INTRODUCTION
The series you are about to read is the culmination of over 25 years. This is not a life story, but it would be difficult to imagine mine without this journey. So, what is Learner’s Permit about? It’s the story of my experience within the school system from Pre-K up until this past June when I officially completed my Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing at Cal State Long Beach. To me, this is an attempt to capture an experience as fully as I can. I believe that if I can capture these formative moments I can have a written document of an era that has come to an end.
Think of it like a moratorium of sorts. As someone who sees life as a story, I find it necessary to try and bring this chapter to an end the only way I know how. It is time to dig into every phase of my life and understand the highs and lows of how I became who I was. As one can guess, it wasn’t as smooth sailing as I’d have hoped. However, it was still a worthwhile journey. By the end, I hope that putting the final period on the concluding paragraph will result in a sense of finality.
Consider this an autobiographical attempt at closure. It’s going to be a sprawling one full of tangents and an inconclusive number of entries. All that I can tell you is that I’ll do my best to be honest and remember what I can. It’s a period that covered over a quarter century. That’s not nothing. So anyway, let’s see how this goes and hope for the best. I can’t promise that I’ve lived the most eventful life, but I hope you find one or two things to enjoy about Learner’s Permit.
SECTION 1: PRE-K
To be completely honest, I imagine this series going in the same direction as Michael Apted’s Up series. For those unaware, the director followed a group of seven-year-olds throughout their lives to discover how they evolved. Each entry was recorded over a seven-year period, and it is one of the most magnificent documentary series I have ever seen. While I don’t think I will be holding myself to that strict of a guideline, I want to suggest that my story will evolve in a similar fashion. The early chapters, notably what I’ll just classify as “Pre-K” or Pre-Kindergarten, will be short and potentially ambiguous. While I do imagine some memories will pop up, don’t be disappointed if they don’t reach the nuance of later entries. I am, after all, 34 and very much removed from the early 90s.
When starting this, I had initial difficulty determining where to start. Do I begin even further back when I was just a child before I was in school? This was a time when I was playing with LEGO bricks at my grandma’s house and doing science experiments in her kitchen. I’d often be stuck at my parents’ job, Fun Services, which operated out of a warehouse. I’d be on the computer playing computer games (not the fun kind, just Solitaire, Freecell, or Minesweeper) or writing stories on whatever software they had. I would be kicked off whenever staff/my parents needed to use it for work. There is a story unto itself about my days loitering around Fun Services, but that’s not the focus here. I do think it was crucial to my overall motivation and career trajectory, but it didn’t feel like the place to start.
I was born in 1989 and come from a family that, at best, can be described as lapsed Catholics. I’ll delve into that later. I say this more for contextual evidence, as I feel it would be difficult to otherwise understand where I’m coming from. I came from a family that worked local elections and helped to put on the local Long Beach Veteran’s Day Parade. There was always a sense of civic duty when I was younger, and I think that it was one of the first places I formed compassion. There were Saturdays of being at the park with my grandmother where we’d gather the kids and watch films. I remember her having to comfort me after I found the dog in The Sandlot (1993) to be terrifying.
Somewhere a few miles up the street is where the story starts. This section will be the story of two daycares, the latter of which may actually overlap with my school days. The first, however, was solely a place to dump me and my sister before we were whisked away to Our Lady of the Rosary in Paramount, CA. For now, we were stuck in the care of a nice couple named Marilyn and Paul. While my parents are still in contact with them, I haven’t personally talked to them in maybe 25+ years. There’s the suggestion that they have been given infrequent updates on my life, which I hope makes them happy.
I don’t know that I have that many stories about Marilyn and Paul’s place. It was a sprawling house located a block or so off the main street. In the room we would have naptime was a wall-sized painting of the Disney version of Peter Pan (1953) overlooking Neverland. In the backyard was the playground with a chain-link fence that went up to the sidewalk. I’m not sure what it says about me, but it always felt like an intimidating corner of the house to be in. I’m not sure how much of that was driven by “stranger danger” culture and the belief that people would give you candy and throw you in a van. Still, it would be fine if Paul was there, leaning against the corner while smoking on a pipe.
Because of how long ago it was, Most days blended together. I think the height of this early social life was dancing to music, watching Nickelodeon (I wouldn’t have cable at home until high school) shows such as Blue’s Clues, and discussing whatever movies were out. I remember we once danced to The Nightmare Before Christmas’ (1993) “What’s This?” Another time I shared the story of how I saw A Goofy Movie (1995) at the drive-in.
I’m sure there was a lot that made the period formative or at least exciting to a very young me. However, I don’t know that I was processing things on such a nuanced level that it mattered that much. It’s difficult to pull it apart from other events in my life. This could just be spending whole days at Fun Services or watching cartoons at grandma’s house. I’m confident there were other corners of the world that I would learn from just as much. Education was something that was definitely pushed on me and I think it made it difficult to fully disassociate entertainment without finding some greater lesson. It’s a level of integration that I think ultimately set me up to be more like my mother, who I would classify as the “smart” one as she has multiple diplomas and currently works as an accountant. My father was the “art” one, though he was often sidetracked with more demanding jobs such as mechanics and physical labor.
The only other story that I can share of the Marilyn and Paul section is about a moment that is in itself not fully clear. It was one of those open house nights where everyone gathered to hear about our various accomplishments. I think it would be difficult to be considered a disappointment in this environment where everyone was encouraged to be themselves. The only real thing that I remember is that we were all excited that this girl could do somersaults. At that age, I was able to pick it up easily. However, I have quickly forgotten it and it’s one of those weird regrets I have now. Even if I like dancing, I am not limber enough to do anything while standing on my hands.
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The next section takes us closer to where the school story starts. Again, I am not totally sure how the events overlap, so I will consider this as a separate section. Across the street from Our Lady of the Rosary was the park. As was common among people my age, we would wander around and explore carelessly. We’d play tag while the local orchestras played. I don’t know what it is about parks when you’re a child, but they’re such a place of wonder and potential even if they’re nothing more than grass and occasional monuments. The assumption could simply be that it was an excuse to socialize in a Pre-Social Media era.
But this park had daycare. Sometimes we’d walk across the street past the swap meet to the cineplex to see movies. A few times we had people stop by to discuss their careers. I remember one time that a fireman stopped by and showed us the various firetruck equipment. Like all children at that time, you had the generic answer of what you wanted to be. Firefighters sounded cool because it was a noble cause. You put out fires. We perused the truck and briefly put on the wardrobe. We may or may not have gotten stickers out of the deal. Given that I feel it’s in The Constitution that kids under seven got stickers from public officials, I probably did get one of those fancy badge stickers that I have since lost.
Most days, we were in the gym that was towards the back of the park. Every day during the summer we would be dropped off and run towards those doors with lunch bags in hand. For those who have never had the experience of walking into an already active gym, just know that it is always exciting and simultaneously overwhelming. People would be shooting basketballs or playing board games. The bleachers would be out for people to sit, and there would be different tasks we’d do throughout the day.
I can’t recall exactly who anyone was. Again, I didn’t have lasting relationships with anyone there. I will say that one of the staff members was bald and, if I had to give a comparison, looked like Mookie Betts. When we weren’t at the gym, we’d often be eating lunch from home in the park or going on swim days at the pool that was directly next door. There were a few times when the whole area was closed off, so we’d be dropped off a few miles away at this pool hall-type room where people just minded their own business. I remember there was this wooden tabletop board in the back whose design functioned like Monopoly. It was some fantasy game with a lot of weird designs on it. I can’t recall what any of it meant, but I remember older kids acted like they knew what they were doing.
As with everything during this time, the best that I can say is that I had a fun time. When we were at the gym, we’d hold competitions to see who could win games the fastest. I remember one time that I struggled to chew bubblegum and blow a bubble. Given that this came with the one-two punch of whistling, I learned very quickly how self-conscious I was over what my jaw couldn’t do. It wasn’t the worst feeling in the world. Given that I can’t do any of that still, I feel in some ways inadequate. There was another time when they read us some storybook about a dinosaur. I’m sure it’s a popular one and I could look up the title, but I don’t want to risk labeling the wrong one.
I was also on a peewee baseball team at one point, though sports in general was something that didn’t take. I could never really handle the pitch, so I only ever whacked it off the post. Again, it was short-lived and I think more experimentation to see just what this kid was into. I think it was in some ways influenced by the amount of games we saw at the local venue over by a center named for Billie Jean King. Supposedly it’s a nice ballpark where professional teams train. I would go there to see The Riptides play and found joy in the few times when I got to meet the players and have pictures taken. On another occasion, I was invited to join the seventh inning stretch to race bases against other kids. I grew self-conscious when it was clear that I was going to lose to some prepubescent Jessie Owens and just cut across the middle of the field. Like with the parks, I think I was a bit too comfortable just wandering around, realizing I had hours to find my parents before we left for home.
Every now and then, we’d venture away from Paramount entirely. On one occasion, we went to Dodger Stadium (for someone who is just “okay” with baseball, I’ve spent a strange amount of youth at ballparks). I can’t tell you who the other team was. Of the few times I saw The Dodgers and The Angels, I could never tell you who was the away team. With that said, it was one of those patented hot summer days and I was feeling it that day. The staff was sitting behind me and could see that I wasn’t taking the heat well. Mookie Betts asked me “Are you hot?” When I said “Yes,” they proceeded to pour an entire water bottle on my head. I get the gesture in hindsight but at the time I was overwhelmed and annoyed. Thanks, Mookie. I remember you being a good one.
The final story maybe comes a bit further into the picture but nevertheless feels crucial to understanding this time of my life. It was 1998 and we had agreed to go as a group to see Mulan (1998), which was playing at the local theater. We’d walk from the park all the way over. I remember sometimes when we’d go to the main street around the area you often had to worry about glass and trash on the floor. For some reason, I walked a few times barefoot and would spend the entire way staring at the ground, worried about the debris. This was often a trip up three blocks to the new burger joint Doublz, which briefly became my family’s fallback when we wanted burgers. Much to my surprise, I drive by it every now and then and take some surprise in knowing it’s still there.
This wasn’t a barefoot situation. We were all gathered in the theater and proceeded to watch a movie that would change my life. It’s one of those moments when you recognize something and feel so connected to the film. I don’t wish to discuss any subtext that I may have been picking up on, but it was there. I was in love with Mulan and wanted to see her succeed. I related to the idea of hidden identity and having your family accept you for who you are. “Reflection” is still a song that overwhelms me on the right day. Still, with all of the laughter and tears, I was so in the moment that I didn’t want to leave my seat. It came at an embarrassing expense (there’s a reason children are constantly leaving the theater), but I couldn’t help it. This was the most invested I had been in a film up to that point.
We had gone to a few theaters throughout our time. We sometimes traveled far away. I can’t remember what we were seeing, but it was this second-run theater that had very dark lighting indoors. The walkway was claustrophobic and the walls had strips of neon lighting as your own clue as to where anything was. I would eventually see A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (2019) there, and it would bring up some exciting memories of being a child who went there and almost got lost yet again.
Whatever we were there to see, I remember walking into a dark theater next to this kid. The room was packed and the movie had started. I want to say the kid told me midway to wherever the group was heading to “sit there.” I would take an end seat rows up from wherever the group ended up. Again, I would assume that they would find me later. Never mind that I was a good three feet smaller than most people walking out. I remember as I walked out I saw the Bulworth (1998) poster and having it seared in my mind. It’s a very bizarre image for a child to see and one that leads to this article. For something that only appeared for seconds, I’m surprised that’s my lasting impression. I couldn’t tell you what was next to it. Still, I remember looking up through this dark hallway at the neon lights and trying to find anyone who looked familiar. By some luck, we figured things out after two minutes.
Like a lot of things, I think you just outgrow day camp activities. I was getting too old to just spend my summers with a bunch of kids playing games. This meant a few things, good and bad. The good meant that this was compensated with vacations into the woods. We’d visit places like Sequoia where my father would spend hours fishing. We’d live out of tents and attend tours to learn more about the surroundings. On one particular occasion, we had to quickly pack up one evening when it began snowing. We did it so carelessly that we threw everything in the back and found a cabin. By the morning, my dad’s truck was covered in claw marks because the bear was trying to get into the back in order to steal the cooler of food.
Again, I think there’s a lot of room to talk about my camping trips that are not related to education. As it stands, I don’t know that this Pre-K section necessarily spoke enough about what I learned at any of these places. Still, if you consider school the first place you learn to socialize, then I think it’s crucial to start here. I promise that I have more detailed stories going forward. However, I felt there was a need to begin with a little context of where things began. I hope it gives you a sense of what it was like to be young in the early 90s. Given that I was the type of kid who spent the 1996 presidential election loitering around a voting station and doing mock ballots, I was always more curious about my environment than most kids. I had pen pals. I read those Nat Geo’s for kids and collected books. I suppose the way of looking at this is that you’re always learning.
The other that maybe falls into “bad” is that I spent a whole lot longer at Fun Services. Because it was a two-story building with ostensibly a flat above it, I would spend often 8+ hours there just finding ways to pass the time. Maybe I’ll provide a tangent on those days, but for now, just know that it was where a lot of the magic happened between youth and up until high school when my father quit in such an impromptu way that he still doesn’t talk to the former owner: my grandfather. Fun Services would eventually be sold and those days ended, but for a time it was my exposure to a work ethic that has thankfully kept me motivated most days.
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All in all, the Pre-K years were probably more crucial in developing a sense of self. While I can’t say that there were many formative moments that altered how I saw the world, there was an early understanding of community and what it meant to be part of a group. It gave you something to look forward to away from family and create a sense of independence. While I haven’t seen almost all of these people since they helped to shape who I was.
Up next is the real deal. We will begin with my days in Kindergarten and work my way up to where I ended up in 2023. It was a formative period filled with a lot of joy and sadness. While this section hinted at tangents, I promise that it will be getting a lot more soporific in the chapters to come. Strap in and prepare for my years while attending Our Lady of the Rosary, for better or worse.
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