The oldest does not like to ask for help. I think this is probably well researched and proven by now. It doesn't matter, me as an oldest child does not like to ask for help. Such a funny story this is as I remember it now.

One of his girlfriends mentioned that he called me his sister and that I called him my step-brother. As much as this made me feel badly, it was the fact. He had a different mom and dad and came to know my dad much later than you know a dad. Our brother and sister persona at the university was a memory of our teachers, which I cherish. To me, the fact that he had different parents was always very obvious to me. Especially after I met his dad, Ger Sr.. I liked him. Tom was actually Ger Jr. as is often the case -- it is difficult to adjust for that though.

There is a photograph of my real brother Jef and my stepbrother Ger. There was about three foot difference between Jef and Ger. Ger's mom was/is a nurse. She found steroids for Ger to take that supposedly would help him to physically grow taller. I blame his constant energy on those steroids. He used to make me tired mentally. He was a pain in the ass. He needed everyones attention all the time. He had the energy to earn it as well. Later, when I was to become a substitute teacher, I saw the same thing in the ADD students. I ended up blaming the steroids for Ger's kinetic energy and always working (outloud) brain. He was funny. Funnier than a lot of professional funny people. Cripes, I used to get tired listening to him. Don't give your children steroids.

Ger's mom told me an interesting story about him. Since she does not have the means or desire to contact me, I feel fine about retelling it here. She told me that she wanted to have complete authority over her children. Once they were to go to sleep, they were not to leave their beds until it was time to get up. Inevitably, Gerald would always need an extra trip to the bathroom. She got sick of being awaken and eventually told him "NO!". The way he handled the new condition was to pee in the heater vents. That is probably the best story I can tell about him. The thing about Gerald was that to the best of my understanding of the word honest, Gerald was an honest man.

In high school, and threatened by the thought of entering the armed forces (his mom did count down the minutes remaining until graduation, at which point Ger and my brother were expected to vacate the home) Ger had buckled down and started learning math and science in his high school. That was how he met up with me, four years his senior, at EMU. Upon finishing school there, he entered the United States Navy. He became a pilot of helicopters. My dad told me (before this last little war) that promotions within the armed forces were based a great deal on combat experience and that Ger had escaped this due to where he was in his training and such. In this war, he died. According to the email I received today from my mother (not his): on 1 Nov 05, Major Gerald Bloomfield II was shot down over Ramahdi, Iraq on his 3rd tour of duty, there. My mom took the time to brag about how quickly she received this news. I am taking the time to point out that I got this news on December 8th.

The internet that I use, the friends I have made, the free software I believe in -- all of these things have failed me. I mourn a lost brother and find myself in desperate need of a lawyer. I play like I am writing about right and wrong. The truth is, if you do not understand the difference between the two already, there is nothing that I can write that makes you understand that. Having ideals will hurt you. Humans should probably die off as there seems to be no real good reason to have them. Feel free to go ask Richard Stallman or Larry Lessig about what ideals do to make one girl without a family or home extra vulnerable. They get paid to answer those questions, not me.

I missed Ger long before he died. This world is not better without him, just less honest and probably a little more pretty. Me, I need a lawyer.

Yet Another Bike Shed

Too old for Ritalin, to young to die