March 14, 2018:
I lived for the brown truck.
During the day I'd sometimes watch reruns of Gilligan's Island and The Dick Van Dyke Show. Mostly I'd play endless hours of the wargames which came via UPS.
SPI: Simulations Publications, Inc. James Dunnigan and crew. For me primarily twentieth and nineteenth centuries.
She was very generous to buy these things for me. Perhaps because of my expressed interest in attending West Point. It's possible she saw them as preparation. Maybe she was disappointed when I bailed on that idea after studying the history of the Vietnam War. Too late to know now.
All day on a folding card table in my room. Dice rolling; square cardboard markers representing military units moving through hexagonal topographies. Drinking chocolate milk from the carton, frequently with marshmallow candy peanuts for nutrition. Or cake.
Too sick for school.
Until the kids came home. Then: miracle recovery! Let's ride bikes, or shoot baskets, or play kick-the-can.
She thought I was hypochondriac. In fact I was lying.
The brown truck was a much better life than the shitty teachers in the shitty schools filled with shitty people.