THE BIG ONE
Based on a true story
By
Mike Krysiuk with Julia Bobkoff
“Shoot for the sun in everything you do, because even if you miss
you will land among the stars, and that’s a great place to be.” —Mike Krysiuk
PROLOGUE
It was 1974, my senior year of high school, and spring baseball was about to start. I stood on the front step in my old Yankees cap, the one I always wore when I did the yard work. The big maple, blazing red in the fall, was just showing its first green leaves. I looked down at my mother’s prized flower beds alive with buds. Everything was changing. I took a deep breath. The wind off the Saugatuck smelled fresh and promising. I should go fishing, maybe grab a buddy. But right now, I’ve got to get these chores done.
I headed to the garage. My father wanted me to cut the grass, so I changed the oil and filled the gas tank of the old Sears mower. Luckily, I only had to change the oil once a year. I wheeled it out and fired it up. I was an outdoorsman—keeper of the yard—and my parents depended on me to maintain order. I was in my domain.
As I mowed a path across the yard, I smiled at my Aunt Frances driving by in her station wagon. She lived right next door. A few of my aunts, uncles, and cousins lived in Westport, the rest in neighboring Connecticut towns. We were a large family—a mix of Polish, Italian, Irish, and Hungarian. We had big hearts and worked hard. We always got together at weddings and anniversaries and often visited each other. Aunt Frances was always stopping by to talk to my mom or borrow a cup of sugar. And her husband, Uncle John, one of my mother’s brothers, was constantly working on some project with my dad that varied from fixing a boat motor to talking about fishing equipment or gardening—my uncle’s specialty.
As I cut a circle around the maple, I thought about baseball tryouts at Staples High and all that green grass I’d be running on soon. I was setting my goals high in my final year. I knew the competition I’d be up against, and I wanted to make that team and have my dreams come true. No more bench-warming for me! This was going to be the year of “The Big One.” That was my nickname, given to me by my cousins, Johnny and Richard, when I was twelve. I towered over both of them, and it just stuck. And then it caught on at school because I was usually the biggest kid in my class, made to stand in the back row in every picture. I didn’t mind. I did what the photographer wanted. I wasn’t a pain in the ass. Or the kid who said, “I don’t want to be in the back row anymore.” I tried to keep the waters calm and just went along with the flow. My goal was to try to get along with everybody, to fit in, and never be an outsider.
In gym class I was known as a strong athlete, but when I went out for the teams, I never ended up in the limelight. Guys with one-tenth my skill always seemed to make the cut. I figured it was something to do with the parents and the Boosters Club. But that happens in every story and every small town. You look for ways to get into that clique, but it’s a crapshoot. And I usually ended up with the crap. I mean, I was on a first-name basis with that crap! I was usually held to the last day of tryouts and then let go. And the coach would slap me on the back and say: “Come out next year, Krysiuk.”
But with this being my final year of high school, I decided it was time to set my sights higher and finally grab that brass ring. Nineteen seventy-four was going to be my year—no more cuts, no more playing second fiddle, no more would have beens, should have beens, or could have beens…. Like I said, this was going to be the year of The Big One! I was shooting for the sun!
And time was running out. I was now entering the final stretch of high school, and if I wanted things to change, it had to be now. I was seventeen, that age when you’re never really happy with what you have, when you’re always striving for something more—to be one step closer, one rung higher on the ladder. Though I was doing well at school and working as a busboy at Mario’s, a popular restaurant opposite the train depot in Saugatuck, I wanted to become part of the “in crowd”—the group that always looked like they were having the most fun, the ones who always seemed to get away with everything and still come out smelling like a rose. Those effortlessly cool guys who always get the girls. It could have been the way they talked, walked, or dressed—I could never figure out how they did it. Sometimes I felt like I was a castaway in a boat on Long Island Sound—just floating off by myself. It didn’t matter that I was tall and athletic, with brown hair, big blue eyes, and a good sense of humor. I even had a cool car—a green Chevy Chevelle with a quadraphonic 8-track tape player. I also had a job that made me good money and was known to play a pretty mean guitar.
On weekends, I got together with my next-door neighbor, Royce, who played drums, and we put out our own beat—improvising on songs from The Beatles, Stones, Deep Purple, Iron Butterfly, Cream, and Johnny Winter. Royce’s friends would bring their girlfriends and, in turn, they would bring their friends, and sometimes we had a pretty good crowd. But if I saw a girl I was attracted to, I was guaranteed to get tongue-tied around her. Sometimes my mind would even go blank. I often thought, maybe I would be more popular if I associated with the right crowd. But I just couldn’t figure out who the right crowd was. So I latched onto any group I could find that seemed right. From athletes to scholars, I shot the limit. But I wasn’t considered a party type of guy. Maybe that was the problem? I liked to have fun, like everybody else, but I never overdid it. When my parents set a curfew, I stuck to it. I wouldn’t step outside the lines. But this was going to be the year I changed all that. I was going to break loose, shake things up, step into the spotlight of social success and athletic glory!
But sometimes we change too fast, walk through the wrong door, or even fall out a window. In my case, probably all of the above. In one decisive moment I shifted my friends, my crowd, my personality, my work ethic, and even my attitude towards life…which ultimately nearly killed me…along with my dreams. This is the story of how I shed the chains of a follower who walked in other people’s shadows and learned to shoot for the sun in everything I do, because even if you miss, you will land among the stars…and that is a great place to be.