Chapter 1: The New Neighbors

In 1960, I was a shy, skinny fourteen-year-old kid growing up in a small town in Florida. I had no self-confidence, was scared to death of girls, and was certain that I was the only guy in the tenth grade who had never had sex. Hell, I had never even had a real kiss. I knew that everybody else in school was aware of my lack of success. That guy walking through the halls with the scarlet "V" (for Virgin) on his forehead? That was me. But I had no idea how to rid myself of that stigma.

Kids today find themselves immersed in a culture where they are surrounded by sex. Even fifth-graders know what a blowjob is. But 1960 was a simpler, more innocent time. There was no Internet, no video games, and most families, like mine, had one black-and-white TV for entertainment. You had three channels to choose from, maybe four if your Dad could turn the outside antenna just right. Remote control? That was when Mom called you for supper from half a block away.

My knowledge of everything having to do with sex and females in general was minimal. Kids in that era got most of their sex education from their peers. Since I was very shy, and hung out with the not-so-cool guys, what little information I had was either misleading or totally wrong. Then the Myers family moved in across the street, and my sex education program kicked into high gear.

I was trying to sleep late one Saturday morning when I heard some noise outside. I looked out my window and saw a moving van parked at the curb. It looked like we were getting new neighbors in the house directly across from ours. The last two families that had rented that house had not had any kids my age, just rug rats. But I peeked out the window anyway to check the new neighbors, just in case.

It looked like I was in luck this time. I saw a kid who looked to be about my age carrying stuff in, as well as a younger girl. They looked like brother and sister. My Mom saw me watching, and urged me to go over and offer my help, as a way of meeting them. But I was much too shy to do that. Instead, I continued to watch surreptitiously.

The next day I saw the new kid sitting on the front steps of their house. I worked up enough courage to go over and introduce myself. When I got closer, I realized that he was a little older than I had thought. He actually had a little bit of hair on his upper lip. I was a little embarrassed that I had mistaken his age, but it was too late to turn back.

"Hi," I said, hoping my voice wouldn't crack. It had been doing that a lot lately. "I'm Pete. Welcome to the neighborhood."

He gave me a funny look, but finally reached out and shook my outstretched hand. "You can't be Pete," he said solemnly. "I'm Pete, and there can only be one Pete on this block."

He said it so seriously that it took me a couple of seconds to realize that he was joking. I decided to take up his challenge. "Well, I was here first, so I guess you'll have to change your name."

"I don't think so." Now he was grinning openly. "I'm bigger than you, older than you, and I could beat the crap out of you if I felt like it. So... let's call you Peter. What are you, Peter, about ten?"

Now he was pissing me off. "I'm fourteen. And I don't go by Peter."

He grinned again. "Yeah, don't you hate it when parents name their kids after sex organs?" he said. "I've only run across one person that had it worse than I did in school. There was this kid I knew in sixth grade. His name was Richard, and he was the shortest guy in the class, so of course everyone called him Little Dick. I bet he grows up to be a mean son of a bitch."

I laughed at that story. That was just the first of many times I got a kick out of something Pete said. He had an off-kilter way of looking at the world, and could find the funny side to any situation.

"Well, we both can't be Pete," he said, "and since you don't want me calling you Peter, we've got a problem. What's your middle name?"

"Joseph."

"Ah," Pete said after thinking it over for a few seconds. "OK, you're now PJ. How does that work for you? "

"That sounds good to me," I grinned. And that was how I got the nickname I have used ever since.

Now that the ice was broken, we started exchanging information in that quick, stream-of-consciousness way that kids do when they first meet. He told me that the girl I had seen yesterday was indeed his twelve-year-old sister. Her given name was Sandra, but everyone in the family called her Snookie, a nickname that she had picked up when she was little.

"OK, go ahead, make a joke about Snookie and her nookie, or whatever," he sighed. "I know you want to, so let's get it over right now. Just don't ever make a crack like that in front of her, or she'll kick the snot out of you. She hates it when anybody outside the family calls her that."