Frederick
Ceely (1948- )
Biography,
Part II
Freddy
never liked it
when
retards got pushed around,
just
for being retarded,
they
couldn’t help it.
Fred
would interpose himself,
between
the tormentors
and
the ungrateful retard,
and
require the boys
to
push him around too,
if
they wanted to try it,
and
sometimes they did.
Fred
had a good arm,
and
could throw a baseball
as
far as anyone in town.
He
could hit
as
good as many boys.
He
was an okay fielder,
but
too slow for the infield,
and
his poor eyesight
made
him a dubious benefit
in
the outfield.
He
was far too high strung to pitch.
Up
until the age of six or so,
Fred
had great success
fighting
the other boys.
By
then his contemplative mood
had
begun to manifest itself,
and
his fighting efforts,
now
exclusively self-defensive,
suffered
from existential conflict
about
the need for such things.
During
the seventh grade
Fred
gave up his place
in
the real world, the world
of
crazy nuns and parents,
of
nuclear voodoo
cold-war
bullshit,
of
the obnoxious New York Yankees,
of
bullies and unreliable friends,
moving
his things to
the
parallel universe of dreams,
with
frequent trips to libraries
and
museums, fuel for dreams.
Ceely
admits to
knowing
nothing at all
about: women; money;
why
people drive the way they do;
success;
friendship;
the
Chinese; business;
truth;
or himself.
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