CHAPTER 6: Life on Long Island

Whilst Mum and Steve were on their honeymoon, Granny, Bebe, and I stayed at the apartment that Mum and I were getting ready to vacate. Mum had started some of the packing already, but Granny and I finished the rest of it for her. When Mum and Steve came home from their honeymoon, we packed everything up into a big van and moved to Steve's apartment on Long Island. The next day, Mum and Steve took me to court, and legally changed my last name from Crowe to Everett. It was one of the best days of my life. The following year, Luke and I ended up in mixed group, and the next year in first grade, I learned some pretty important stuff about myself...

I know what you're probably thinking: "Why didn't you just go into first grade after you finished kindergarten?" Well, I'll tell you why. Remember when I said my accent never went away completely? Because of that, I endured relentless, constant teasing from the other kids. It soon got to the point where I refused to speak out in class, or anywhere else outside of home—a condition psychologists would call selective mutism. If I did say anything, I knew what was coming: "Hey, Scotty!" or "Where'd you learn to talk?" You name it, they said it. In fact, I remember countless days of coming home in tears over it Mum or Steve would always try to reassure me that I wasn't the one with the problem, they were. No matter what they said, I still felt like I had no good qualities to be proud of. As a result, I absolutely hated going to school.

Eventually, my teacher became concerned that I wasn't developing at a normal rate because of my self-conscious attitude toward my accent, so she and the principal called Mum and Steve in for a conference, and we talked for a long time. It was decided that the next year, I would be in mixed group. I was a little disappointed, but when I found out that Luke would be doing this as well, I felt a little better. I was just glad that, whatever we went through, we'd go through it together. If it weren't for my family, as well as my friendship with Luke, I don't know where I'd be.

Now that I look back on those days, I know that Mum and Steve were right. I also know that prejudice, whether it's against skin color, a disability, a weight problem, or something as trivial as an accent, still exists today. I wish it didn't, but it does.

On a Tuesday morning—February 9, 1999—I woke up and remembered that it was my birthday. I got out of bed and went to the calendar. Yup, sure enough, there it was. I was eight years old that day.

When I came into the kitchen, I saw Mum at the kitchen table, looking at something in her hand. "Hi, Mum," I said. She gave a tiny jump, then looked up at me.

"Good morning, love," she said. "Happy birthday, too."

"Thanks. Um, what were you just looking at?"

"Oh, these? These were your father's."

"Huh?" I asked. Steve was the only father I'd ever known. What was she talking about?

"I figured you'd say that," she said. "You see, I was married once before I met Steve. Your father—your real father, I mean—was killed in a war just a month before you were born, and his commanding officer gave me these."

She held out her hand. In it was a silver chain with two silver tags on it, and this is what I saw on them:

CROWE, DAVID L.

A-POSITIVE

952-86-1234

CATHOLIC

Oh, my God.

This was my father's.

My real father, a man I never knew existed until now. And ultimately, I would never know him, because he was gone.

"These were his?" I managed to say as soon as I'd found my voice.

Mum nodded. "I held onto these until now, because I figured you'd be old enough to understand what happened."

There was one question I had to ask her, and I had to do it now: "Does Steve know about this?"

"Aye. We had a long talk about it recently, and we decided that you should know sooner or later, and that you had a right to know."

"I'll keep them forever," I promised, giving Mum a hug. "Thanks so much."

"You're more than welcome, son," she whispered. This was the best present she'd ever given me.

When I got home from school, Steve was waiting for me. "Jason, look what I've got," he said, holding up his hand. In it were four tickets.

"What are the tickets for?" I asked.

"Bon Jovi is playing at Madison Square Garden tonight, and Mr. Sullivan and I thought that as a special treat, we'd take you and Luke."

Whoa! Madison Square Garden! This was a special present, all right! I didn't even care that I'd never heard of these guys before! Just the fact that we were going to the Garden was enough for me. Now that I think about it, I guess you could say that this started my love-affair with old-school hard-rock.

"Wow, thanks!" I exclaimed, throwing my arms around Steve. "Thanks a lot!"

"You bet," Steve grinned. After a quick safety-talk from Mum, we went out the door to pick up Luke and his dad, and were soon on our way.

This was going to be the best birthday ever.

About an hour later, we arrived at the Garden, and after another five minutes, found a parking space. (By now, Steve had told me about his experience at the Who concert in Cincinnati when he was thirteen. I'm just glad this didn't start out like that.) When we got out of the car, the first thing I noticed was that the crowd was really big, at least ten thousand people. The last time I can remember seeing that many people at once was at JFK airport when Mum and I first arrived in America. As for which crowd was bigger, I really don't know.

Well, we were able to make it inside, and even though we were nowhere near the stage, we still had good seats. They were right by one of the exits, in case Luke or I had to go to the bathroom—which, of course, we both did.

"Now remember to stay together," Steve said.

"We will," I said, putting Luke's hand on my shoulder, and heading in that direction. I led Luke over to a urinal, and stepped into one of the stalls behind him.

I was just flushing the toilet when I heard Luke shouting, "Hey, stop it!"

Oh, no! Luke was in trouble! I ran out of the stall and saw two older boys in Old Navy sweatshirts and jeans, and they were tormenting Luke. One had his cane, and the other had him in a full-nelson.

"Hey, leave him alone!" I shouted, running up and shoving the kid who had the cane.

"Did you just push me?" he asked. It was then that I realized just how tall he was, at least a head taller than me. I also understood what Steve and his dad—or Grandpa John, as Bebe and I call him—meant when they talked about a Napoleon complex. Even though I was intimidated, I wasn't about to show it.

"I said, did...you...push...me?" he repeated, his teeth clenched, and his voice rising on every word.

"What if I did?"

"'What if I did?'" he repeated, imitating my accent. I knew that was going to happen, because anyone who's ever made fun of me, that was always the first thing they did.

"Where'd this yutz learn to talk?" the other kid snickered.

"Look, just given him back his cane, all right?"

"So, let me get this straight. You want me to give him back his cane, right?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, all right. All you had to do was ask." And with that, this jerk snapped the cane in half over his left knee, threw it down in front of Luke, and sneered, "There's your cane, dork."

That did it.

In an instant, defying both logic and sanity, I ran up and kicked him right square in the crotch. His eyes popped wide open, all the wind left him, his face turned bright purple, and he collapsed in a heap. When I saw him sink to the floor, I was shocked, then a little surprised, that it actually worked.

That was until I saw the other kid's face. Snarling, he shoved Luke aside, charged up like a bull, and punched me in the stomach. I tried to grab his legs to trip him, but he grabbed me by the collar, slammed me against the wall, and slowly clenched his fist. "Time to say good night," he growled.

I thought for sure I was dead. I closed my eyes and waited for the blow, when all of a sudden, I heard another voice shout, "HEY!"

I opened my eyes, and there was Steve standing in the doorway. "Let him go!" he ordered. The kid very quickly did what Steve said, and I slumped to the floor. I guess seeing a 6' 4" Italian man with big muscles was more than enough to stop him from whatever he was about to do. Then Steve barked, "Now, beat it!"

After the boys rushed out of the bathroom, Steve helped me up. "Are you guys okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I answered, coughing.

"I'm all right," Luke added as I helped him up. That's when Steve noticed Luke's cane lying broken on the floor.

"That does it, we're getting security!" he snapped. He put an arm around each of us, and we walked out of the bathroom. As luck would have it, the first person we saw was a security guard who was on his way in. Steve turned to us and said, "I'm going to talk to that security guard we just passed. You two go directly back to Mr. Sullivan, okay?"

"Okay, Steve," Luke said as I put his hand on my shoulder, and we made our way back to our seats.

"Hey, you're just in time! The concert's starting!" Mr. Sullivan said as I helped Luke into his seat. Then he noticed Luke's missing cane. "Where's your cane, Luke?"

"These two guys jumped us in the bathroom," I answered, rubbing my stomach where I'd been hit, as I sat down. "One of them broke Luke's cane, so I kicked him. Then his friend hit me, and was about to do more, when Steve stopped them. Steve's talking to a security guard right now."

"Are you all right?" Mr. Sullivan asked anxiously, putting an arm around his son.

Before Luke could answer his dad, the crowd's applause and cheering drowned him out, as did the opening drum rhythms and guitar chords as Steve returned to his seat. We turned our attention to the stage, even though we were forty or fifty rows away. Luckily, one of the big astroscreens was nearby, so even if we couldn't see the band themselves, we'd still be able to see them on the monitor.

The concert was a blast. One song in particular that really sticks out in my mind to this day is one that Jon Bon Jovi wrote himself called "August 7, 4:15". I saw the Unsolved Mysteries segment about it, and it's about the tragic, unexplained death of his manager's daughter in August of '96, and it was featured on that show about two years later. They sang several others, but I don't remember them. All I know is, I was having the time of my life, enough to make me forget what happened in that bathroom. And let me tell you, up on that stage, the band looked like gods. It was a moment I'd remember and treasure forever.

After the concert, the four of us headed out to the car. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the security guard that Steve had talked to deliver those boys to their very angry parents. One of them—the one who broke Luke's cane, that is—gave me a really evil look, one that told me that the worst was yet to come.