The thrill lept up. The mention of a knife added to the trepidation of the night. We were standing on the pathway of a dark nature reserve walk, at the mouth of a woods spelling certain foreboding creep factor excitement. This was a place of fear, of hope, of my youth. If there was ever a location that could be the physical manifestation of my darker self, Hawthorn Glen would be the place.
I jumped up in glee. "Dude, seriously, it's fun, it's fun! Let's try it, if you get too scared we'll turn back. I promise."
"No, Pete, man, no. I . . . I don't feel good about this one. Sorry. Sorry, I can't do it."
I gave up. Mainly because he was right. I wanted to walk the dark trails at 2:00am, the trails I used to traverse at the same time of night while in high school. This park was the most interesting destination my group of friends could decide on going to each night while indulging in underage drinking, theft, drug deals, pot smoking, sex, and talks of the future. This was the most interesting summer of my formative years. All summed up in the trails of Hawthorn Glen.
Anybody can tell you that there is a strange vibe to that place. It's a park nestled in the middle of a horseshoe shaped hill covered in dark trees. An eerie coolness blankets the field, complete with slight fog, an effect of the glen. Located in Miller Valley, an unofficial landmark connecting Milwaukee to its suburban sister Wauwatosa, it reeks of conflict. Suburban dwellers mixing with inner city youth. More importantly, child ignorance mixing with adult revelation. This is the place I visit when I'm in personal turmoil, the place I go to when trying to scale obstacles.
It was the secret I kept while I was a Tae Kwon Do instructor and avid student. Parents and masters be damned, if only they knew where I was every night. I met some of the strangest people in 2001, people who lived right outside the perimeter of this park. Drunken fathers who pissed on their car tires with one hand and shook your own with their free hand when they met you for the first time out on their front yards. People who pointed at you and yelled "NIGGER!" to get their pit bull to start running at you teeth bared before yelling "STOP!" just as the dog came within inches of ripping off the flesh on your arms. Girls who thought of rape and sexual coercion as the normal way to have sex, reaping the benefits of their sexual purgatory in the form of small children held in the crooks of their arms.
This was also the year I visited South Korea with my Tae Kwon Do school. The most grandiose trip I've ever taken, complete with buddhist temple residencies, training with the Tae Kwon Do Olympic team, seeing the headquarters for Tae Kwon Do, and visiting time and again the indoor theme park in Lotte World (with father/son, peer debauchery, and first date scenarios involved). Still, the exploits surrounding Hawthorn Glen are the reason that summer was one of the more seminal summers of my life.
Last night I visited the park again with one of the companions I had while travelling to Korea. He considered Korea, that particular visit, to be the best moment of his life. It ranks second with me, because the park was better. And now he was holding a knife in his pocket, obviously picking up on the power of the Glen.
That was the summer my boss, Chan, started showing signs that he would forever be my main idol. When I became one of the lead teachers of the chain, at age 16, teaching marines, children, young and old alike. The year I had my first girlfriend. The year I started taking drugs. The year I fell into politics. Developed opinions on religion. Came out of a grade funk and went back to being a straight A and B student.
Implanted within me, come the time of 9/11, I felt the beginnings of the demons I would carry with me until this day. The ones that make you into an adult. The ones I still can't seem to flesh out. The ones that inspire the music, the art, me.
They all came from Hawthorn Glen.
"You doing okay?" I asked him as we were a block away.
He shook. "Yeah. Holy shit, that place was weird."
Happy July 4th, indeed.
*Excuse the MP3 choice for today. It was a seminal track for the time period of '01 for me and my crew, and might be Mr. Durst's only good song. That, and Weiland's vocals are pretty strikingly beautiful*
Limp Bizkit (Feat. Scott Weiland) -- "Hold On"
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