This particular chapter of Nintendo Rhapsody, World 0: The Schoolyard Menace, serves as a prequel to the events that unfolded in World 1: Far From Home. It chronicles my earliest years in elementary school, a few of my experiences with the Atari 2600 game system, and the circumstances that led to my first encounter with the Nintendo Entertainment System.
World 0-1: Our House
I attended preschool at the YMCA when I was three years old. I was accompanied by my maternal grandmother. She would often stay with me during the classes. I was already showing signs of an attention deficit. My preschool teacher, Mary Ray, seemed very concerned with my inability to remain still. She also raised concerns about my delayed motor skills. My grandmother also seemed worried. I would be entering elementary school at Orchard Dale soon enough. A possible recipe for disaster. A month before my first day at Orchard Dale, my parents and I moved into our new house. They had recently reconciled after a trial separation. During their separation, my mother and I lived with my maternal grandmother. I rarely saw my dad during that time. I still vividly remember the day that my dad drove up in his gold colored Chevrolet Monte Carlo. With a smile planted firmly across my face, I quickly rushed out to greet him. He took me in his loving arms, and it was then that I learned we would soon be moving into our own house. It was time to go home. As my entry into Orchard Dale grew closer, I began to settle into our new home. It was certainly a bigger place than what we had previously on Ruoff. I would even invite my imaginary friend, Haugau, over to visit on a few occasions. He had been a close companion of mine during those tough times while my parents were separated, but as their relationship improved, Haugau and I would slowly drift apart. I eventually learned that he too was moving away. We parted forevermore on a corner near my grandmother's house. Farewell, my shorthaired transparent friend. We shall always have our memories. Our home would soon be joined by two tabby kittens named Tom and Jerry. They were named after the popular cartoon series. My dad would refer to Tom as a puppy as he would often do tricks for him. My morning routine at that time consisted of a juice pack, a package of Ritz Bits and episodes of Woody Woodpecker, Mister Rogers' Neighborhood and Sesame Street. Big Bird was like an idol to me. At long last, September was finally upon us, and with it, my very first day of Kindergarten. One could only hope that Mrs. Evans was prepared for my arrival.
Those early days and weeks in my new Kindergarten class were turbulent to say the least. I relished the idea of being left alone after becoming accustomed to my grandmother staying with me during preschool. I felt so afraid and bewildered. I found it quite difficult to follow Mrs. Evans instructions. I would sometimes even attempt to turn her lessons into games. When that resulted in a time out, I would then regress to more primitive tendencies. I found myself barking like a dog, hiding in corners and dumping the trash bins on the floor. In due time, I eventually made some progress in adapting to the classroom environment. I learned to sit still long enough to enjoy some of the stories that Mrs. Evans would read to the class. I would even occasionally engage with her questions. However, I still misbehaved from time to time. I even licked several other students in one particularly notorious incident. For everyone's sake, it would soon be time to return home and wash up. My dad would also be home soon enough, and I knew in my gut that he would not be pleased with some of the things happening in school. But if I remained on my very best behavior, he might just allow me to play the Atari 2600 on our big oak television set in the living room. My parents owned the original woodgrain Atari 2600 game console, but when I was two years old, I disassembled it piece by piece. I was curious to see how the thing worked. Electronics were like magic to me back then. It was replaced by a second generation Atari 2600 in the years that followed. The original Atari 2600 would have been the perfect match for our oak television set. I did not have a television set of my own at that time, and if my unusual actions in school continued, it may be a long while yet.
Parnell Park: Grandma and I
On your mark. Get set. Go! It was time for the big race on the big television set in the living room. Dad agreed to help me set up the Atari 2600 with the prerequisite that we first play Dragster together. It was one of the few two player games that we owned on the system. It was also a game that my dad could relate to a bit more easily. No space aliens or ghosts or anything else of that sort. Just two cars racing to the finish line. We took our starting positions at the left side of the screen. The screen was split down the middle to allow both racers full view of their car and track. I revved my engines a few times in anticipation of the big race. I even made my own sound effects to go with it. When the race finally started, I blew out my engines within seconds. It left my dad with a clear path to victory. As he neared the finish line, he too burned out his race car. We were both sent back to the starting line. "One more time?" said my dad with a certain degree of optimism. I once again revved my engines in anticipation of the race. I muttered aloud, "Vroom, vroom!" As the race began, my dad and I found ourselves neck and neck with each other. It was one of those intense dead heat kind of moments. With just the right amount of throttling, I managed to pull ahead of my dad. I could just smell the taste of victory. I was so close to the finish line now. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, my dad blew past me on his way to the goal. He had reclaimed his top spot and earned a place at the winner's circle. Dad was a fair sport. He let me choose one other game to play before bed. At which point, it would be time to put away the Atari 2600. There would of course be other nights to play another game.
A television newscaster made preparations for their nightly news broadcast. He went through and reorganized his notes as the final countdown began. A voice shouted from afar, "You're on the air in 3, 2, 1..." The newscaster said with a smile, "From the HTV Studio in downtown Orangetown, this is Tom Tornado reporting live. We here at HTV have been following a sudden string of cat burglaries for the last few days now. As we come on the air tonight, we have an update on the story. The cats have stashed a number of stolen items in the park. They appear to be licking themselves at the moment. Local authorities are currently assessing the situation. And now, we turn things over to our very own weather girl, Summer Winters. How are things looking out there, Summer?" Summer said with a look of disappointment," It looks like it is going to be another hot one, Tom. We are expecting temperatures in the high 90s. Folks looking for a little relief from the sun would be advised to stay indoors. Back to you, Tom." Tom, having just been handed a special report, said with a deadpan expression, "Ahem, we have some late breaking news just in to the news desk. We go to Peter Mars standing by at Herman Observatory for the report. What seems to be the trouble, Pete?" Peter said with a certain panic in his eyes, "Well, Tom, Herman Observatory has just spotted what appears to be a group of space crafts on a course bound for Earth. At present, it is too early to tell whether the space crafts are friendly or hostile, but one thing is clear. They are in perfect formation." The news broadcast was suddenly cut short. I quickly grabbed another game from our small pile of Atari 2600 games and inserted it into the cartridge slot. It was none other than Space Invaders. As the game began, I would often take cover underneath one of three bunkers. Several rows of alien ships were descending upon me at a rather rapid pace. I fired my projectiles every which way. Try as I might, I could not defeat them all. There were simply too many of them. With practice, I eventually learned to shoot my projectiles where the alien ship was going to be, not where it currently was. I also learned that I could shoot through the bunker and still use it as an effective shield. Those aliens were about to receive a taste of their own medicine. I took everything that I had learned and successfully sent the aliens packing. The Earth was saved from another hostile threat, and I could rest easy knowing that all would be right in the world tomorrow. Just another day of Kindergarten. "If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story." -Orson Welles
I stumbled throughout my year in Kindergarten, but ever so slowly began to properly identify colors and letters. I may have been a stubborn learner, but Mrs. Evans was a persistent teacher. I had even grown somewhat attached to her. As the school year came to a close, it did not occur to me that she would no longer be my teacher. I would have a new teacher in the fall. The first grade would offer a unique challenge for me. The school supervisors were well aware of this. They recommended further RSP support in addition to Special Day Class. The first grade was certain to be a test of patience for everyone involved, but now was not the time for thinking about school. A new arrival was about to join the Haley household. A baby brother. I would soon have another playmate. Dad was waiting for me. It was time to go to the maternity ward.
Orchard Dale: Mrs. Evans and I
"Thank you for the pretty gold beads - And please thank mommy, too, for her nice note. I really appreciate it. And for these three funny birds on this card. We are seeing a lot of them on our trip. Do come to visit me next year. Thank you again for my special necklace. Hugs, Mrs. Evans."World 0-2: Sit and Listen
-1988 Greeting Card from Mrs. Evans
"Mikey!" called out a familiar voice from the hall. I awoke from my slumber before rubbing my eyes. I climbed out of bed and proceeded to open the door. It was my dad. He said with a smile, "Get dressed. We're going to go see your new baby brother." Dad quickly gathered a few things from the back bedroom, including our brand new VHS video camera. He planned to document our arrival and departure from the hospital. Dad and I hopped into the car. I was beyond excited at this point. I could barely sit still long enough to put on my seat belt. We drove to the hospital, and once we arrived safe and sound, dad retrieved our camera from the trunk of the car. He pressed the record button and proceeded to film the hospital sign. He panned around the parking lot and gave us a heartfelt introduction before beginning our walk toward the entrance. As we walked, I said with curiosity, "Is that still on?" To which my dad replied, "Yeah, we're going to record this as we walk in. This is the footsteps to see our new little baby." I said with further curiosity as we neared the entrance, "Does mommy know you brought that?" Dad replied simply, "Yeah, she told me to." I asked an awful lot of questions back then. I also happened to be fascinated by elevators at that time, and I made a special request that dad film them on the way into the hospital. I made sure to repeat this request at least a dozen times in an effort to put my anxiety at ease. We eventually arrived in the maternity ward, washed our hands and entered the room with my mother and new baby brother. I walked over to the hospital bed, turned to dad and said, "Come here and see the baby." Dad captured his very first video of the new baby and said with excitement, "Here Mikey, let's get a shot of our baby." He paused for a moment before he said with a light sniffle, "Little Mic... Michael's looking at little Steven." Steven may be little now, but in time, he would be big enough to play with me. Player three had joined the game.
With my newborn brother consuming much of my parents' free time, I found that I now had a considerable amount of time to myself. I would often sit alone in my room listening to The Beach Boys on a Fisher Price record player and I would also compose my own music via a toy piano. One of the songs was entitled "Doors." It was just a rudimentary series of increasing and decreasing notes, but it was music to my ears at the time. I also continued to watch Sesame Street every morning on the living room television set. It had quickly become my whole world. I was especially enthralled by the jazzy song that Ernie's friends performed for him. He wanted very much to learn how to play the saxophone, but could not seem to put down his rubber duckie. His friends taught him how to do so through their song. You have to put down the duckie. Put down the duckie. Put down the duckie if you want to play the saxophone. In the end, Ernie learned that he did not have to lose his duck in the process. He could simply pick it back up when he was finished with the saxophone. With my sixth birthday coming up in just a few short weeks, I had two things on my mind. A saxophone and a rubber duckie. Toys "R" Us had them both in stock. The marketing geniuses behind Sesame Street had it all figured out. They knew that young children would see the show and instantly want to play with these things themselves. When my parents pulled out the bag from Toys "R" Us on my birthday, I said with a smile, "I know those letters." I may not have known how to read, but I easily recognized the colors on the letters. I played that saxophone all day and night. I played it in my room, I played it in the backyard and I even played it in the bathtub. I felt closer than ever to my friends on Sesame Street. It would soon be time to put down the saxophone, however. I was about to enter the first grade at Orchard Dale. It was certain to be a doozy.
Home: Playing the Saxophone (VHS Capture)
As I took my first steps onto the grander campus of Orchard Dale, I felt a sense of wonder. I had seen the rest of the school from my gated Kindergarten playground, but never been allowed to fully explore it until now. I naturally needed a little help finding Mrs. Hashimoto's classroom. I easily became distracted by the sheer size of the campus. I told myself that there would be time to explore the school after class. That first day was unproductive to say the least. There were a grand total of thirty-one other students in Mrs. Hashimoto's classroom. I found this to be quite overwhelming. I could not focus long enough to get any classwork done. I would instead rock back and forth in my chair while wringing my hands together. Mrs. Hashimoto did not have the resources to meet my special needs herself, and thus a one-to-one aide would be assigned to me when one became available. Until such time, it seemed as though I would be left to my own devices. The bell eventually rang and the students were let out for recess. I opened my little red lunch pale and ate my lunch directly in front of the classroom. I disassociated with the activities of the other students on the playground, and instead chose to do my own thing. I quickly discovered the main hall that connected all the classrooms. It was well enclosed and even had a few dark spots. In the coming days and weeks, I would find myself racing through that very hall quite often. I still felt a sense of wonder, but more so than that, a sense of mischievousness. I had no adult supervision during these times of play, and would often act on every stray impulse that I had. One day while I was standing in a darkened portion of the hall, I happened to spot a custodian finishing up his rounds. As he walked past me, I extended my leg outward. The custodian tripped over my foot and fell to the ground. I said while wringing my hands together, "What happened? Did something happen?" In my warped six year old mind, I was just playing a game with him, but the consequences were very much real this time. The custodian was sent to the hospital. And I was sent to the office. I was told to wait there for the principal. She eventually appeared from her office. She wore these beady eyeglasses. Her hair permed ever so short. Her name was Mrs. Grubbs and she just glanced at me with a look of complete disgust. She pointed to her office and said with a fiery tone, "In my office... NOW!" She made me sit in a compact chair desk for the duration of my visit. Mrs. Grubbs leaned against her own desk and said with contempt, "You can't just go around tripping unsuspecting people! What do you have to say for yourself, Michael?" I thought for what felt like a good minute before responding. I finally replied with fear in my eyes, "It was an accident. We were just playing." Mrs. Grubbs just looked at me with a cold expression. She grasped a piece of paper from her desk and said, "Your parents are going to hear about this. Take your backpack and wait out in the office." As I began to walk out of her office, she said with a certain vigor, "Oh, and Michael? Just so you know. I have my eyes on you. Wherever you go, I'll be watching." I looked back to see the look on Mrs. Grubbs face just as the door closed behind me. To say that she was displeased with my actions would be an understatement. I was sent home early and given a two week suspension. I would also find myself grounded for the foreseeable future. No television, no Atari 2600 and no saxophone. It would be like living in the dark ages. When you go medieval, you live medieval.
It 'twas the darkest of nights. Not a speck of light were to be cast in my chamber. For I was being punished for my wicked misdeeds. A fortnight of solitude standith before me. I must heed the harsh lesson if I wished to be granted my freedom. The darkest of nights would eventually cease. Morning light broke through my dreary window, and I again set foot outside my lonely chamber. I quickly readied myself to venture outward once more. My mother had made arrangements to drive me over to Mrs. Evans house. My kindergarten teacher from the year prior. She just so happened to live directly across from the school. Seeing her again brought a smile to my face. I had missed her so much ever since beginning the first grade. Mrs. Evans thanked us for the pretty gold beads we gave her, and for the nice note my mother wrote to her. She had recently been on a trip up to the Oregon Coast where she saw a number of pelicans. A large water-based bird with a long beak. Mrs. Evans seemed disappointed by my recent transgressions in school, but wished me the best of luck in the future. It was certainly a joy to catch up with her again. I had not formed the same kind of bond with Mrs. Hashimoto, but was willing to give her a chance. We waved goodbye to Mrs. Evans and drove home. Night quickly fell over Haley Manor, but morning light once again broke through my window the next day. It was time to get ready for school. It was time to finish the first grade. That is, if the first grade did not finish me first.
Orchard Dale: Art Project (Daddy)
Written on the back of the project: "I like to mow the lawn with my daddy. I have my own mower."
With my two week suspension having run its course, I returned to Mrs. Hashimoto's class to continue my first grade studies. A one-to-one aide was now assigned to me. Her name was Edith Ridenauer. With her help, I managed to complete a few assignments here and there. We worked on a number of writing exercises and paper craft projects. One such project was made to look like my dad. On the back of the paper craft, it simply reads, "I like to mow the lawn with my daddy. I have my own mower." For Saint Patrick's Day, I was instructed to write a short story on lined paper. The short story is as follows, "We will hide and catch the leprechaun. We will eat the gold. It is candy." My penmanship was all over the place, but at least I was trying. The bell rang once more and the students were let out for their recess. I again opened my little red lunch pale and ate my lunch in front of the classroom. This time, a girl from my class sat down next to me. She seemed a bit shy and never spoke very much. She just really liked sitting there. In the weeks that followed, I began spending more of my classroom time in a quiet room on the far side of the campus. Try as I might, I could not seem to concentrate for very long in Mrs. Hashimoto's class. Even with the assistance of my one-to-one aide. When the bell rang in the quiet room, I would often find myself swinging around a pole at the end of the corridor. I ultimately never returned to the table outside Mrs. Hashimoto's class, and thus, I never did find out why that girl liked sitting next to me.
As the school year slowly drew to a close, I became increasingly disruptive. What little patience I had mustered for the classroom curriculum appeared to be dwindling. I spent much of my mornings in class rearranging desks and chairs, tossing papers onto the floor, shouting and screaming. On at least one occasion, I even appeared to be having a conversation with my backpack. A conversation that quickly turned ugly when the backpack began flying about the room. Someone should have notified air traffic control. One particularly bad day, I removed my shoes from my feet and threw them across the class. The teacher had seen quite enough. I was once again sent to the office. Mrs. Grubbs was in her office working on some paperwork for the school. I was ordered to have a seat in the compact chair desk in the corner of her office. She would deal with me shortly. Mrs. Grubbs really knew how to build suspense. I sat there just dreading her eventual response. Finally, she said aloud, "What are you doing in my office, Michael?" I responded with a tremble, "My shoes had a mind of their own." Mrs. Grubbs said with an ever so slight grin on her face, "Is that what you're going to tell your father?" I became as still as stone. I may not have behaved well around most of the people in my life at that time, but I always behaved when I was with my dad. Mrs. Grubbs seemed to know this very well. I sometimes suspected that she enjoyed digging her metaphorical claws into me as much as I enjoyed acting up in class. We had a beautiful thing going. Like an inconspicuous Venus flytrap waiting to catch its prey. Alas, it was not meant to last. The school could not tolerate my outlandish behavior any further and began closed door meetings to determine a course of action. The trial was about to begin. I was called into a large room with the principal and other high ranking school officials. A single chair stood before a row of tables. I was made to sit in that chair while the proceedings took place. It was unanimously decided upon that I hereby be expelled from Orchard Dale Elementary; to be transferred to a non-public school with enrollment beginning the following school year. Furthermore, the school board recommended that I be evaluated by The Diagnostic Center in Los Angeles; for a possible extended assessment. In other words, I would be forced to live away from home for a period of time. I took one last look around the school's campus after the trial had concluded. I tried my best to hold back tears. I was going to miss that pole. As for Mrs. Grubbs, we would ultimately see each other again in a few short years. We would have more opportunities to haunt one another in due time. For now, however, it was time to go home. Dad was waiting for me. It was time to face the music.
Orchard Dale: Mrs. Hashimoto's Class
"Michael either threw over his desk or attempted to every day, shouted or screamed in the class and the office on numerous occasions, and on March 16th, threw his shoes in the class hitting other children, and kicked at the aide and me as we restrained him. That day I wrote, 'Michael is exhibiting unpredictable, violent behavior in the classroom to the point that I feel he represents a real danger to the other children.' This was not the first violent episode he has had, but it is the first I personally witnessed. The next day, he apparently had shifted gears, and he wrote a very good 3-sentence story along with the rest of the class." -Marianne E. ScanlonWorld 0-3: From Rossier with Love
My time at Orchard Dale had come to an abrupt end. I was to be placed in a non-public school known as Rossier beginning in the fall. I had the whole summer to think things over. Dad and I had recently started a small vegetable garden out in the backyard. We were growing a single row of tomato plants, a row of corn and three citrus trees. A small enough garden for me to handle on my own. I was responsible for watering the plants each and every day. Even while watering plants, I would still find myself chronically off-task on occasion. The water would sometimes find its way into other areas. On a few occasions, I would spray the hose over the fence into the neighbor's yard. It would often give the neighbor a good soaking while he was out tending to his own plants. He became ever more irritated with my behavior as time went on. Dad would ultimately use the tomatoes and corn from our garden for various meals. They were always the best. Nothing compares to the taste of a homegrown vegetable. Our garden would eventually grow to include cucumber, lettuce and zucchini. My dad was especially fond of the zucchini. He would chop the zucchini into small rounds, dip the rounds into an egg mixture, followed by a breadcrumb mixture. He would then fry them in a sauce pan for a few minutes. It was simply called breaded zucchini and it was quite tasty. I became so wrapped up in the garden that I had nearly forgotten about school. September was once again upon us, and I was about to begin attending a brand new school. It would also be the first time in which I would be riding the little yellow school bus. Was I truly ready for Rossier, or rather, was Rossier ready for me? Only time would tell.
My mother packed my little red lunch pale and I waited beside the curb for the school bus to arrive. It pulled up in front of our house a short while later. After the bus driver opened the doors, I boarded and quickly found an empty seat. They were not the most comfortable of seats, but that was more than likely the last thing on my mind at that very moment. The other children were quite rowdy. Playfully teasing one another and kicking the seats in front of them. It was going to be a long ride. Rossier was a good ten miles from my house, and we still had a few other stops to make along the way. If I had known that Disneyland was just a few blocks from our destination, I would have probably tried to vacate the bus early. We eventually arrived at Rossier. I was thankful that the trip was finished. As I departed the school bus, I felt somewhat disoriented. Everything was unfamiliar to me. I had arrived at a whole new school. I once again needed a little help finding my classroom. I was surprised by how few students were in the room. There were just six in total. It had an entirely different kind of vibe when compared to my packed first grade class at Orchard Dale. A quieter space with fewer distractions. I might actually focus on my assignments more often than not. For once, my shoes might even stay on my feet. My new teacher was named Karen Davenport. She seemed like a nice lady. Karen was more determined to help struggling students than some of the other teachers I had known up to that point. Sitting in her class while she read stories to the children reminded me fondly of Mrs. Evans. Of course, I did not always sit quietly. I would sometimes distract for attention. I would in time learn to be a little more cooperative. Rossier was better equipped to deal with behavior problems. They had dedicated aides on hand to respond to various situations. It was not long before they realized that time out was not the most effective punishment for me. It gave me time away from my studies to be in my own world. They would instead begin to utilize positive reinforcers. If I remained seated and completed my assignments in a timely manner, I would be given more playtime. It was ultimately a far more productive discipline. My first day at Rossier breezed by rather quickly. It would soon be time to return to the bus. I was anxious to catch up with my favorite television shows. A new one had just recently begun airing. It was a show about two sassy plumbers. I was so excited to get back home, I completely tuned out the other children kicking the seat behind me.
Home: Waiting for the School Bus
Hey, paisanos! It's The Super Mario Bros. Super Show! Every time I heard those words, I knew that I was in for a treat. I would sit in front of the television set and hum along to the opening rap song. "We're the Mario Brothers and plumbin's our game. We're not like the others who get all the fame. If your sink is in trouble, you can call us on the double. We're faster than the others, you'll be hooked on the brothers. Yo, you're in for a treat, so hang onto your seat. Get ready for adventure and remarkable feats. You'll meet Koopas, the Troopas, the Princess and the others. Hangin' with the plumbers, you'll be hooked on the brothers!" With the amount of hand wringing that I was doing, it was clear that I was indeed hooked on the brothers. The show began with a live action segment starring Lou Albano as Mario and Danny Wells as Luigi. They would find themselves involved in various hijinks around their Brooklyn-based apartment. Occasionally, well known celebrities would even make guest appearances. After the shenanigans were finished, Mario would introduce us to the day's cartoon and we were off to the Mushroom Kingdom. The animated versions of Mario and Luigi, Princess Toadstool and Toad were often in the middle of a grand adventure. Exploring ancient tombs, dense jungles, frosty mountain peaks and even lands above the clouds. It was an extravaganza of adventure. King Koopa would frequently appear during their journey in an effort to thwart their progress. It seemed to be his whole reason for being. King Koopa may have been a rather nasty deterrent, but Mario and Luigi possessed special powers. When they touched a fire flower, they could temporarily shoot fireballs out of the palm of their hand. It was so cool. I could only dream of such a power. With the big bad lizard out of the way, our heroes were free to complete their adventure. The show concluded with another live action segment in the Mario Brothers' apartment. Mario promised many more adventures to come. He also encouraged viewers to tune in on Friday for a special cartoon. One set in another kingdom entirely. The magical land of Hyrule. It was called The Legend of Zelda and it was really rad. Link, the chosen knight of Hyrule, wielded a powerful sword capable of shooting beams of light. It too was very cool. I would continue to tune in for more adventures in the Mushroom Kingdom and Hyrule. I longed for a day in which I might even play freely in these worlds. That day was fast approaching. For the moment, however, it was time to get ready for another week at Rossier.
I once again waited outside for the bus to arrive. The ride to school became somewhat more manageable in the weeks and months following my enrollment at Rossier. I had even developed a fairly straightforward routine upon my arrival at school. I would run directly from the bus to class and rush to my desk each and every morning. I always kept my desk free from clutter too. I was eager to learn for the very first time in my life. I have Karen and her aides to thank for that. They continued to work with me despite my history of disobedience. Karen and her aides saw something special in every student who passed through their doors. We were not stupid. We just needed a little compassion and understanding. With ongoing encouragement, I would learn how to spell my name and most of my address. I would even learn how to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. Because many of the students in Karen's class were prone to high stress levels, we would sometimes take a short break during class and lay down underneath our desks. It was a quiet time to recharge our batteries for another round of learning. A BorgWarner System80 resided in the classroom. It was a fairly simplistic computer system that operated off a record and slide. Math and reading questions from the slide were illuminated onto a small display with five physical buttons beneath it to choose from. After the student chose an answer, the record would then play the appropriate response and the slide would move to the next question. The System80 offered a unique type of learning experience. It felt almost like a video game. The class would often make use of the system in addition to traditional paper and pencil tasks. I would occasionally become a little flustered while working out problems on paper. I made jerky movements while holding my pencil in hand. During one such pencil task, I actually managed to stab one of the aides. I was simply stretching my arms out while sitting at my desk, unaware that she was walking behind me. The incident was taken very seriously, but for once, it truly was an accident. I apologized to the aide immediately following the incident. Despite my clumsy pencil work, Karen would come to trust me on a few occasions. After the conclusion of an event in the gymnasium, she asked me to carry the center piece of a class project back to the classroom. Karen had confidence in me and I did not want to let her down. I carefully picked up and carried the project outside. However, as I was walking down the hall, the wind began to blow parts of the project onto the pavement. I quickly raced to retrieve the shattered pieces before the wind carried them further away. But it appeared to be a losing battle. I could not hold on to everything. The wind carried the pieces of the class project out into the field. I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I did not want to return to class empty handed. As I entered the field, I was taken by surprise as a group of students hopped down from atop the playground equipment and proceeded to punch and kick me until I fell to the ground. I was unable to fight back. I instead curled desperately into a ball. The students eventually grew tired of their attack and dispersed. I mustered the strength to stand once more and then walked back to class, with the shattered project still blowing in the wind. Karen was naturally disappointed in me, but I was so confused by the incident on the field, I tuned everything else out for the rest of the day. I was just longing to get back home. Maybe a round of Atari 2600 games would take my mind off the day's events.
Rossier: My Desk
Dad was waiting for me. He had made arrangements for the family to dine out. We were on our way to Chris' & Pitt's. A barbecue-style restaurant with a wide selection of sandwiches, steaks and ribs. And some of the largest fries I had ever laid my eyes on. My dad was especially fond of their barbecued ham sandwich. He was so fond of it that he would often prepare a homemade variant on special occasions. Thin slices of pork were fried in a pan full of barbecue sauce before being added to a bread roll. While we waited to be seated, I would pass the time by staring at the miniature arcade cabinets in the lobby area. They also had a love tester, but I had zero interest in those things. One of the arcade machines featured a little yellow guy with a big mouth. It was of course none other than Pac-Man. Just watching that guy gobble up those white dots was very entrancing. I could see myself standing there popping tokens into the machine all day, but then I happened to remember something. We had Pac-Man at home. The Atari 2600 version of Pac-Man, that is. It was time to dig out the Atari 2600 for one more game. Gobble, gobble. As soon as we came home from dinner, I brought the system into my room and set it up on my new television. Yes, I finally owned my own television. I popped the Pac-Man cartridge into the Atari 2600 and pressed the power button on the system. As I began to play the game, I realized that the graphics were not of the same caliber as the arcade version, but the gameplay felt almost identical. Pac-Man could still gobble up white dots, or more accurately stated for the Atari 2600 version, brown dashes. And eating the large dots on the far corners of the screen would still turn the ghosts blue for a short period of time. Thus, allowing Pac-Man to gobble them up as well. It was somewhat of a challenge devouring all of the dashes before the ghosts caught up with me, but I eventually persevered in my mission to fill Pac-Man's stomach. To my surprise, the screen reset the items and the game continued. Pac-Man's hunger knew no end. He was ready for seconds and even thirds. It suddenly became a matter of time. How long could I hold out against those pesky ghosts. I could have played the game all night, but I needed my rest. I was about to embark on a week long trip to East Los Angeles with my grandmother to be evaluated by The Diagnostic Center. I was not particularly looking forward to going. But at least it was only for a week. Or so I thought at the time.
Home: Atari 2600 Game Collection
Rossier: Class Picture Day (1989-1990)
"Michael runs from the bus to class and rushes to his seat each morning. He does not like to talk to peers unless he is in his room. Michael is very neat and tidy and keeps his desk free from clutter."World 0-4: Far From Home
-Annual Pupil Progress Report (April 30th, 1990)
Considering that I would be staying at The Diagnostic Center for a whole week, I needed to pack a week's worth of clothing, toothpaste and soap. My mother helped me gather my things. I would have likely just packed a bunch of random toys. With my bags loaded into the car, my grandmother and I drove off toward East Los Angeles. It felt like a particularly long drive. The Diagnostic Center was further from home than I realized. It was so far from home in fact that we had to drive on the freeway for a good while. My grandmother eventually exited the freeway and pulled into the parking lot of The Diagnostic Center. It was a fairly big looking place. The facility was entirely enclosed and seemed to have multiple floors. It was somewhat overwhelming at first. My grandmother and I checked in at the front desk in the main hall and then proceeded to room number six. There were cubbies for our bags, several beds with which to sleep and a bathroom to wash up in. Our dinner would be waiting for us in the cafeteria. I came to loathe cafeteria food over the years, but food is food. After dinner, we returned to our room and prepared for bed. We had a series of meetings to attend on Monday. I had the whole night to contemplate the coming day and week. As the sun began to rise, my grandmother helped me get ready. We were scheduled to meet in the parent lounge for orientation. There, I met a few staff members and learned more about the day ahead. I would be evaluated by a communication, education, medical and psychology specialist. The psychology specialist was named Michael just like me. He asked me to examine the scene present in the picture book sitting between us on his desk. After I gave my assessment of the scene in the picture, he would then flip the page to reveal a new picture. This activity continued for a full hour. Needless to say, I quickly grew tired of the questions. I still had several evaluations left to go before the end of the day, but internally, I was already shutting down from overstimulation. Tuesday brought even more meetings with various specialists. It was turning into a very special week. Thankfully, there were a few unassigned time slots on Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. I found myself with some free time in the lounge of The Diagnostic Center. It was not long before I discovered a little grey box that sat underneath the television. There were cartridges scattered about that reminded me of our Atari 2600 back home. However, this particular machine appeared to be capable of displaying vastly improved graphics. The characters on the screen actually looked like people rather than simple blocks. The machine was also capable of producing richer sound effects and even full length music tracks. As I picked up the controller for the first time, I felt a sense of belonging. I may have been far from home at the time, but this machine made me feel as if I were home again. This machine would ultimately become my saving grace. Through the exploration of worlds within that little grey box, I would eventually overcome certain obstacles in my life. I came to know this machine as Nintendo. My week at The Diagnostic Center was rather eventful to say the least. On Friday afternoon, my grandmother and I finally checked out at the front desk, loaded our bags into the car and drove back to the freeway. Dad was waiting for me. It was time to go home. It was time to play with power.
With my eighth birthday right around the corner, I had just one thing on my mind. My very own Nintendo system. I had my eyes on the Super Mario Bros. + Duck Hunt Bundle. Otherwise known as the Nintendo Entertainment System Action Set. It came with Super Mario Bros. and Duck Hunt on a single game pak, an orange NES zapper light gun, two controllers, and of course, the system itself. I could hardly contain my excitement. In fact, as my birthday approached, I was a complete basket case. It was far more exciting than the saxophone and rubber duckie from two birthdays prior. The duckie was put down for good. It was time to pick up the zapper and lay waste to the ducks. On my eighth birthday, my dad captured one of my first experiences with Duck Hunt using his VHS video camera. I was bouncing around the room like a sugar intoxicated rabbit. "Show how you shoot a duck and then we can turn it off," said my noticeably exhausted dad just as the Duck Hunt title screen finally appeared. I quickly took aim at the screen and began firing away. Jumpy as I may have been, I still managed to shoot down every last duck on the screen. I said with a certain degree of confidence as I readied to fire my last shot, "I just got one more!" I was not going to settle for just any victory. I was going for the million. A million points, that is. "Watch the million," said my ever so excited eight year old self. Before shutting off the video camera, my dad turned toward me and said, "Happy birthday, Mikey!" I waved goodbye to the camera somewhat reluctantly. Many more ducks would soon meet their demise. I found myself rapidly alternating between Duck Hunt and Super Mario Bros. in those early days of the Nintendo system. Super Mario Bros. was another surreal experience for its time. It featured side-scrolling levels with colorful graphics. Mario's ability to power himself up greatly fascinated me. A mushroom would turn Mario big, and a fire flower would give him the ability to shoot fireballs. I became so fascinated by the fire flower that I even made one in school. It was the next best thing to possessing the power myself. The era of Nintendo had officially begun. I could not wait until my baby brother was old enough to play. Nintendo would soon dominate over the Haley household. It was only a matter of time. For the moment, however, it was time to get ready for a whole new school year at Rossier. I was finally beginning to feel more comfortable within Karen Davenport's classroom, and I was eager to see where things would lead in year two.
Home: Playing Duck Hunt (VHS Capture)
I went through my usual pre-school routine. I awoke from bed and rubbed my sleepy eyes. I gave myself a quick bath, slipped into my school clothes and then straightened my hair. As usual, my mother had packed my little red lunch pale for me. My backpack was also ready to go. I had a few extra pencils and a stack of lined paper. I was prepared for school both mentally and physically. For once, I was not going to stumble. I waited beside the curb for the school bus to arrive. It soon pulled up in front of our house and proceeded to open its doors. I quickly boarded and found an empty seat. The bus driver closed the doors and began the long drive to Rossier. The other children were as rowdy as ever, but I had learned to tune them out. I was just anxious to begin my day in Karen's class. As soon as the bus arrived at Rossier, I rushed to my classroom. In times past, I would sometimes find my eyes watering up on me while making the trip from the bus to class. Occasionally, a tear might even fall down my face. My initial feelings about being transferred to Rossier might not have been the best, but I felt that this was ultimately caused by the morning air. My eyes were quite sensitive to it. In any event, I had finally settled in at Rossier. I felt as though I truly belonged in Karen's class. I was overcome by a sense of joy as I ran to my desk. It was a brand new school year and I was eager to learn. I continued to work on my handwriting skills, sloppy as they may have been at the time. I also continued to practice math and reading comprehension with the System80 computer system. Math was never my favorite subject in school, but at least the System80 made the experience a little more fun. While working on a somewhat complicated paper and pencil task, I muttered to myself, "This is stupid." One of the aides overheard me, and she said with a heavy heart, "You're not stupid. You just need to concentrate." I responded with frustration, "I didn't say I was stupid. I said this is stupid." The aide leaned over the desk and proceeded to help me work out the problem. She said with a smile, "Keep at it. You'll get better." Words of encouragement were always nice to hear. Karen and her aides believed that their students were capable of anything if they simply applied themselves. I had certainly formed a bond with them. They were always there when I needed a little help. It was difficult to imagine a world without them. Unfortunately, that day would soon be at hand. I was called up to the office one chilly morning near the end of the semester. I had a meeting with the school principal. One which immediately gave me flashbacks to Mrs. Grubbs of Orchard Dale Elementary. I had been approved for an extended assessment at The Diagnostic Center. My time at Rossier would therefore be coming to an end. I did not understand the decision at the time. I felt as if I had done nothing wrong. I felt betrayed. I stormed out of the principal's office with tears in my eyes. As the semester drew to a close, I said my final goodbyes to Karen and her aides and took one last look around the campus. Rossier was the first school that I had grown especially attached to, and I was going to miss rushing through her halls. I boarded the school bus one last time and quickly found an empty seat. Dad was waiting for me. It was time to go home. It was time to prepare for The Diagnostic Center.
Would you like to swing on a star? Carry moonbeams home in a jar? And be better off than you are? Or would you rather go to Earth? An Earthling's a creature who is plain as can be. He's not as unique as you or me. His body comes in lots of different shapes. They say his relatives were chimps and apes. But if you take my advice for what it's worth. You could be happy there on Earth. For a mere half an hour on Saturday afternoon, I was as content as could be. I had become hooked on a fantasy sitcom called Out of This World. A young girl comes to realize that her father is an alien from another planet and that she possesses strange and magical powers. I was always fascinated by the way in which she stopped time with her fingers. Evie pressed her index fingers together for just a split second and everything around her came to a standstill. I wished that I could possess such a power right about now. I could stop myself from having to leave home for The Diagnostic Center. But at least Evie helped me forget about the real world for that mere half an hour. I had developed a rather significant crush on Evie played by Maureen Flannigan. Platonically speaking, of course. I was only eight years old. There was just something ever so enchanting about her eyes. She made me feel as though I really was swinging on a star. It was not long before my dad called me back to Earth. It was time to take out the trash and water the plants. I managed to complete the task of moving the trash barrels out to the curb without any major incidents, but my aim with the watering hose was still in dire need of improvement. I continued to spray the hose over the fence into the neighbor's yard. He had become increasingly enraged by my behavior in recent times. On one particular occasion, the neighbor called out to my dad over the fence. He said rather angrily, "What's the matter, Paul, can't you control your son?" My dad seemed quite upset about the whole ordeal with the neighbor. They had developed somewhat of a feud due in large part to my childhood antics. The neighbor would often tease my dad while he himself was watering our yard. The neighbor said in a smug voice, "Look at the man watering his lawn." I rarely did anything out of spite at that age. It was more of a playful, mischievous activity that just so happened to sometimes hurt people. But seeing my dad upset like that unleashed something deep inside of me. I decided that it was time to do my worst to the neighbor. I overwatered a patch of dirt in our backyard, dug out a pile of mud and prepared a slew of mudballs. I proceeded to throw them at the neighbor's windows. When he came out to investigate the scene, I then sprayed him directly in the face with the hose. I had never seen someone with a more red face in all my life. He was pissed. And I was smiling from ear to ear. Thankfully, for his own sake, he never met me in a dark hallway. My departure date was drawing near. I was terrified by the very idea of living away from home. Tensions appeared to be at an all time high. I happened to overhear my dad having a very difficult conversation with my mother. He said rather emotionally, "I can't take him. You know what that would do to me." Dad seemed quite distraught about something. Were they talking about me? About The Diagnostic Center? My mother eventually came down the hall and helped me finish packing my bags. We reluctantly loaded them into the car. With the engine already going, I ran back to the house to give my dad a hug. I told him to keep the plants watered and to also keep my Nintendo safe. He tried his best to hold back a tear as I returned to the car. Dad would be waiting for me. It was time to leave home. My mother and I drove off into the sunset. I was bound for an extended stay at The Diagnostic Center.
This chapter of my life had officially come to a close, but a whole new one was just beginning. A chapter set far from home.
Supertramp's The Logical Song
Epilogue
The night had fallen. Darkness enveloped the surrounding landscape. My attention was focused squarely on the occasional street lamp as our car quickly whizzed by. With every passing light, I was one step closer to The Diagnostic Center. I was dreading the very thought of being left there on my own. As my mother finally entered the parking lot, I became glued to my seat. I would not move an inch. After a bit of a struggle, I eventually followed my mother into the facility. But I did not do so quietly. I was kicking and screaming the whole way. After checking in at the front desk, I was assigned to a room for the night. I clinged ever so tightly to my mother. A staff member would ultimately be needed to assist in escorting me to my room. I desperately called out to my mother as the staff member dragged me away from her. I was not a happy camper. I would have rather been just about anywhere else at that very moment. That first night living away from home at The Diagnostic Center was one of the roughest experiences of my life. I could not sleep a wink. I was suddenly reminded of Big Bird's situation in Follow That Bird. Miss Finch just came along and plucked him from his family on Sesame Street. Big Bird was ultimately in the same boat that I now found myself. Sleeping in a strange bed with even stranger surroundings. One little star all alone in the sky. Do you ever get lonely as the twilight drifts by? One little star in the darkening blue. Do you long for another just the way that I do? Sky begins to fill. Darkness ends the day. Someone who I love is far away. Oh, one little star. Shine on us all tonight. "It's bedtime. Not another peep or you'll be given time out," said a staff member sitting in the hall. If I made any more noise, I would be forced to stand out there with my head to the wall. I quietly whispered, "Good night, Big Bird."
A few days later, I was given a sliver of time to myself in the lounge of The Diagnostic Center. My eyes were immediately affixed to the television screen on the left side of the room. I ran as fast as humanly possible, picked out a game from the bin and inserted it into the Nintendo system. I eagerly pressed the power button on the system and proceeded to take the controller into my hands. It was the warmest embrace that I could hope to experience at The Diagnostic Center. I waited with baited breath as the title screen appeared before me. A waterfall flowed forth from a mountaintop. The music that accompanied the title screen greatly captivated me. It was a truly magical tune. I pressed the start button and was then presented with a screen to input my name. Never before had a video game asked me for my name. I quickly input "Michael" in the empty field. I was all set for a grand adventure in the land of Hyrule. Despite my living arrangements, I was suddenly at peace. At least in that particular moment. The magic of Nintendo eased my emotional pain. I was whisked away for but a brief period of time. All of my problems seemed so far away while I was busy exploring the fields and dungeons of The Legend of Zelda. I tried my very best to cherish that moment. If only time could stand still. If time could bestill my sorrows. I could at least be thankful that Nintendo brought me such comfort in my hour of darkness. A lifelong romance with Nintendo was just beginning. There would be many more adventures to come.
It's dangerous to go alone! Take this.
The Legend of Zelda (Name Entry)
This chapter is dedicated to Paula Evans and Karen Davenport. They were two teachers who cared deeply for their students. Even the ones who, like myself, were clearly struggling within the classroom setting. I hope that this chapter will provide inspiration to others. Never let anyone tell you you're not good enough. You have so much light and love to give to this world. Never give up. Believe in yourself and follow your dreams. I would also like to give an honorable mention to Mrs. Hashimoto. She did the best she could with the resources she had. I was simply beyond her control. And Mrs. Grubbs, if you're reading this, I'll never forget our times together. I feel as though your presence touched my very soul. I hope that your grandchildren turned out just like me.
"Michael received a trans-disciplinary short-term assessment at The Diagnostic Center during the week of June 24th-29th, 1990. He was referred by the East Whittier City School District for an evaluation to determine the extent of Michael's emotional disturbance, appropriate behavior management and instructional techniques and interventions. Results of this assessment revealed the need for a continued diagnostic program to answer specific questions generated by the short-term team. Subsequently, at the request of the district, he was enrolled for extended assessment within a residential setting at The Diagnostic Center from January 7th, 1991 through July 24th, 1991." -Clinical Assessment
"Nintendo is a company close to my heart. Growing up, Nintendo was always there. Their games helped me through some difficult times. For instance, the time in which I had to live away from home as a child, and more recently, the death of my father. Of course, Nintendo was always there through good times, as well. Memories of playing Super Mario Bros. with my kid brother fill my head with nostalgia, and instantly bring me back to a simpler time. Thanks for all the memories, Nintendo!" -Nintendo with the Haleys Opening MessageFurther Reading:
Nintendo Rhapsody (World 1: Far From Home)
Nintendo Rhapsody (World 1: Far From Home Redux)
Psychoeducation: Preschool
Psychoeducation: The First Grade
Psychoeducation: The Second First Grade
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