Four Feet Tall and Rising Read Online Free
Author: Shorty Rossi
’80s shows were about greed. I thought in order to get aheadI had to step on somebody else. I used to tell my friends, “I’m gonna conquer the world. Imagine me as president! ”
For Halloween, I never wanted to be a superhero. I wanted to be a businessman. One Halloween, I was so inspired by J.R. Ewing on
Dallas
that I dressed up as an executive cowboy. I wore a white button-down shirt, dress pants, and a matching vest with a tie. I finished off my ensemble with a straw cowboy hat, sporting peacock feathers in the band. Every time I yelled, “Trick or Treat!” I had to explain who the hell I was.
I decided to make good on all these Halloween costumes and open my own business. I knew money was my ticket out of that house, and Dad didn’t give any of us an allowance, so I had to find another way to save money. I saw an opportunity at pet stores. Pet stores always needed mice, either to sell as pets or to sell as food. I went to the library and read books about how to raise and care for them. Dad was okay with me having a room full of mice ’cause it was a job. If they’d been pets, it would have been a whole other story.
I made enough money that I could buy a couple of parakeets and finches. I went back to the library and started researching how to care for them and breed them. I built an elaborate set of cages in the backyard to house them. At one point, I had twenty birds and an aviary in the yard. My mom got really into it too, and helped me care for them. The only animals she wouldn’t help me with were the garter snakes. When I started keeping them, the rest of the family steered clear.
With the money I made, I opened my first bank account at California Federal Bank on Sherman Way in Reseda. I wasunderage, so my parents had to set it up and cosign on all my deposits and withdrawals. ATMs were new, and Mom and Dad weren’t too keen on that, so to get money out of the bank I had to forge Mom’s signature on the slips. It took me a while to figure out that if I had an ATM card, it would be much easier to get my money. I forged Mom’s name one last time and applied for it. I had to check the mail every day to make sure my parents didn’t intercept the card. It came in the mail, and I was in business. I deposited the money from the birds and mice, but I spent it as fast as I could make it. I was a Michael Jackson fanatic. I had to get his
Thriller
album. I was still into trains and had an elaborate train setup in the backyard. And, of course, I had to buy a bike. My parents got suspicious and checked my bank account. I lied and said the bank stole my money. They didn’t buy it. I got the ass-whooping of my life.
I also used some of the money to buy a typewriter. In my mind, having a typewriter was an essential component of being a businessman. I even typed out corporate rules for my future company. Rule Number One was I’m The Boss. Rule Number Two was Everyone Has to Dress Up. I began insisting on wearing suits to school. Inspired by an old 1920s photograph of Nonnie’s dad, my great-grandfather, I bought my first fedora. I didn’t know it yet, but I had just determined exactly who I was gonna grow up to be: a businessman wearing black suits and fedoras. It just took me a long time to get there.
My dad hated my new persona. He wanted me to become a mechanic. He wanted to teach me how to build things. I wasn’t interested. I didn’t wanna get my hands dirty. I didn’t want oilall over my suits. Dad would announce, “When you’re old enough, I’m gonna get you a job at Lockheed.” I didn’t want a job at Lockheed. “There’s good money, good benefits, good insurance.” Dad had full medical coverage. We had a house, a roof over our heads, and food on the table. But we were all miserable. I wanted no part of it. To straighten me out, Dad took to berating me with “faggot,” convinced I wasn’t manly enough ’cause I didn’t wanna work with my hands. He threatened to throw out my typewriter,
For Halloween, I never wanted to be a superhero. I wanted to be a businessman. One Halloween, I was so inspired by J.R. Ewing on
Dallas
that I dressed up as an executive cowboy. I wore a white button-down shirt, dress pants, and a matching vest with a tie. I finished off my ensemble with a straw cowboy hat, sporting peacock feathers in the band. Every time I yelled, “Trick or Treat!” I had to explain who the hell I was.
I decided to make good on all these Halloween costumes and open my own business. I knew money was my ticket out of that house, and Dad didn’t give any of us an allowance, so I had to find another way to save money. I saw an opportunity at pet stores. Pet stores always needed mice, either to sell as pets or to sell as food. I went to the library and read books about how to raise and care for them. Dad was okay with me having a room full of mice ’cause it was a job. If they’d been pets, it would have been a whole other story.
I made enough money that I could buy a couple of parakeets and finches. I went back to the library and started researching how to care for them and breed them. I built an elaborate set of cages in the backyard to house them. At one point, I had twenty birds and an aviary in the yard. My mom got really into it too, and helped me care for them. The only animals she wouldn’t help me with were the garter snakes. When I started keeping them, the rest of the family steered clear.
With the money I made, I opened my first bank account at California Federal Bank on Sherman Way in Reseda. I wasunderage, so my parents had to set it up and cosign on all my deposits and withdrawals. ATMs were new, and Mom and Dad weren’t too keen on that, so to get money out of the bank I had to forge Mom’s signature on the slips. It took me a while to figure out that if I had an ATM card, it would be much easier to get my money. I forged Mom’s name one last time and applied for it. I had to check the mail every day to make sure my parents didn’t intercept the card. It came in the mail, and I was in business. I deposited the money from the birds and mice, but I spent it as fast as I could make it. I was a Michael Jackson fanatic. I had to get his
Thriller
album. I was still into trains and had an elaborate train setup in the backyard. And, of course, I had to buy a bike. My parents got suspicious and checked my bank account. I lied and said the bank stole my money. They didn’t buy it. I got the ass-whooping of my life.
I also used some of the money to buy a typewriter. In my mind, having a typewriter was an essential component of being a businessman. I even typed out corporate rules for my future company. Rule Number One was I’m The Boss. Rule Number Two was Everyone Has to Dress Up. I began insisting on wearing suits to school. Inspired by an old 1920s photograph of Nonnie’s dad, my great-grandfather, I bought my first fedora. I didn’t know it yet, but I had just determined exactly who I was gonna grow up to be: a businessman wearing black suits and fedoras. It just took me a long time to get there.
My dad hated my new persona. He wanted me to become a mechanic. He wanted to teach me how to build things. I wasn’t interested. I didn’t wanna get my hands dirty. I didn’t want oilall over my suits. Dad would announce, “When you’re old enough, I’m gonna get you a job at Lockheed.” I didn’t want a job at Lockheed. “There’s good money, good benefits, good insurance.” Dad had full medical coverage. We had a house, a roof over our heads, and food on the table. But we were all miserable. I wanted no part of it. To straighten me out, Dad took to berating me with “faggot,” convinced I wasn’t manly enough ’cause I didn’t wanna work with my hands. He threatened to throw out my typewriter,
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