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The Stokers

When I was 7, and my friend Mark Stoker lived half a block away.

      Both of his parents were very attractive. I don't remember what his dad did for a living, but he was also a minor league baseball player. He was tall and fit, and very handsome. His name was Warren.

    Mark's motherk's name was Ernie, Ernestine, I suppose. She was short and very attractive. At least I thought so at 7.

      He also had a younger brother, but I don't remember him very well.

     Mark and I went to school together. We were in the same class. We walked home from school together. I hung out a lot at their house.

(a story about adventures walking from school here  )

     The first time I saw a certain female behavior was in Ernie Stoker. Every once in a while, she would be prone to rages and nothing we did was right. On those days we always made a mess. On those days we were too loud. It was a good idea not to go visit them when she was like that. It seemed that this happened on predictable days. Then two weeks later she would read to us, and feed us all afternoon, and she was very affectionate. And she would take a shower in the middle of the day and walk around with her robe loosely wrapped around her. I don't remember anything particularly, offensively, politically incorrect, ever happening. But it was nice being around when she was happy, affectionate, and in hugging mode.

     They took me to Warren's baseball games. I learned the joys of board games at the Stokers, they had a closet full of games. I learned that my family's cooking and cooking at the Stokers was different.  

     After we moved to my grandmother's house, I lost contact with Mark Stoker. My mother stayed friends with Mark's great grandmother, Mildred Olmstead. They started hanging out when we were neighbors. They really hung out for a couple of years after the Stokers moved to Orange County and left Mildred there in East LA.  I can't quite remember the timeline.

        My dad told a story how my mom and Mildred were driving along in an alley behind Whittier Blvd and Mildred's ancient old car stopped dead. They both said there had been a bit of a loud scraping sound. They found a pay phone and called my dad for help. He showed up with some tools and a can of gas in case they had run out. He found them waiting there in the car, in the alley. The motor mounts in the car had broken. The entire engine had fallen to the ground. 

     They asked my dad to fix it so they could continue with their day.