Son of a NARCISSIST

In the beginning

2008-03-29T07:55:00.009-04:00

Welcome to a small slice of America as viewed through my life. As we all come to an age where we see the aspirations of our youth fall to pieces, and you realize that this is as good as it gets, you might want to leave something behind that someone might find interesting or humorous. I do not recommend anyone follow the same path that I have, it was interesting, but some things I would not do again. I also wrote this blog, to help battle depression, upon a suggestion by a therapist.

The age old question; was I planned for? Many people came to be born by accident, but not me I was definitely planned for. My dad who was an advertising salesman, had just recently gone through a divorce, and had one kid (living with the mom) already. The year was 1964. He was getting his suit cleaned at the cleaners for about $3.00 when he picked up the suit and went to pay for it the lady at the counter said $3.18. He said what was the .18 for? She said why that is the tax. To which his pre-practiced reply was, "I don't need tacks, I have a whole box of them at home." Corny? yes but it was the start of his relationship with my mom. Now my mom, Jean was raised by a family that emigrated from the Ukraine. So she was dressed down, and would tie the top of her stockings in little knots so they would not fall down. Due to her innocence, she found my fast talking dad to be exciting, and everything she did not see in her home life. As they dated, she slowly came out of her shell. My dad encouraged her to dress better and put on makeup. He tought her how to drive, and encouraged her to speak up. This new Jean looked great, she felt free, and out of her shell. Well maybe a little too free. As my dad went to pick up his suit from the cleaners, he saw Jean pop up from behind the counter, glasses crooked, hair disheveled, clothes dirty. He ask her what was she doing? She said, Oh just cleaning the shelves behind the counter. Well this sounded very improbable, to my dad, so he realized that the screen door to the cleaners squeaked and probably tipped her off. So the next week, my dad oiled the door, and came into the cleaner quietly. He found Jean half naked with a large strapping Italian (the owner) on top of her. Now this would infuriate most men, they would either pick a fight with the competition or leave the girl or both, but not my dad, he was diabolical in his actions. He pretended to be hurt and then after a period of time made up. He helped her find a new job and they continued on with their sexual relationship only this time he used no protection. Sure enough she became pregnant. Her family would shame her, maybe disown her due to her strong ethnic background and the fact that society in 1965 looked down on single moms. My dad knew all of this, he said we will have to hide you from your friends and family until we can figure this out. He had her move out, and she told her family that she was moving to Washington DC for a better job. After she moved out and looked definitely pregnant, he said," tough shit. You wanted to screw that wop, now see if he will take you back because I 'm out of here." And with that he left, and my mom, all alone, with no job, no family, and a room that she would have to vacate in a month.

Love Child?

2008-03-29T02:46:00.005-04:00

Some unplanned pregnancies can be called a love child. I was born out of revenge and anger. In 1965, abortions happened, but not as prevalent as today. Jean did the best she could, she got a job as a Linotype operator at a local news paper. As time went by I guess my dad felt guilty about what he did, but it also occurred, to him that this might not be his child. He thought Jean might be pregnant by the Italian. Never the less my dad started to show up on my moms doorstep, and I guess they patched things up for now. On Dec. 19th 1965 I was born. I was named William, by my dad because he liked the actor William Holden. During this time my dad bounced around from job to job due to health problems ( he had chronic dysentery). By this time he was selling magnetic signs to businesses, because if he was too weak to work it didn't matter because he was on straight commission. They moved into a 2 room apartment in a row house in a low class neighborhood. It was 35th Street, and my dad used to call me the miracle on 35th Street. My mom harbored no such feelings, to her at that time, I was still a vengeance weapon of my dad, and she still had a roving eye. My dad would be away from home for long hours and it was common for him to return home at 8 or 9PM. I was just about the age where I could craw, when upon returning home, there was a note on the door that said, William fell down the cellar steps, we're at children's hospital. When my dad got there, I was unconscious with my eyes rolling back up in my head. He asked my mom what happened, after all there were only 2 rooms and a locked door to the cellar. She said, I don't know, I just was reading and he was there one minute and the next he was gone, and I heard a noise and found him at the bottom of the cellar steps. (Just a side note, a study was done with crawling infants where they put a piece of Plexiglas over steps. All the babies explored the room but none crawled out on the Plexiglas.) Eventually I became conscious, and was released to my parents. Two thoughts went through my dad's head. 1) if he continued with his long hours, this might happen again, and 2) if my mom were to work he could stay and watch me until she came home and the he would take me and my mom out with him when he sold signs. We would just wait in the car until he returned. So my mom got a job as a typist in the city, and this is how things went for about a year. We then moved into a duplex, and my dad's health was getting worse, he had no energy, was always going to the bathroom and hardly worked. I was about 1.5 years old, by now there was no ambiguity over who was my dad, my ears stuck out, fair skin and freckles light hair, yep just like my dad. My mom started telling my dad that this nice SINGLE young man at work wanted to come out to see the baby. My dad wanted no part of this, and denied the visit. Well some how he had to go to the doctor, and I was left alone with my mom. Guess what, I fell on my head again only this time she told him that I rolled off the bed. That was about all my dad could take, he knew that if he left me this would happen again, he never left me alone with my mom again. At about 2, I was taken to a baby sitter during the day, while both my parents were at work. Our rented duplex was the last house on a dead end street. We had a fenced in yard that overlooked a steep bluff. My mom and I would sit on the back porch watching the tinny cars on the highway below us. We would play a game of guessing which headlights were cars, motorcycles, trucks and pedidles (cars with one light burned out). On most days you could smell the Braun Bakery making Towntalk bread over the hill. I was a curious little boy, as all little boys are, and we had cinder blocks at the end of our dead end street. I always wondered if my foot could fit inside the hole in the cinder block, but my parents would not let me play down there. My dad parked his car at the end of the dead end street, and my only chance to find out if my foot would fit inside was when we were on our way out or coming home. This was my mission, at 3 years old, so one day on our way out, I stuck my foot into the block, guess what it fit perfectly. Getting it out was another story, my dad and mom were already opening the doors, and my dad noticed that I was nowhere near the car. He ask me what was I doing. I told him I was tieing my shoe (my first known lie) to which he said you don't know how to tie your shoes. Just then my foot came free, and my embarrassment was averted. Our neighbor was an old lady that my dad referred to as "the witch lady" She was single and old, and would have tea parties for all the little girls in the neighborhood, no boys. She would yell at any boys that even came near her house. One day, I was playing in our yard with my trucks, on a little patch of dirt, she started yelling at me about throwing dust and dirt every where, my dad came out and said "William is not doing anything wrong, there is not dust or dirt anywhere" The next day I went to play in my little pile of dirt only to find broken glass mixed in it.
I was just about potty trained, and did not wear diapers any more. Well I guess one time I must have forgot, and pooped my pants. My dad was mad and he figured on a way to train me once and for all. He put a little piece of poop on my nose, about the size of a q-tip swab. He then held me up to the mirror. I kept yelling and crying "take it off, take it off" I guess when he thought the message sunk in, he cleaned me up. I guess it worked, I never soiled my self again. I did have friends come over a few of the were kind of humorous. The one friend was only known to me as the money kid. His parents could be heard arguing all over the neighborhood, he would come over my house and would say,"money money money.....money money money" I guess his parents argued over the bills a lot. I had another friend Rickey, whose mom would baby sit sometimes. He had the greatest collection of metal cars and trucks that I ever saw. But his parents would not let him play with them, they all had to stay in the original boxes, and only his parents were allowed to take them out for show only, boy what a gyp for a 4 year old. I grew up watching Captain Kangaroo and a new show called Mister Rodgers. Before the Captain came on I would catch the end of a scuba diving show with Loyd Bridges, I think it was called Sea Quest. I knew some day that would be me diving underwater. About this time Martin Luther King was assassinated, and riots were happening all over the country. One day my mom left work as usual, and came to pick me up from the baby sitters. On the steps of the baby sitter there was a group of black high school girls. My mom ask if she could go up the steps to pick her son up. They said, we ain't movin fo no white honkey. My mom said that she would just wait until they moved. They said the only time we're going to move is to beat your ass. So my mom went home and told my dad about the incident. My dad said I will get them to move and I won't even say a word. My dad said get the gas can and matches...I will pour a small amount of gas in the street and light it...then I will start walking toward them with the gas, and I bet they will move before I have to do anything more. Well they went back and the girls were gone, so they picked me up without incident. Also during this time the Vietnam war was current. My mom was laid off work. My mom asked why was she being laid off, and her manager said, we got troops coming back from Nam, they need jobs so I have to lay you and a few of the other girls off, it's the least I could do for the boys since they fought for our country. This happened in October and we knew we could not afford the duplex so with our meager savings we moved into a row house in a even lower class neighborhood we had enough for about 3 months rent and very little to eat. My dads health was at a point where he only worked once or twice a week. The year was 1969. We had to sell our car for rent and food. My mom knew if the family was going to be saved she would have to do something, but looking for a job around Christmas and winter, did not look too promising.

The years of awareness

2008-03-28T02:27:00.001-04:00

Christmas for 1969 was bleak for us. We used a string of green lights, and taped them to a wall in the shape of a Christmas tree. For a little kid you don't notice that times are hard, everything was an adventure for me. My dad was going to hospitals on a weekly basis for his dysentery, but he still tried to sell magnetic signs. My mom found a job as a case worker for the welfare department, when she applied for welfare...go figure. They found a nursery school to put me into, so my mom and I, would ride the bus to nursery school, she would drop me off and pick me up again after work. She would also make my dad his lunch for while he was out selling. Some days he would go to the hospital and take me with him. I remember they had an argument about how he found a hair in the sandwich, and he made her eat the hair in front of him. Then he would take her in the other room and I would hear whack, whack. She would come out crying, but I figured that he was whacking her on the back side, like he would do to me when I was bad. I was quite inventive at 4 years old. My dad would use a paddle from a paddle ball toy to hit me on the behind. Well I started hiding it form him in all kinds of places around the house. Almost always, by the time he found the paddle he calmed down and would not hit me. By the time I was 5 the paddle broke on my behind, and that is when he would use his belt, which I could not hide.
Around this time I realized that I had a brother, well a half brother. My dad was married in 1960, because it was the thing to do when you knocked up a woman. They fought like cats and dogs, from my dad's account the barely made it through the honeymoon. My dad at one point in the honeymoon left her standing at the train station, and told her to go on the honeymoon by yourself, but he came back. His first wife was German and American Indian, so as my dad would put it stubborn and fought with everything from her teeth and finger nails. My dad wanted a divorce, but she said no, so my dad had a private investigator follow her. My dad informed her that she was being followed, and knowing her sexual prowls it would only be mater of time before she slipped up. She readily signed the divorce papers, but wanted my dad to sign papers putting my unborn brother up for adoption. He refused to sign any such papers. So that is how I ended up with my older brother.
My dad would rent a car for the weekends that my brother would visit us. He lived about 100 miles away, so every other weekend we would make the trip up to get him and bring him back. My brother was a few years older than me, and it was great when he was here, because my dad and mom were in a good mood and me and my mom would never get punished when he was around. We went on a few vacations where we went camping and to amusement parks, there was one place where they flew old ford tri-motor planes from the 1920's. We would go sled riding in the winter, where my dad dad would lay down on the old radio flyer sled and I or my brother would lay on his back. To this day I don't know how that old sled stayed together. About 4 years old my dad started teaching me to spell. he would have a list of simple words, like hot,pot, mop, top, tap, lap etc. and would have me spell and say the words every night before bed. About this time hen my mom was picking me up from nursery school, I saw an artist painting across the street, so I lagged behind to watch him (my curiosity) A few weeks later a picture of me was in our local paper. This artist was painting Victorian era buildings, and I guess he could not resist putting a curious little boy in the painting, which happen to win a top prize in a art contest. (That was probably my 15 minutes of fame) Around this time I started kindergarten and then at 5,I started first grade. I started noticing a few things that I didn't understand. My mom and dad opened a post office box up several miles from home, and then they started visiting with couples, that I never saw before. A short time after they met they would send me to a room to take a nap, and wake me a couple of hours later. Also when my dad would punish my mom, I would start paying attention to the sounds. I knew that he was not hitting her with the paddle, since it was broke, and the belt on the behind would make a different noise. I heard whack, whack, then a slight clank. I would go in the other room when nobody was around and pick up things that he could use to hit her and put them down to see if i could make the slight clank noise that he made. As of yet I could not figure it out.
Mister Rodgers was my favorite show. He had one show about how to help your parents. He said you should wash your hands before your meals, eat all your vegetables, and go to bed when you are told. Well I started to think, how is this going to help my parents? I am going to do something that will really help them. So I decided to cook breakfast. At 5 AM I turned on the stove and started putting things into a pot. Well my parents woke to the aroma of melting plastic, I ended up burning the pot handle. Undaunted I decided I was going to help paint. So I went down to the cellar, and I saw a can of spray paint high on the shelf. I pushed together all the junk I could find to make an improvised ladder, and made it to the shelf. I wanted to see what color the paint was so I pushed the button on top, and wham something was in my eye. I put the can back and pushed the pile of junk back to where everything was originally. There it was all back to the way it was and nobody would know. I came upstairs and my mom said what were you doing...I said timidly,"nothing". My mom called my dad into the room, and he ask,"were you painting something" to which I answered, no. Then he asked,"well, how did you get blue paint around your eye?" Well, I knew I was busted, and tried to explain how Mr. Rodgers inspired me, but it was no use and I was punished with the belt.

Finally A family

2008-03-27T02:46:00.004-04:00

Well, as time went on my mom came to the realization that we had a family, and my dad wasn't going to leave. So I guess we all settled in for "family" life. As you can see my dad was a strict disciplinarian. He would tell me stories of his experiences as First Sergeant in the army. So I grew up believing that if you did something wrong, you got punished.

The first "sexual" experience for me happened when I was about 3 years old. I was dropped off at a baby sitter who had children of their own. I met a little girl about my age and we played together. She pulled off her shorts and was naked. She sat on the grass and said,"It feels funny on my backside." So I joined her, then we started sitting on things like the concrete steps, the sand box, a wood board, just because it felt funny. A couple of the older kids told us to get dressed, so we did. They then said that they were going to tell on us, but I didn't know what for. In retrospect, it really wasn't a sexual thing since it was done out of total innocence.

One of the things I enjoyed was when my dad would drive up to pick my brother up every other weekend, he would take me and my mom along, for the 2+ hour drive, but sometimes me and my mom would stay at home, and she would cleaned up the house. Well when my dad left, my mom would turn the radio station from the oldies of the 1940's and 50's to current music. I was allowed to watch the "Monkeys" on TV. This was the way my mom expressed her wild side. We were still a poor family living in a row house. My mom grew her own vegetables and used lye soap on a washboard for the laundry. Disney world had just opened, and I had a poster of it on the wall, it was more of a wish than anything else. My dad had nick names for our neighbors, to the left of us was dago Mary and her pigshit Irish husband Pat moron (the last name was Moran). Next to him was gypsy Joe a postman that drank like a fish and would sleep it off while he was supposed to be delivering the mail. The post office eventually fired him when they found 6 sacks of undelivered mail in the trunk of his car. At the top of our street was a girl named Shirley, who had only 2 fingers on her right hand. She wore some sort of leather device that allowed her to pick things up. I never really noticed, we were too busy making mud pies or playing chutes and ladders. She must have been very self conscious, because she hid her hand from the camera in all the pictures we took. To the right of us was my friend Michael and his dad who was a police officer, and his wife who my dad said had a nice puss (I thought he meant a nice smile) We got to know the police officer, Paul and found out that he did not like hippies at all. He said that him and his buddies would grab hippies, (long hair types) throw them in the back of the van, beat them up, take their wallets, then drop them off at 2:00 AM in the black high crime section of the city. Michael would come over to play, but always seamed to have a switch blade knife, he said his dad would give him the knives. Michael's dad liked to drink, and would make promises to his son to take him to a ball game or fishing, but would never show up. Michael would usually end up going with us to a drive-in or to a county park. One time I was at the park riding my tri-cycle, and there was a group of mentally challenged adults there. One of them wanted to ride my tri-cycle. I was pedaling as fast as my little feet would go, to get away from him. They managed to catch the guy before he caught up to me, but I guess it would look silly if you were watching it happen. A funny story about Paul, my mom went next door to see if I was with Michael playing. Paul answered the door in a bath robe and said I wasn't there, but without missing a beat, he undid his robe to display his manhood to my mom. My mom, without missing a beat started laughing and walked away. Another time he came over our house on the pretext that he was looking for his son, Michael. My mom stepped out on the porch to talk to him. He then lifted her up in the air, and said he would not put her down till she gave him a kiss. My mom said," I hope your strong, because you will be holding me up for a long time". He eventually put her down. Since my dad was in the army, I would play army all the time. We had a set of woods across the street from our house, and I was there frequently. Then came the winter, I was bugging my mom and dad all year for a kitty cat. They said no, so I pleaded my case to Santa Clause. I wrote a letter saying I didn't want any toys, just a kitty cat. Well on Christmas eve of 1969 we heard a faint whimpering meow. We went outside to find cat tracks and a blood trail, that lead to our porch. We found a male tabby cat too week to walk any further. Of course we took the cat in, but ONLY TIL HE GETS BETTER. Well, you know how that goes, and we now had our cat. I started first grade in 1970, and the kids in school picked on me, because my ears stuck out and had buck teeth, and my hair was short. I dressed in clothes that looked like that came from the 1950's. All our clothing came from the Salvation Army or the thrift store. On the other hand, I had no problem with girls, maybe because I was the only boy paying any attention to them. One time our school went to the circus, and was having a good time kissing my girlfriend Michelle. In school we were told to pray, so I did, and I could hear the other kids praying for candy or a bike or anything else that could come into a first graders head. I started to pray for these things as well, but after a few days, I realize that I had just about everything that I wanted, so I started praying silently for God to give bikes and candy to kids that may never had them. Using time and materials wisely was not my strong suit, in fact my teacher would pick one kid every day that did something good and put a note on the bulletin board, with their name on it, to take home to their parents. I never seemed to get a note for me, but then one day there it was, a note with a gold star, to take home to my parents. Well I waited too long for this, do you think I would just run up and take my note down and run it to my parents. I left that note up there as long as I could, I wanted everyone in the class to see it every day. It was only when the teacher said,"If you don't take that note home, I am going to remove it from the bulletin board" I got my 3 weeks of fame out of it, I guessed that was long enough so I took it home to a very happy mom and dad. My first grade teacher and the gym teacher had a kind of a crush on each other. Any time between periods they would giving each other their undivided attention. The reason I know this, is that one day a couple of the boys that picked on me told her that I was poking them. All I knew is that she took me in the back room and said,"why are you poking the other students?" I said, I didn't poke anyone. She started yelling at me "WHY ARE YOU POKING THE OTHER STUDENTS" then she said that she was going to put me in a cage and let all the students poke at me with sticks. She kept getting louder, and started slamming locker doors. Hey, I was just a little kid, I broke down crying my head off , but I kept saying I didn't do it, I didn't do it.

Me and my Brother

2008-03-25T04:30:00.016-04:00

I liked when my brother would come to visit. My dad was on his best behavior. We would hardly ever get punished for doing anything wrong. That is saying a lot considering I was a very curious mischievous child. My dad had a 8 mm projector and we would watch silent movies. We would check the movies out at the public library. The movies would be the little rascals, or Laurel and Hardy. One day while our dad was changing reels, I had my fisher price farm set on the rug in front of the screen. Then my brother and I, heard a siren, and we rushed past the screen to the door to watch the fire engine. You guessed it the screen fell on to the pointed silo of the farm and poked a hole right through the screen. My dad yelled at us, but no belt, I wished my brother was around all the time. Did you ever wonder how long a slinky was? This was a question that came to me and my brother while in a 5 and 10 store called Claibers. I told my brother, there is only one way to find out, so he stood holding one end of the slinky, and I took the other end all the way down to the end of the aisle, about 50 ft. It was then my brother put a great idea in my head. He said,"don't let go", I wondered what would happen if you did let go of a slinky stretched 50 ft. So I let go of my end, and that slinky recoiled in a snap and some how wrapped around my brothers leg 3 times. A stock boy came by, and told my brother he shouldn't be playing with the toys. I always had a good time with my older brother. On the trips to and from his house (about 75 miles away) we would play auto bingo, and listen to his favorite song, by Roger Miller, "King of the Road" My brother and I went to our local park where a bunch of kids were playing a pick up game of softball. I had no idea on how the game was played, since my dad did not watch any sports on TV. We were the last 2 to join the game so to keep things even we were put on opposite teams. I just did what ever they told me, and was playing 2nd base. My brother hit the ball and was caught between 2nd and 3rd base. They kept telling me to tag my brother, I said what does that mean? They said just touch him with the ball. Well not to be out done, I made sure the ball touched him, so I threw it as hard as I could and hit him in the middle of his back. That stopped him alright, he fell face down in the dirt. I thought I did good, but found out otherwise. My brother wasn't seriously hurt, but that was the end of our playing softball that day.
Now I got into enough trouble on my own. I would place stickers on my moms back when she was food shopping. They would say rump roast, or half off, or any other humorous sticker I could find in a grocery store. I would also come up behind her and yell "BOO" which scared her most times. Another time, I was building a shack on the hill in the woods across from my house. I was rolling a section of log from a large tree that had been cut down. The log was about 2 ft around and 2 ft high. I had a time of it rolling it but was making progress, until it started to roll faster than I could control it. The log then rolled off the 20 ft edge of the hill out into the street, where there was a car heading right for the point of impact. It only missed the car by inches, the guy got out and I thought he was going to be mad, so I ran down to apologize. But he wasn't mad, in fact he put the log in the back of his car. He said he was a wood sculptor and this piece of wood was just perfect, go figure. To this day my parents never knew about that story.

A couple of humorous stories of my youth. We always had cars that were one step away from a junk yard. My dad who claimed to be a draftsman as one of his occupations, but had very little knowledge on how to fix automobiles. One day we were driving down the road and the hood flew up and hit the windshield. We pulled over and the hood was a bit mangled up, and did not want to stay shut. My dad got out of the car and started jumping up and down on the hood. Well at age 7, I wanted to help so I started jumping up and down with him. Just about then a cop shows up and says "are we having some car trouble?" I guess the cop thought we were jumping mad that are car broke down.

At about the same age, I had a little plastic blue and white boat that I played with in the bath tub. My dad said we were going to a county park with a lake to have a picnic. Wow a lake is a great place for a boat, so I got some string and my boat and was all set. When we got to the picnic site I wasted no time in getting my boat down to the water. I guess in the excitement, I forgot that I couldn't tie a good knot. Well you guessed it, the boat drifted away on the lake. My dad was quick to act, and started to try to hook it with his fishing rod. He than got yelled at by the county fishing commission, for fishing before the official fishing contest started. My dad had to explain to them that he was fishing for a boat and not fish. (some fish story) They kind of believed him but by then the boat was gone. We walked all around the lake asking if anyone had seen a blue and white tug boat go by. We got some strange looks until we explained the whole story to them. We got to the end of the lake, and a guy had my boat in his net. What a close call for my little tug boat.

Dad's Remote Control

You can always figure out an age by the year that technology changes our lives. In our house for as long as I can remember, we did not have cable TV with a remote control until 1981. That did not stop my dad from inventing a remote control. As you may have guessed everyone in the house (except him) was recruited to change the channels when he wanted them changed, along with playing with the rabbit ears to get better reception. It did not stop there, although the older commercials were at times more entertaining than the limited programming, we had to get up, turn the commercial sound off, then turn it back up after the break. Well, even at 8 years old, I still did not like to jump up and down all through a movie. One day we were at a thrift store, and I found the answer to my problem. It was a remote volume switch, with about 10ft of wire attached. I had a little money from my allowance and I bought it. I hid it in my coat pocket, because I wanted to surprise my parents. One day while they were sleeping I unplugged the TV, and took the back cover off. Wow a whole bunch of wires, I wonder what would happen if I turned this screw....POW a blue flash about the size of a soccer ball, some smoke, and then, what happened to the end of the screw driver? It was missing with a blue/black spot at the end of the shaft. I quickly put the TV back together, half afraid to plug it in. Hey, it still works. now what to do about the screw driver. I hid it in a bunch of tools that my dad rarely used. He found the screwdriver years later, but could not figure out what happened.

We would go to movie theaters from time to time. Since we were poor, we would never buy pop or popcorn from the concession stand. I don't know how my Mom did it but she managed to smuggle in 3 to 4 sixteen ounce glass bottles of Pepsi in her purse. My dad had a bit of a pot belly, so if he added some bags of popcorn to it, no one would notice. I think I was in charge of the cups and ice. If anyone went with us, they were recruited to bring something in. Now if we were at the theater and someone was talking or was too tall in front of us, my dad had a plan to handle that. He would bring in bottles of stink perfume. This stuff really smelled bad, like rotten eggs and sulfur. He would just open the bottle, and anyone around us would move. The other form of entertainment that we enjoyed was bowling duck pins. I was a little kid, so I did not bowl very well. When I would make a gutter ball, my dad would yell,"atta boy Luther" This was a line out of the movie "the Ghost and Mr. Chicken". When Don Knots character, Luther Spreg was in front of everyone trying to make a speech, he would mess up, and every time he messed up, somebody in the crowd yelled,"atta boy Luther". It was funny, because years later we watched the movie King Pin. In one scene during a bowing tournament, someone yelled out,"atta boy Luther". Do you think the Farley brothers might have been there when my dad yelled it at me, and thought it funny enough to put into a movie? could be

In the 1970s Drive In Movies were very popular. We had over 20 different theaters within 15 miles of our city. The drive-ins were popular with our family, because they were economical, we could bring our own food in without smuggling, and we could do something as a family. Well, one of the times, we went to see a very popular movie, but as of now I don't remember what it was. When we got to the drive-in, there was a long line of cars ahead of us. We waited no less than 40 min to get up to the area where you paid. I guess it was a combination of the Circus Peanuts and exhaust fumes from the gas guzzlers, that I started feeling nauseous. We got right to where you would pay, I flung the door open and spit up in front of the ticket taker. My dad turned the car around and drove home. I look back at it now, and that poor ticket taker must have thought, wow they waited 45min just to drive up here, and make this mess in front of me, then just drive away

One of my dads job was an advertising manager on a local free paper. He had a disagreement with the publisher and quit. We would pick up stacks and stacks of the free news paper and throw it into the back of our station wagon. My dad would then drive to the advertisers addresses and I would throw the stacks of papers on the street. My dad theorized that if the advertisers saw that the distribution of their ads was in the street and not to the consumers, then they would cancel their ads with the paper. I don't know if it worked, but I had fun throwing the stuff out of the car while it was moving.

As I got older the more covert our missions got. This one was for a garbage can. Back when the state highway used 55 gallon drums instead of cones, we decided to kidnap one or two of the barrels. My dad and me and my mom all rehearsed the kidnapping at our house. I was to be the lookout and had a blanket to cover the drum once we got it into the car. My mom was to open and close the tailgate while my dad picked it up and threw it in. We searched for our victim. It had to be in good condition with no flashing lights on them. The problem was most of the barrels that did not have the flashing lights were dented from cars hitting them. We finally found our perfect victim and successfully kidnapped a state construction barrel. In retrospect I guess we shouldn't have done it because, not only did my dad think the state was after him for cheating on welfare, but now they would be looking for a missing barrel.

If somebody said I couldn't do something, by gum I would figure out how to get it done. In the summer of 1971 I was at a city park, where they had one of these old 1930's fire engines cemented in the park for kids to play on. This one kid said," I bet you can't jump from the top" that was about a 4 ft jump, I said I could, so I did. when I started to walk something wasn't right. It hurt and I had a bad limp. My dad saw me and asked, what happened, I said nothing happened. He said we're going to take you to the hospital, I said NO, I will be all right. He saw a 3 year old running and said, can you run better than that, I said yes, but when I tried, I could hardly take a step. That did it for me for that summer, 4 broken bones and a cast for 3 months. The cast came off 2 days before school started, what a gyp.

SEX ,SEX well almost SEX

2008-03-23T15:41:00.003-04:00

Well, I am on my way to school and the start of 2nd grade. My 2nd grade teacher Mrs Rosco, wore granny style dresses down to her ankles and her collar buttoned all the way to the top. She was about 55 years old and looked every bit of 70, I think she might have been a nun but was kicked out for being too mean. I honestly did not know what I did to get on her bad side, but I found myself standing every day, all day at the chalk board, as some sort of punishment. She would encourage the class to treat me as an out sider, by saying things like," there is one boy we don't like, and we all know who he is". She would send me down to the principal's office, with notes saying I should not be in 2nd grade. The principal had me reading out loud in front of her from a 5th grade reader. She would walk me back to class, and tell the teacher there is nothing wrong with him. The belittling and ostracizing continued, but when my dad heard that I had to stand every day, after getting over 4 broken bones in my foot, he came to school to talk to the principal. She said that there were at least 15 other students that requested transfers out of her class, and that she would not be able to transfer me. I don't know exactly what my dad said but in 2 days I was transferred to the other 2nd grade teacher Mrs Dorsh. Now Mrs Dorsh was about 23 and always wore short dresses or mini skirts. I was only in 2nd grade but she looked good to me, and I didn't even know why. During this time my dad was still selling magnetic signs off and on. He would come home late some times and would sing "its a beautiful day in the neighborhood" as he walked through the door and put his sport coat in the closet and put on his sweater. My dad seamed to know a lot of people around town. My mom and dad would visit these people, all couples and then send me to bed for a couple of hours while we were visiting. Come to think of it, I thought it odd for my parents to have a post office box, several miles away from our house.
My dad had established a "official" residence at his mom's house. He was collecting welfare, and would put on this big act when the case worker would visit. I would see him one day, clean cut and in a sport coat, and a few days later he would not shave and ware clothes that made him look sickley. The homeless would probably give him money if they saw him. My mom, being a case worker, would give him tips on what to say, in order for him to keep getting welfare. In return for my grandma allowing him to establish a "official" residence, my dad and I would fix my grandmas rental property. I also found out my dad was abused by his mom and dad, he would tell me stories while we were fixing the house. When we would need some extra money, my dad would repeat the stories to his mom, and out of guilt she would always come up with some money. I can't say there were many arguments in our house. If you did something that displeased my dad, he would yell then punish you. My mom must have done more things wrong than me, because she seamed to be getting punished all the time. I kept hearing the whacks coming from the other room, and she would always come out crying. I still could not figure out what he was whacking her with, she never had any black eyes or noticeable bruises.

When ever my dad thought someone was following us, he would pull the car over suddenly and let them pass. He would then write down the make, model and licence plate, along with the date time and location. He must of had at least 500 of these numbers written down. He thought the welfare department was following him. When my mom suggested he was a bit paranoid, there was a reason for a few more whacks. She got whacked for holes in his underwear. You know that a man hangs either to the right or left. The holes were on the same side that he was hanging. He said that my mom was deliberately soaking that spot with bleach, and that was the cause of the holes. My mom would try to say that the underwear was old and small drops of urine, over the years would cause the holes. My dad would always trump the argument with, "why should I believe you, after all you were screwing your wop boss at the cleaners while you were going with me" He would make her get new underwear,but not give her any money. This meant she had to shoplift, and she must have did this several times, and was caught a few of the times. I could not see Santa at Gimbles with my mom, because she was banned from the store and her picture was on the wall at the store. After a while my mom would not protest anything my dad would accuse her of, because the more riled up he would get the more whacks she would get. About this time our neighbor the cop and his wife were getting divorced, who would have guessed. Michael was in cub scouts, and they were having a pine wood derby. Since Michael didn't have a father to help him with the derby car and since his mother had a "nice puss" my dad stepped in to help him. The final product didn't win the derby but got 1st prize for the nicest looking car ( it had a driver with a steering wheel and a windshield)
I had no idea what sex was, but I kind of found out. I was taken to this house where my mom and dad talked with mother whose husband was a long distance truck driver. My mom and dad and the truckers wife left and I was there with her daughter, Debbie who was about 8 her brother who was about 4 and the baby sitter who was about 15. After a short time the baby sitter, Debbie and her brother left the room. I waited and waited, but they were gone for a long time, so I went to find them. I got to the top of the steps and I saw Debbie going down on her brother, while the baby sitter was watching. I asked what are you doing, and the baby sitter said we're doing what we saw in these books. There were all kinds of books with naked people in all kinds of positions, but I still didn't know what they were doing.

During this time I was in the cub scouts and managed to amass about 10 friends that were in my little army. We also had a neighborhood bully named Bucky. Its funny all the bullies I ever knew had names like Biff, and Butch, no Phillips or Lesters. Well any how this bully decided to pick on my friend Bill and his brother Mike. Bill had a plan, if he could turn his house into a fort then Bucky couldn't beat him up. So Bill got all the kids he could together and paid them a dime each, if they would dig trenches and tunnels in his yard to protect him and his family from Bucky. There must have been about 15 of us, and we all dug trenches all around his house. We all thought that we were doing a good job, they must have been at least 3 to 4 foot deep with tunnels connecting them. Until his dad came home at 5:30 and chased us all away.
I used to play army in the woods across from my house. My dad got me a army shirt, pants pistol belt, canteen, knapsack and a wooden replica of a M1 rifle. I named it Wills Army, and we would go on hikes. On one of these hikes when I was 9 years old we met these 2 sisters, Marcy, 13 and Mary Lou 14. Marcy took a liking to me, so I told the rest of them to take a hike and I would stay back at the base. It didn't take Marcy long before she told me to take down my pants because she wanted to show me something, so I did and she took her pants down, and something started to happen to me that I never saw happen, I was getting hard. She told me to stick it in her, but about then the hikers were returning, so we zipped up. Mary Lou ask what were we doing, and I said nothing. She said', " I know my sister, and you were doing something more than nothing" I wanted to find out more about what was happening, but I was told we were moving in 3 weeks and never had a chance to figure it out.

The New Neighborhood

2008-02-19T01:05:00.002-05:00

I was on top of the world when we moved in 1975. I almost had "sex" even though I didn't know what sex exactly was at the time, I had a band of friends that was "will's army", and had a steady girlfriend (not the girl that I almost had sex with). We moved in July 1975 and my dad allowed me to have an early birthday/Halloween party. All my friends came dressed up in costumes, and we all had a wonderful time. I guess that's why to this day Halloween is about my favorite holiday. I was looking forward to the move, my dad explained that we lived in a lower class neighborhood, and we would be moving to a middle class neighborhood. The one thing I really did not understand was that my last name was going to change when we moved. My dad explained that he and my mom were not married(I did not know, I mean I was a kid and kids don't ask their parents if they are married)and so that I could be on my moms medical coverage, it was easier to keep her last name. Now that my mom had a good job with the state welfare department, her insurance would cover me with any last name as long as I was her son. At 9 years old I was re-baptized with my new name which was my dad's last name. I met with the neighborhood kids, they seamed a bit wilder than my old friends. Besides playing kick the can and release, others would talk about throwing eggs or tomatoes at someones house. I never, went along with the vandals, because I had too much respect for personal property, and I came from a neighborhood where we would grow our own vegetables, because we could not afford to buy them. When I started school, my on top of the world balloon burst. First I was a new kid, second all my clothes came from the thrift store and I looked like I just came off the leave it to beaver set, third my dad did not like long hair so I did not have long hair like all the other boys did, and fourth my ears stuck out and I had an overbite. Most people are considered an outcast with 3 strikes against them, I had 4. My house was less than a block away from the school. I would cut through 2 yards and be there in less than 5 minutes. Kids in school would come up behind me and flick my ears, and name calling was constant. I was always last to be picked for anything. One day I had 5 boys try to beat me up on the way home from school, and took 45 min to get home. My dad said what happened to you, I explained that every time I tried to get away one or two of the boys would head me off and block me. He asked if I knew who the boys were, I said yeah and told him. The first boys house nobody answered the door, the second house, my dad talked to the boys mother. He said that 5 boys including her son ganged up on me to beat me up. She said 5 boys? I only see my boy and your son. My dad said, there were 5 of them at the time and they ganged up on me like a pack of niggers. She WHO ARE YOU CALLING A NIGGER? My dad said I am not calling anyone a nigger, but before he could say any more she said how dare you call me a nigger, I will have one of the roofers that are working on my house drop a load of shingles on you. My dad turned around and went home. He said we will go to the school principal tomorrow and straighten this out. Now it is 5:30 PM and my mom came home from work. She just about sat down and a loud pounding was at our door. My dad made my mom answer the door, and there was this big meathead of a man, with beer on his breath, saying WHERE IS YOU HUSBAND. She said calmly, what do you want. He said, YOUR HUSBAND CALLED MY WIFE A NIGGER, AND NOW I AM CALLING YOU A NIGGER. He then turned around and left. The next day, my dad and I went into the principals office. The principal was a quiet small built old man. When we explained the situation, he said what do you want me to do, it was off school property, and if I ask any of the boys if they beat up your son, they would all deny it. A few days later the one kid, that my dad talked to his mom about, knocked on our door, and ask is you dad going to apologize to my mom? My dad said he had nothing to say to your family. About a week later the boy came back and said, my dad wants to buy your dad a beer. My dad realized that this was this mans way of trying to work things out. So my dad, mom and me went to the guys house. My dad said he was sorry for even coming here and next time we will go to the local magistrate and file charges. The harassment of me continued, but it was much less than it was. Another year passed and I graduated 5th grade, I was now on my way to middle school. This new school had a reputation of being a bad school for fights, due to and experiment, classrooms with no walls. you would have 5 teachers teaching different subjects, in the same area, only separated by cabinets. After what I went through in 5th grade, in the summer of 1976 my dad wanted me to take karate. At the time karate for kids was pretty big, but my dad read in the news paper that some of these "karate kids" ended up crippling the other kids and the parents were being sued. My dad enrolled me in judo, which was more defensive and would still give me the confidence to handle myself. This was the bi-centennial year. To commemorate this year a wagon train pulled by horses went from Maine to California. They stopped in our town, where they had a long piece of paper on a roll. They said that people from across the country were signing this paper and then it would be put in a time capsule in California and opened in 2176. My dad and I signed it, and he put the title father and son under our names.I started my middle school in 1976. The teachers spent most of their time trying to control the kids, and if there was a fight (which was about 1-2 times a week) all the kids would leave their seats and surround the fighters. Do the math, 5 classes with 35 to 40 students per class, with 5 teachers to keep order. For me I found English boring, when I was in English class, my attention would be drawn to the history class. The only subjects I did well in was history, math and science. we would also have shop classes in which I excelled in printing, mainly silk screening. In 1977 Star Wars came out, not only did I collect every figure, every bubble gum card and was a member of the fan club, I also talked my dad into giving me an advance on my allowance so I could buy silkscreen materials and silkscreen Star Wars shirts. He agreed, and during a local arts festival, I was on the corner selling my shirts. I made enough to break even, until a cop told me I wasn't allowed to sell . This was all great for my academic achievements, but my mom always was in the dog house. It was like no matter what she did it was wrong. Now that I was a little older, I started listening a little closer to the whacks coming from the other room-whack-whimper-whack-sob whimper-THEN a slight clank like something was set back in place. When I would get up before anyone else I would lift objects up and then set them back to see if I could duplicate the noise. After several attempts I found it. It was a wooden men's hair brush, 7"long 3"wide and 1/2" thick. so my dad was whacking her on the backside with the brush, for my punishment he would use a 1/4" thick ruler and whack the palms of my hands, or wash my mouth out with soap, or make me write 1000 or 5000 time I must not ____.One time he missed with the ruler and came down and cut my wrist with the steal edge. My dad had rules for everything and if you broke the rules you were punished. My mom would have to make him breakfast when he would decide to wake up, and yes he was still cheating welfare. If she did not make it in "a reasonable time" he would do things like take an egg and throw it at the ceiling and make her clean it up, the one time while she was in the kitchen the breakfast was a little slow, it had to be deliberate on her part so the little 12" bw TV in the kitchen was thrown down the cellar steps, with him saying now you have nothing to distract you from my breakfast. My dad did not answer the phone or the door, I mean after all it could be the welfare dept. One day the phone rang, and my mom was taking a nap, she came running downstairs naked, telling me to close the curtain in the living room. I did and she answered the phone..wrong number. My dad grilled her for a while about who might have been calling, after he was satisfied that she really did not know, he went to open the curtain. It was stuck at the top, because I closed it too hard. He went into a rage, telling me I had no business touching the curtain. He saw that I was building a balsa wood airplane the kind you have to glue together with hundreds of parts. He kicked the table over with the plane and a Darth Vader head I made out of clay in art class. The plane did not get much damage but the head shattered in a thousand pieces. After he calmed down I told him I only did what my mom wanted me to do, to which he said I did not mean for you Darth Vader head to shatter, I thought I was destroying the plane you made, here is 2 lbs of clay, make another head. Back in school, I got into my share of fights, nothing major. I found I had a longer reach than most. so I would just choke the other person with my thumbnails in their throat, when they would start to turn blue or when they could not punch my arms any more I would let them go. This worked for most, but one time when I was in gym class, I would normally lift weights while every one else was playing basketball. This time the weight room was closed, but I managed to get behind the movable wall and lift weights, about this time this big 210 lb black kid came in and said, you ain't leavn here til you suck my dick. I stalled and stalled for time until the bell rang and he finally left. I went to the office with my gym shorts on, and told them what happened. About an hour later they called me into the office, and there was the same kid with this little old black woman (about 98 lbs), who was his grandmother. He was crying a storm. They ask me was this the student, I said yeah. His grandmother grabbed his ear twisted it and said just wait till I get you home.
As I finished this part of my life, at the time weird things were happening to my body. I was at a friends house and we were watching TV, then Wonder Woman came on, I started to get hard but I didn't know why. I tried to squish it down with my forearm but my friends dad saw what was going on. The next time I called my friend, he said my dad doesn't want my playing with you but he never said why. Another time I had to take a shower and my dad was taking a poop in the bathroom. So I took my shower in the cellar with just a shower curtain to surround me. I guess the water hitting me a certain way caused me to get hard, I thought it wad funny, and when my mom came down to do laundry, I said look mom I have a place to hang my wash rag. She must have told my dad, because he said I should take my showers in private from now on. I met a wonderful girl named Bridget, at first we would go to the woods and kiss. My dad would take us out on dates since I could not drive. One time after she had left my dad brought in a broomstick, and was showing me how to put this balloon on it he called a rubber. I ask, why do I want to put a balloon a broomstick? He explained to me what it was for, so the next time I saw Bridget, I wanted to try it out. I must have been 13, Bridget tried to tell me what to do, she said move it in and out, but I did not want to break anything, so I just stuck it in and left it there. After a few minutes, I thought this whole sex thing was overrated and boring (no punintended). I took it out and later told my dad, what's the big deal with sex?
Now I may have given the impression that my dad was an abusive fiend. When I was growing up I did not see it that way, at least from my perspective. He always treated me like royalty, when we would go somewhere I would always sit in the front seat with him, my mom would always sit in the back. He always encouraged me to do the best I could when involved with anything, but if I failed, he never treated me like a failure. He would encourage me to watch movies about real events in history, so when I was taught in school I would have an image in my mind of what happened, and the lesson went from abstract, to very real for me. We would fix my grand mothers rental property from time to time, and my dad always would try to include me in helping him, even if I was no real help to him at all. He did have some character flaws that were passed on to me, like prejudice.He did not care for blacks, I guess from the riots of the 1960's, and would refer to them by every derogatory term that you could think of. I thought it was funny that they made a song called "Boogie Town" because boogie was one of the negative terms he used, and now they made a song about a whole town of them. He also thought the movie "Planet of the Apes" was a sly implication by the producers, of the blacks taking over the world. The second prejudice he had was for Jews. He absolutely hated Jews. Not to the point of wanting to see them dead, but he would never miss the opportunity to slander them. I was a bit racist up till I went to high school. I read Mein Kampf in middle school, and had admiration for the SS.

The Columbian Connection

About 1978, my dad and I went to a local hotel to shoot pool. We picked the hotel because it had an automatic table and the games were only 50 cents. This one particular weekend, we got to the pool table and found 4 men in their 20' to early 30's playing pool. We decided to wait til they were done. After waiting for a while, we noticed that they were not speaking any English. So my dad ask them where they were from. Only one of them replied in broken English, that they were from Bogota, Columbia. A tedious conversation ensued, but we found out that they were electrical engineers from Columbia, and were getting their education recertified in America, so they would be able to work on projects in both North and South America. My dad ask how long have the been here. 4 months they replied, and they have 8 months to go. My dad ask how do you like the USA? They said, we don't know, because all they saw of it was this hotel and school. So instead of playing pool we took them out for a desert. When we got to the restaurant, they saw we had apple pie and cinnamon ice-cream. They said, Is good? We said yes, try it. They all enjoyed it, the man that spoke broken English said, in Columbia, we have pie, we have ice-cream, we never mixed. For the next 8 months we showed them the sites around town, took them on a picnic where my Mom made potato salad, fried chicken, and cherry tarts for desert. We showed them some silent 8mm films (no VCRs) Little

Rascals, Laurel and Hardy, and some cartoons. By the end of their stay, all of them spoke rough English, and the first man we talked to spoke fluent English. They thanked us for sharing our culture, and they would take some of our traditions back to Columbia. They sent us post cards from time to time, but over the years we lost contact with them.

Life goes very fast

2008-02-17T05:06:00.001-05:00

I started high school in 1979.They started a new program in gym, that allowed the classes to be co-ed if you wanted. Well I was no dummy, and I picked the female gym teacher because I figured I would be among the few that would opt to go co-ed. I was right, out of a class of about 45 only 2 boys. That is where I met my friend Ron. He was a senior and I was a freshman, but we both wanted to be around the girls. He saw that I was being picked on due to my ears sticking out and the hair cut and the quasi 1950's clothing style that was direct from the thrift store. He was big into lifting weights and started to train me. I would go to his house before school and hang out on the porch which was directly across from the school. A lot of his friends would hang out there, and we would shout out cat calls to the girls, and make derogatory jokes about blacks. He had a gym set up in his basement, and a bunch of us guys would lift weights, while a few girls would come down to watch. He would tell stories about how he would burn cars and one time a house for kickbacks of insurance money. I never really believed him, but it was fun to listen to. He always had a knife, a sap, and brass knuckles on him. we would cut gym class and go over to his house to have a beer sometimes. In school, now that they had walls on the class rooms, I did very well. I was also in the print shop, which my dad, had to argue with the school counselor to get me in, due to the class was full. I went to my first summer camp with the scouts, my scout master kind of criticized my parents for being a fuss bucket over me, but I guess that was to be expected, being it was my first time away from home. We had a fund raiser in scout where we went door to door selling house hold products from a company called Tom Watt. The products would be like pot holders, a no spill drink cup for kids, address books, etc. We had a case of about 50 sample products and would write up the order and deliver the product in about 2 weeks. We had 5 days to sell as much as we could, and the profit (about 35%) would go into a personal fund which we had to buy scout stuff from.The first day out, I went to a house, no sale, second house, no sale, third house, no sale. This went on for about 20 houses, and I think I sold 1 pot holder. My dad ask why I was home so soon. I told him it was not worth all the steps just to make one sale, and that I could not really sell anything. He said I will make you a deal, for every dollar you earn for Boy Scout stuff, I will back it by a dollar that you can use for anything. That was a big mistake on his part, I went out and sold $1100 in 5 days which gave me $335 not bad for 1 week of work in 1979. One of the occasions while I was selling "tom watt' products, our neighbor, the "punk" answered the door. This had me perplexed for 2 reasons, one he did not live at that house and two, I was not allowed to talk to him. He opened the door and ask what do you have there? Attired in my full boy scout uniform, carrying a non descriptive box that only said "tom watt" on the side, I replied, well nothing that you would be interested in. He said try me. To which I replied, well they're female products. I didn't understand the humor of the situation until years later. I mean, he must of told his friends that the boy scouts are going door to door selling female products.
A word about pets, kids, and cars. My dad said if you had any one of these 3, you would have problems with your neighbors, in our case we had the whole tri-fecta. We brought our cat over to the new neighborhood, but that did not last long. Our cat was an outdoor cat and we would whistle for the cat at dusk and he would come home. Our neighbor which my dad nick named "bozo" had a 23 year old son, which my dad nick named "the punk". The punk one day, said my dad is allergic to cats, that is why we have 3 (very loud) dogs.We didn't think much about the statement. One day we went to the drive-in and our cat was on the front steps of our house, that was the last time we ever saw our cat. I was about 10 and put up lost cat posters around the neighborhood, but with no luck. Years later my dad and mom said they found the cat in our back alley, all shot up with BB's. The next day we heard the punk saying to his dad, "I bet I could shoot a cats whisker off with this BB gun. After the cat, my dad bought a German Shepard puppy. The dog and I grew up as friends, but my dad would discipline the dog with a rubber hose, which made the dog nervous, and would wet in the house. When the hose was not working and my dad was angry over the mess he would use a wood cane to hit the dog and then make me spray the dog down with a mixture of lysol and cold water. Our dog would yelp when hit with the cane. Again we heard the punk saying out loud in his yard, "I'll kill anyone that hits their dog" Then bozo came out and said "who are you talking to?" The punk replied,"Just talking to myself, pop". Needles to say, there was quite a bit of animosity between the punk and our family. I went to my first week long boy scout camp. When my parents picked me up from camp, I said I can't wait to see my dog. There was stone silence, and after a couple of minutes, my dad said we gave the dog away. I said aww, quit kidding I know my dog is waiting and will be happy to see me. When I got home it was true, they gave the dog away to a guy that owned a gas station. In retrospect, it was probably the best thing, it was no life for the dog, and my dad should have never have had any pets. a few years later, we read about our dog in the paper, the gas station was robbed and our dog went after the robber and was shot, but recovered from his injury. As you might have guessed, every activity that I got involved in, I was encouraged by my dad to be the best I could. I joined DeMolay (Jr. Masons)but found I was fighting adults (Masonic advisers) everywhere. It seems the janitor that did not want to give us blankets at the NOW meeting, was now my scout master. The scout master was also friends and in-laws with some of the masons. Because my dad pushed me beyond what was normal for most kids we caused waves also the fact that my dad pointed out financial discrepancies committed by the scoutmaster and his family to the troop committee, did not help matters either. In DeMolay our adult advisor introduced himself to me when I was 13 like this. Hi, I am Don Klutz, I heard some ugly rumors about your family. I will look past them, but just you understand, if you step out of line just one time, I am going to come down on you with both feet, welcome to our chapter. I had to fight that SOB on everything I tried to get done. Lucky for me their were a couple of older Masons, one of which was a "Past Grand Master" for our state, that stuck up for me. My schedule at the time was hectic, in high school, I was in the regular classes while I was freshman, and finished up the year with was 3.9 average. At the end of the year the school counselor said I should be in the scholars program, which is advanced learning, but he said you probably will not get the extra scholars diploma, since you will not have enough credits, unless you double up on math and science courses. One of my favorite classes was psychology. It was fascinating to find out how the mind works. I learned about the mid tricks that Hitler used, and came to a complete abhorrence for the Nazi's and the SS. In fact I found my self standing up for the rights and freedoms of all peoples, weather I had a vested interest in them or not. A psychologist or a printer, were going to be my target careers. For the next 3 years I doubled up on my courses, along with my judo, boy scouts, and DeMolay, I had very little time for anything. At about 13 my life was about to change but I did not know it. My mom was diagnosed with cancer. They told her she would need a mastectomy and her lymph nodes removed. Two days before the surgery, our sewer clogged, and our basement started to flood from the heavy rain. We all grabbed stuff and ran it up stairs, some in our pop up trailer, others to the living room. We got a plumber out to snake out the clog, but the day before the operation my mom was washing all the clothes and towels that smelt like sewer water.
as far as home life went, my friend Ron, got into an accident on his bicycle. This turned out to be a lucky break for him as he found out he was hemophiliac, which was caused by leukemia. The hospital said if he had waited another month, he would have no chance to recover. At best they told him he only had a 10% chance of surviving and that he would have to go to Seattle for experimental treatments. My dad did not know what leukemia was, and told me to stay away from Ron until he was cured. My dad spent his time swindling money from his mom, by making her feel guilty for the neglect/abuse he received as a child. He told her you did not give me a good start in life, but you can now redeem yourself by giving us money to start a business. I think she gave us around 10 to 15 thousand dollars to start a magnetic sign business. My dad would later get into arguments with my mom and say, you don't want us to get anywhere, so I will help you. He would then proceed to burn the money and my mom would put it out with her hands. Some times he would throw it out the window and me and my mom would run around the streets trying to pick it up. The punishments for my mom changed since hitting someone with cancer would show a lot of bruises. He would say, oh you don't want us to have nice stuff, well I will help you out, and rip up the calling tiles with a razor knife over on her side of the bed, so she would see it every time she woke up. He accused her of deliberately putting holes in his socks or underwear, and told her she would have to replace them, but give her no money to do it with. We used to go to Kaufmans in downtown, but stopped when I was around 13. I found out later that my mom had an record for shoplifting there, and they told her she was banned from the store. If she returned they would have her arrested and file charges. He would lock her in the cellar sometimes or take her out to a nice restaurant and bot me and him would order steak, but he would order a hotdog from the kids menu for her. One day my dad and I bought cat food at a discount store, the cheapest and fishiest he could find, I think it was liver and cod flavored. I thought we were getting another cat, but it was for my mom. When she would do something wrong or speak out of line he would say, well that is another can. One day he was really mad and in 3 ft letters on every wall in our house he wrote 24 cans. I would watch her cry as she ate the cat food, almost gagging at every bite. What outrageous behavior could trigger these punishments? Well, the scale would cause a lot of problems, my mom was to keep herself under a certain weight, if she didn't she was punished, even while on cancer treatments. She figured out that it would be impossible to keep her weight at a certain limit, so one day she tampered with the scale. My dad saw her getting heavier, but the scale said she wasn't. My dad ask me to bring down some weights that I used to test the scale. When he found it was wrong and saw tool marks, the shit really flew then. Other offences would include contradicting him, speaking in a condescending tone or sarcasm toward him, not being able to fully account for her time, or if she look at any other man especially if he was Italian or looked in any way like the guy she had an affair with. When I was about 15, I ask my dad why did he treat her this way. He said, first this does not concern you, it is between me and your mom. Second I think I treat her pretty well, don't you hear about men beating their wives, well I don't beat her and third, how do you know what is going on in other peoples homes, it could be a lot worse if she ended up with anyone else. I guess at 15 the answers made sense, and I was involved with a lot of other things in my life, so I assumed everything was normal. One day my dad said his socks were missing, and he questioned my mom. He said I put them on the TV in the hallway, and now they are gone. My mom denied knowing what happened to his socks, and so did I. He kept pressuring her and punishing her, until she admitted to taking his socks just to get him mad. A few days later I was talking to him, and he put his newspaper on the TV and knocked his new pair of socks behind the TV. When he reached down to pick up the socks he found 2 pairs. He said to me I must have knocked the socks off the TV the last time. I am going to have to make this up to your mom. He took us out to a nice restaurant and let her order anything she wanted. He got dressed up in his sport coat and gave her flowers. My mom ask, what's the occasion, to which he replied, you work hard and I just wanted to be nice to you, there is no law against that, is there? I stared making remarks about, well if families are honest with each other, there would be fewer arguments. After a while my mom ask, what is Will talking about? My dad said, IF YOU MUST KNOW I FOUND MY SOCKS, RIGHT WHERE I DROPPED THEM, ARE YOU SATISFIED? NOW YOU JUST RUINED A PERFECT EVENING. He then did not eat his dinner, and gave me a death stare for the rest of the night. To my surprise my mom was pissed at me as well, She said who cares where the socks were, I already took my punishment for it, and now this is one of the first times in a long while your father was nice to me, and you ruined it.
All the punishments were not just for my mom. When I was punished, I would be told the reason, and then the punishment usually was being grounded. When I was younger, my dad would pick a toy, that I recently played with, and cut parts off of it, or break it. I was helping my dad with the yard work, and I must have talked backed to him. He said,"I want to tell you something, but I will tell you later." From then on, I did everything he told me, without question, because I didn't want to be grounded from going to a DeMolay Dance that night. Even though I was dating Bridget, I still tried, and had problems meeting girls. He worked me all the way up to the time that I was going to be picked up. I barely had time to change and no time to shower. He said, I remember what I wanted to tell you...you smell bad, now have a good time at your dance.
I realized that I actually had 4 fathers in my life. These were the people that helped shape my morals and gave me an example of what a good person was. In scouting it was Mr. Waldgon our assistant scoutmaster.. Although Mr. W's kids were out of scouting he stayed, to bring the next generation of scouts up. On the Appalachian trail, Mr. W. at 64 years old, carried another boys back pack, because the boy could not carry it any further. On a winter camping trip Mr. W gave an ill prepared boy his sleeping bag and boots for the weekend, while he stayed outside by the fire. He was always involve with trying to make scouts better, not only for his troop, but for other troops in the district. One day at a troop committee meeting, my dad pointed out the embezzlement of troop funds by the scoutmaster. The scoutmaster replied, it doesn't matter if the funds are missing, because it would take a committee vote to ex spell me, and I can swing this committee any way I want. Mr. W. stood up, slammed his fist on the table, and said, any day you can swing this committee any way you want, is the day I resign. The scoutmaster replied, well take him (pointing to my dad) him with you. Mr. W. got involved with the district activities, and eventually got an investigation into the missing funds, which led to my scoutmasters expulsion. The road to Eagle Scout was very difficult for me, as I had the scoutmaster and the boys that he influenced, trying to haze me every step of the way. I did make Eagle, and had my old ex-assistant scoutmaster attend the ceremony. The second man that influenced my life was Mr. Volsoncroft. He was an advisor for the DeMolay Chapter I was involved with. My dad knew that Mr. V. very influential,so he told me tell him that you play golf, or that you like football (which I knew nothing about, because professional sports were forbidden on our home TV). Mr. V. always knew when I was lying, and would always catch me. Mr. V. tried to get me to be more independent from my dad, because I think he saw through him as well. Mr V. and myself restarted our chapter newspaper, which won best in state 2 years in a row . I won many earned awards in DeMolay, but the one that stood out was the degree of Chevalier, which is purely honorary, you can't earn it. In ill health Mr. V. still made it to the ceremony. All of our advisors in DeMolay were referred as dad(last name) I told dad Volsoncroft that advisor or not, he would always be referred to as dad, by me. The third influence was our high school printing teacher Mr. Mo. I only knew how to silkscreen when I got to his class, but he let me advance far beyond the text book. I took it upon myself to learn how to do 4-color separation on a process camera, in order to produce full color pictures that you would see in magazines. I won several first and second place trophies for our school, for graphic arts. I still run into students from his class, thy tell me that he tells them about what I did, encourages anyone that wants to learn beyond the text book. Of course last is my biological father. As cruel as he appeared, he always looked out for me and my interests. He would always give me pep talks when I had a problem. Now in my life, he still influences me. If I see that I have some of his bad habits, I try to change, so that I am not like him.

Good News?

2008-02-17T01:58:00.004-05:00

Now it is coming up on my graduation. I did not have many friends due to my schedule. I guess I was one of those dorky kids, that every one in high school knows, but they don't really know him. The good news in my life is that my mom recovered from cancer. She would go for blood tests every other month and they were all good. It's been 2 years since she was first diagnosed. My friend Ron came back from Seattle, and he too had recovered from the leukemia. I graduated when I was 17 and this was to be my last summer vacation. My dad suggested that we go to Wildwood NJ. When the time came to go, my mom said if I go I will miss my blood test, but she said I guess it will be all right since they did not find anything so far. We went to Wildwood, and had a very good time as a family. By now things seemed to quiet down with the family, although my dad would at times remind her that she still owed X amount of cans. By the fall I got my first job and then a car. I called up a girl that I met when I was 15 but she broke up with me for no reason at that time. Her name was Lorna and me and her would go out and make out until the sun would rise. I ask her why did you break up with me, and she said your dad would just creep me out. My grandmother on my dad's side was getting old, and she wanted to move out of her house into the old folks apartments. They told her that she could not own her house and move into the apartments. She sold the house for $1 to her daughter, then moved into the apartments. This pissed off my dad, he wanted the house sold and the money divided between the 4 siblings. My grand mother said, well it really is not going to you sister, but to her daughter. Her grand daughter Carol married some Portarician. When she would come over and cook for her grandmother, they would slop the kitchen up with grease and food everywhere. This got the wheels in my dads head turning, he said if they are going to get the house, they won't mind a few extra tenants. He called upon me and my fried Ron to go to the black neighborhood and look for roaches. We went down at 11 PM in an abandoned building looking for roaches, but could not find any. About then this black guy came over and said, what are you white boys up too. We told him, and he laughed, he said you want roaches, come over to my house, you can take as many as you want. We went out in the kitchen, and picked up about 25 roaches and threw them in a jar. My dad found some reason to visit my grandma's house the next day and we released the roaches in the kitchen, I am sure they will be well fed in their new home.
Since my mom missed her blood test, she went to the next scheduled test, which happened to be a full 6 months since her last test. She was told her cancer returned, shortly after her last test. We were told that they would have had a good chance of stopping it if she had kept her last appointment. My mom was in the hospital, which left me and my dad at home. I don't know what was bugging him, but one day he kept going on and on about the punk, that lived with his parents next door. I got tired of hearing him, and thought to myself, all the talk in the world won't get the punk out of that house. My friend Ron and I came up with a plan, which I cant disclose on this blog. The only thing I can say is that, things did not go as planned, but it put enough of a scare into the punk's family that he was kicked out of the house the next day. I say scare, because nobody was hurt and no property damage was done, well nothing that a little paint couldn't fix. My dad would always talk about problems, I wanted to start doing something.
You might say, what happened with your brother? After my brother graduated from high school in 1977 we did not hear from him. We really did not know what happened to him. We heard about Jim Jones and thought he might have got cough up in that mess, and the Rev. Sun Young Moon was popular, so we thought he might have been a "moonie" John Wayne Gacy was in the news so we watched the names of the dead boys removed from his house. To our surprise, my brother joined the Navy. He contacted us in 1981 and by 1982 he invited us down to Charlotte, South Carolina to go on a dependents cruise on the nuclear ballistic missile sub. he was assigned to. I was 16 and my dad gave me a choice, he said I have been promising you a vacation to Disney World every year, now this year we could go to Disney or visit your brother on the sub, it is your choice. I said Disney will always be there, but this is a chance that only comes once in a lifetime. We took a train to Washington DC and another train to Charlotte. My mom was too week from her chemotherapy treatments to go. The doctor said if we did not go to wildwood, that she would stand a better chance of recovery,So it was just me and my dad on this trip, we actually had a good time quite the adventure, My mom spent time with my grandmother, gong museums and flower shows, when my dad and I got there we booked a room near the water The tug boats would com close and then transport the families to the sub. About 35 family members boarded the sub, we went out for about 12 hours and dove for about 8 hours, Many of the family members got a chance to control the diving planes along with the periscope. After the goodbyes were said, we each went our separate ways, not to hear from my brother for a while.
My mom was back on stronger chemotherapy, her cancer went to her bones , ribs arm and scull. the new therapy seemed to be working. Her strength would improve and she was back to work. I would go to my room to get changed for Judo or DeMolay or scouts, and my mom would be laying in my bed, because dad put a very large pad lock on their bedroom door. I gave my mom a hard time because I had to get ready, but she shot back with a very cutting remark, she said"someday you will wish I was in here" she also told me that your dad would hit me with his solid wood brush. I said I know, I figured it out a few years ago. She said did you figure he was hitting me in the back of the head where it would be hard to show anyone. If I flinched he would make me put my head up again so I would feel the full force of his punishment. I ask why didn't you leave or have him kicked out. My mom said there would be no tellin what he might do to this house, you or me. One thing both my mom and I talked about was that my dad never cried , not one tear, he would go through all the motions of crying the sounds, but would cover his eyes with his hand. When he removed his hand nothing, not even moist. It is a real theatrical event that you must see for your self. My dad ask my mom to marry him. This is what she always wanted, but re wanted to get married where they do not stamp the date on the certificate, because he did not want any nosey relatives or neighbors to give him a hard time on the date. We went to Winchester VA. I held the bowl that my mom would vomit in. The next thing was he had her make out a will that he wrote up saying everything goes to him, but a small clause that he would look out for my well being. He had my friend Ron witness it and sign it.We heard a knock at our door at about 1PM, It was my mom and we ask how did you get here? She said she did not know, but she had her full payroll with her, but did not remember going to the bank . We called her Doctor, he said bring her in now. He did some tests and found the cancer retreated to her spinal column and now she has it in her brain.They tried to give her kemo through a spinal tap, but this was too much pain for my mom. The doctor suggested that they put a shunt in her skull to relieve the fluid buildup. we said OK but after they did it my mom could not walk again. The doctor said that this was the most radical kemo around. If this does not work maybe we could set up a room for her in our house or hospice. While she was in the hospital I had lost my job, just as well, because now I could spend more time with her. Sometimes I would bring my girlfriend Lorna to the hospital with me. She stood by my side when I was low or start to cry. If someone close to you, ever came down with a disease that would probably kill them, then you know what our family was going through. If nobody in your family has had a long debilitating illness, then count your blessings. You hang on every word that the doctor says, you look for any sign of improvement from your loved one, but the next day turns out to be even worse. My mom stayed alive at the hospice for about 2 months. My dad and I stayed there almost around the clock, trying to monitor what she ate and how many drugs they gave her. On Feb 17 of 2006 my mom succumbed to her illness, she was 43. What do you do now. Their was just me and my dad. I found another job in printing, and tried to get on with my life. Tried? My dad did not want me to leave the house, except to go to work. I was assistant scout master, but my dad did not want me to go on the camping trips, he even relayed wrong messages from my girlfriend so I would miss our dates. He did not want me cleaning the house, because that was the way my mom left it. The more he tried to keep me at home the more I wanted to get out of the house. On weekends I would sometimes go out drinking with my friend Ron, to try to forget the whole situation. Other times I would go down to our basement to build WW2 models, which I was quite good at, some of the models were on display at some of the local hobby shops. My dad would talk about how much he missed my mom, and even would go through his fake tears act. In my whole life, I never saw him cry once. I was thinking to myself, boy you treated her like shit her whole life, why would you be upset now? I went down to my friend's house, and he offered me a beer. For some reason I said no. Then another friend came over and wanted me to buy his car. I said I already had a car, but he went on and on about duel carbs and a racing cam. I finally said, I would think about it, but he said, while you are thinking about it, do you have a place that I can store it because the inspection is expired. I said sure, over my girlfriends, because she has a garage. So he was following me to my girlfriends, and then I heard the duel 4 barrels open up, I knew he was going to try to race me to the ramp on the bridge. I hit the gas and beat him to the ramp on the bridge, but then my tire blew out and my car went into a spin, the next thing I knew I was heading over the guard rail into the river, but at the last second my car flipped onto the roof. I never wear my seat belt but that day, for some reason I had my seat belt on. I calmly turned the key off and crawled out the window. It took about 8 people, but we flipped the car over, put a spare tire on, and I drove it home with about 10" of window to look out of. The next morning I woke up, the sun was shinning bright, birds singing, and I thought it was all a bad dream, until I looked out the window. Nope not a dream.

TOUGH LOVE

2008-02-15T09:06:00.001-05:00

On the home front, I tried to stay clear of my dad. I never caused trouble in my house, I knew what he was capable of. Around this time, my dad started dating again, yes less that 4 months after my Mom died. It did not bother me too much, as long as he was dating it sort of kept him off my back. He was with a group called Parents without Partners, and had a picnic planned with them. On the day of the picnic, my brother decided to drop in. My dad was pissed at him for just breaking all communication with us, and not showing up or even sending flowers or a card at my moms funeral. My Mom treated my half brother like a son, and harbored no ill feelings toward him, his mother, or step father. In fact when my dad was railing against his mother, my Mom tried to calm him down by sugesting the divorce was over and everyone should get on with their lives, she was quickly punished for that suggestion. Well, anyhow, my brother shows up at the picnic, I waited in the car while he went over and talked to him. After a short time, my dad came back with a puzzled look on his face. I ask what happened, did he say why he stopped talking to us? My dad said, I asked him what was his problem. He said you want to know what my problem is, I'll tell you, WAS I PLANNED FOR? My dad said, I really did not know how to answer him, outside of, I tried to be a good dad after he was born. Again that was the last time the 3 of us were together, well within 50' of each other. Down and the basement I was working on a world war 2 model, when my dad came down and said, I have a sock missing, it is my sock and I want it back. I ask him, are you accusing me of taking your sock? He sarcastically replied, ooooohh noooooo, I wouldn't ever accuse you of that, but it is my sock and I want it back. Another day he said the same thing about his hat, then a glove, then a TV guide. It was driving me nuts, because he would not directly confront me, but make insinuations every time I was around him. I was comforted by my girlfriend Lorna. She mad the suggestion fro me to marry her and move to Florida, to get away from my dad and Ron, both of which she thought were bad influences on my life. I told her I was too young to get married, and that my dad was going through a rough time after my mom died, that I should not abandoned him. That was a mistake, she decided to break up with me 2 months after my mom died. I told my dad that he was substituting me, for my mom. I meant that he was going from one whipping boy to another, but my dad pretended that, I meant it in the most perverse, sexual way possible. It was obvious that we weren't seeing eye to eye on anything. At this point in my life I took an evaluation of my circumstances, 1 my mom just died, 2 my dad was falsely accusing me of stealing, 3 I lost my job and had no money in my bank account, 4 the girl I loved, and at one time believed in me broke up with me, and 5 my car was destroyed. I thought, maybe I was supposed to die the night I flipped my car. I went back to my girlfriends house, and told her I would kill my self if she did not go back with me, she still said no. Right in front of her I dumped a whole bottle of dilodid, a pain medicine for my mom, down my throat. I drove to near by parking lot to die. If you ever tried to kill yourself with pills, one of 3 thing can happen. 1 of course you succeed, 2 someone finds you in time and they pump your stomach, or 3 in my case, I took so many pills that my body rejected it, and threw everything up. This was my lowest point in my life. From then on, I decided to be like Spock from Star Trek, and have no emotions and think logical. I got a new job, got my car fixed, and joined a dating club. I did try to connect with my dad, I did not tell him about the suicide attempt, but I did tell him I was very depressed, and that we needed to see a family councilor. He agreed, and said he would find a councilor, while I was at work. I met a few girls in the dating club, most were partiers, or just liked to go on dates with different men. I called this one girl up and we met a local family restaurant. The first thing I thought when I met her was wow does she have big hips, well bigger than any girl that I had dated so far. We hit it off, and I suggested, that we go on a moonlight dance cruise. I was a bit worried, since I told her I was 21 and was still 20. They carded her, but not me. We had a wonderful night of dancing, but when I took her home, she did not want to set up another date for some reason. I told her the dating club was having a Halloween dance, and ask her if I could take her. Then I got the ton of excuses, well IF I am not doing anything and IF my sister can come with me and IF me and my sister can find a costume and IF..I stopped her in mid sentence and said, look how about I just meet you there, If you make it fine and IF you don't well we will just meet again some other time. I was determined not to say much to my dad about her. I did not want him messing anything up, and now he was indirectly accusing me of taking family pictures, coins, in fact he had a whole list which I did not read. I tried to ignore him as much as possible, waiting for him to come up with a family councilor. Halloween came and I was making my costume for the dance. I had another hobby of making latex masks and costumes. If you remember "Benny Hill" where he had an outfit that looked like he was riding on the back of a little old lady, well that was my costume. I arrived at the dance late, but saw Mary, and her sister right away. She said, I didn't think you were coming, and then said, wait here we will be right back. After 15 min. I guessed that I was getting the brush off. I ask a few girls to dance but I think they were a bit put off by my costume. I went to a corner and started drinking beers as fast as I could. The dance was about over, they started turning on the lights. Out of nowhere, Mary comes up and says she was looking for me, she gave me a kiss, and this time we set another date. One minute you think you have nothing to look forward to, and the next you are on top of the world.
My dad started bugging me about the money that I borrowed from him, to pay for work on my car. Even though I was making payments to him, I guess he wasn't getting paid fast enough. He brought down a piece of paper, and said all you have to do is sign it and I won't bother you about your repayment. I looked at the paper, it had my name and it had the amount that I owed, and his name, as the person that I owed. He said I just wanted to have something for the record, in case you move out and decide not to pay me. I was going to sign it but I noticed that he was not letting go of the paper, and his thumb was covering something up. I told him I wasn't going to sign it until I saw the whole paper. When he moved his thumb, it said repayable at 120% interest. Of course I did not sign it. I told him we really have to see a councilor. I got my new girlfriend to lend me the $1800 that I owed him along with a receipt stating all debts paid in full. With much anticipation, the day to see the councilor had arrived. It was Feb. 16 1987. The group "Tough Love" came to our house to act as a councilor. Right off the bat, they said, your dad says that you have been stealing from him. If you do not sign this paper to repay him $10,000 + interest then you will have to move out or be removed by the police. I tried to tell "the councilor" about how my dad abused my mom, married her when he knew she would die, just to take possession of the house. I told them I didn't steal anything, I just didn't do it. They said that they did not care what my dad did, it was his house, and you are over 18. They also told me, that my dad had a right to put me in the nut house, because I told him that I was depressed, and that he could bring charges against me an incident where I assaulted him. I said what are you talking about? They told me that my dad went into the hospital 3 months ago and said that you broke his rib. I told tough love that never happened, but they said why would your dad go to the hospital, if it didn't happen. I told them that he is playing the system to control and manipulate me. They said that they did not care what my dad did, that those were my options, and that they would be there to support him. The next day, I went to move in with my friend Ron. I borrowed a truck and started moving my stuff out. My dad said, you had better sign the paper, or I am going to have you thrown in the nut house plus you will have to answer to assault charges. Then he started to ask me why did you steal from me and what did I do with the stuff. I told him, I didn't know what you're talking about then I heard a click coming from his shirt. He had a mini-recorder and was trying to get some sort of confession out of me. Tearfully I replied, one year ago to this day I lost my mom, today I lost my dad. I was only able to get about 1 load of stuff out of my dad's house, and ask my dad if I could come back to get the rest. He agreed and I started unloading down Ron's house. Ron said aren't you going back to get more? I told him my dad said I could come back tomorrow to get the rest. Ron said, I've seen this before, if you don't get your stuff now, you will never see it again. I argued with Ron,because my dad was always a man of his word. The next day, I went back, my dad said you got all your stuff, and there was nothing more in the house for me. I said what about my comic books, my DeMolay ritual book and papers, my models? To which my dad replied, I don't know what your talking about, and that if I didn't leave he would have the police remove me.

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NO, I AIN'T NUTS

2008-02-13T11:09:00.006-05:00

Whew. Finally out of the house, not much money in my pocket, was able to get some clothes and a few personal items. With the help of mu girlfriend and my friend Ron, I will make the best of what I have and get on with my life. I was working at a small quick printer, not much money coming in, so I started a pop and candy concession at the print shop, on the honor system. This was doing quite well, I was able to bring in about $50 to $75 a week. One morning I was walking out the front door of my friend Ron's house with 2 cases of pop in my arms, when I saw 2 police men at my car. They ask me my name, and after confirmation, they said you have to come along with us. I ask what this all about, they said you are being taken to a psychiatric ward for observation. When I got to the nut house, they ask me if I told my dad that I was depressed. I said yeah, after all my mom just died and my dad was making false allegations about stealing things. They told me that my dad filed a report with them alleging that I was suicidal and that I was on drugs. I of course denied the charges, but they told me that when a complaint is filed by a "loved" one, all subjects must be taken in for observation. For a week I stayed at the nut house, at the end of it all there was a hearing to determine if I was a hazard to my self or someone else. They determined that although I seamed troubled, I was no hazard. Boy, I thought to myself, I wished that I had a chance to put my dad in a place like this, they would have a field day figuring him out. Back to getting my life on track. My job was doing well, so I decided to go back to my old print shop teacher, to tell him how I was doing. I hardly said 2 words to him, when he started asking some very odd questions. "Are you doing well with your cocaine addition,are you off heroin yet?" I said what are you talking about? Mr Mo replied, well your dad was in here a few weeks ago, and he was quite upset, I think he might have been crying. He told me all about your stealing from him to pay for your drug habits, all I want is for you to get better. I tried to tell Mr. Mo about the situation, but he did not want to hear about it, he only said well, your dad said that you would deny your drug habit, and that denial is the first symptom of addiction. I said denial is also the first symptom of someone that has been slandered. That is how I left, the teacher that started my carrier in printing. I called my grandmother, and got about the same response. She also told my dad that she didn't believe him. He responded, who would know better, a farther who watched his every emotion from when he was a baby or his grandmother who only saw her grandson part of the time. I guess that statement and the fake crying convinced her. I tried to tell her bout how he abused her daughter, but she said stop making that stuff up, just to get back at your father. I saw a pattern of slander, so I called "dad" Volstoncroft up to see if my (biological) dad got to him. He said, my dad did call him, but he really didn't believe him. He also said that if I were to petition the Mason's for member ship that I would be black balled because even though he believed in me the other Masons that my dad called feel where there is smoke there is fire, and they would not take a chance on my membership. I also called my ex-girlfriend Lorna, she said my dad call her and her mother, but they told my dad that he was crazy and that if I had any emotional problems, they were caused by him. I did not want to hear if my dad called my old assistant scout master, it would have been too hard to hear him talk about how bad my alleged dug abuse was. About a month went by, when I got a summons to appear before a magistrate, to face charges of assault and battery. I got to the hearing early, my lawyer did not show up yet. I had a chance to talk to the "impartial" magistrate. I ask, what would happen if I just pled guilty, would I just pay a fine, be assigned probation? He said,"If you plead guilty, I will throw you in jail for the maxim sentence, your dad told me about how you stole from him to pay for your drug habit, right after your mother died. I throw punks like you in jail every day, with a smile on my face." Yep I can see I am going to get a fair hearing from him. My lawyer was a no show, and we had to reschedule the hearing. Upon telling my lawyer about the conversation with a magistrate, he said we will take this to the county court, where your dad will not be able to get to the judge, since they only assign the judge on the day of the hearing. At the county court house, my lawyer got a plea bargain, charges reduce to simple assault, 6 months probation plus a fine and court costs. I took it, even though I was not guilty. I found out later, why my dad gave me all these problems, ya see I only had so much time to contest my mom's will. As long as I was kept busy, time was expiring, the second reason was to keep in fear of what he might do next if I caused him any problems contesting the will. My dad never knew how to play chess, but he sure knew how to play people and the system.

The Gorilla Football Player

I only have this story on blog, to show some of the stupid decisions we make when we are young. The year was 1987, and I had moved out of my dad house for about 6 months. There were about 5 of us guys sitting around Ron's house. Our recently married friend, nick named Kirmet, because his last name was similar to the famous frog, pulled up and he ran out of his car, yelling something like you guys got to help me. So we ask what was wrong. He said his new wife was already cheating on him, with this guy who was a semi-pro 260lb football player, who played center. He said that he was going out, but had only pretended. He came back and went to the basement of the apartment building he was living in, and had a wire tap on his phone. He said the guy was coming over in about an hour and he wanted us to beat him up. Well, not one of us was over 200lbs, so the guys were getting some weapons. Ron had a lead pipe, someone picked up a baseball bat, chains, razor knives and brass knuckles were grabbed. Ron ask me if I was going, but a little voice in my head said NO. It was the same voice that told me to put my seat belt on when I flipped my car. They all got some sort of masks, and their weapons and took off, leaving me alone in the house. I started thinking that they will all be back telling their stories about how they beat this guy up, and then ask me why didn't I help. After pondering this for about 15min, I went against my better judgment, and drove to the stake out point. They knew this guy would have to park in the parking lot which had only one entrance, so the circled the lot and would pounce on him from all directions. The car pulls into the lot. He gets out and starts to walk toward the apartment, when the signal was given, and we all sprang from the woods surrounding the lot. I did not have a weapon or a mask, so I took my shirt off and covered my face and head only leaving a narrow slit for my eyes. Well, it turned out nobody wanted to make the first contact, and this guy saw he was out numbered and did a little foot ball move and ran toward the apartments yelling call the police. Somebody yelled, trash his car. His car was like a ratty 1970's nova or something, it already looked like trash. But we smashed his wind shield and 1 headlight, and all of us ran over the hill into deep woods before the cops showed up. As we, the 6 masked men with weapons were running down the hill we could hear footsteps behind us. and this guy yelling I am going to kill you mother fuckers. The hill got very steep and we all started to fall. As I started to get up, I saw this gorilla football player straddling my friend Ron. He was punching him into the dirt, and I says to myself, I got to help Ron. I got behind the guy and put a triangular choke hold (thanks my Judo training) and to make it worse I put my foot into his back, and choked as hard as I could. My friend Ron scurried out from under. The next thing I saw was Ron lifting his lead pipe in the air, I pulled my head back as far as I could, because I didn't want blood or brains hitting my face. The next thing I knew everything went black for a second, and I saw Ron raising the bloody lead pipe to strike again. It was me that he hit, and I was not going to wait for a second strike, so I let go of the gorilla, and rolled over the hill. My shirt on my head was all bloody, so I threw it in a trash can, and visited my ex-girlfriend who also lived in the complex with her brother. Her brother answered the door and said how did you get fucked up, then the police started to arrive. I said let me in and get cleaned up so I could get out. I did not tell him much, but he gave me a shirt, I got cleaned up and left. I drove back to Ron's house, I was the first there, and again I was alone. I started thinking, did they get picked up by the police, are they coming to pick me up now? Why did I go? I knew I should have listened to that voice. About 45min later the 5 other guys came in, and they looked a mess. I said what happened did that guy put up that much of a fight. They said no, but while this guy laid on the ground, they were all pounding on him. There was not enough room left on this guy to hit, so they actually were inadvertently hit each other. The football player was taken to the hospital, needless to say his football and adultery carrier was over. I ask Ron why did you hit me? He said, you weren't supposed to be there, and I didn't know who you were, your face and head were covered. I said the only thing you should have known is that I was the guy helping you from getting beaten, why would you hit the guy helping you? He said, I guess I just got carried away in the excitement. Now for years I felt a little guilty, about the beating this guy, but 2 things came to mind, when you fuck with another mans wife, things like this do happen, and sometimes worse. And 2 why would you run into the woods after 6 mask men with weapons just tried to jump you? After all the only damage done was a cracked windshield and bad light, that should have been enough of warning. I guess like everyone there, we were in out 20's and the testosterone took over.
Life at Ron's was like the movie Animal House. I was the only one that had a steady job, everyone else was in some sort of construction business. There were 3 to 4 bachelors living there at any one time, just about everyone had some sort of hard luck story. When times were good, for construction, everyone had money for booze and beer parties. The neighbors, called the cops on the house several times due to the noise. My friend Ron got back at them by throwing even bigger parties with beer kegs and partiers on the porch roofs, he also invited the son of the neighbors, so they would stop calling the cops. At one of the parties some guy egged Ron into playing Russian roulette. Ron said, so you want to see me play Russian roulette, sure so he picked up his revolver, loaded 1 shot then put it to his head, pulled the trigger...click. Then Ron said your turn, pointed the gun at the other guy and pulled the trigger, click again. Needless to say the guy did not stick around for round 2. Since I had some income, I carpeted and repainted my room, installed a ceiling fan, and refinished the fire place. I tried to get cable, but because the other people in the house did not pay their cable bills, the cable co. would not hook it up to my room. I called the cable co from my work place and they said if I could provide a rent receipt from Ron, that they would hook up the cable. So I called Ron on the phone, and he was acting very strange, he did not say much, long pauses, not answering my questions. I ask him is this a bad time to talk, he said yep and hung up the phone. I came home to find shot gun blasts in the floor in the ceiling, bullet holes in the walls, blood spots on the dining room table, on the walls, floor. I ask what in the hell happened? He said you know how we all place money in the drawer to pay for food, soap, cleaning supplies etc., well someone has been stealing it. I wrote all the serial numbers down, and we found the guy with the some of the bills in his wallet. We chased him around the house, shooting at him but I just wanted to scare him so I deliberately missed. I said what about the blood. He said well scaring him didn't seem to be a good enough deterrent, made him write a confession for stealing, then made him place his hands on the table, then we whacked his hands with a hammer. I didn't know the guy, he was one of the guys that worked with Ron on construction. Ron said when I called he had a 45 pointed at this guys head, while he was writing out the confession. Ron had a reputation for doing dirty deeds. I never saw him do anything, but he would have gobs of money in the middle of winter, he said it was from doing "night work" He told me he did freelance collections for the mob. He told me that the mob ask him to do "the big one", but he always refused, because he said if he did, then the mob would own him. I never ask about his "night work", but I tried to get him to stop. Ron would say, I never did anything to anybody that was innocent. These guys knew who they were borrowing money from, and they knew what would happen if the did not pay it back. I got into a few fights, trying to help friends out, but for the most part I stayed out of trouble. The other bachelor, would have a parties in his room until 5 am. I had to work the next day, so I waited until he was trying to sleep off the booze. I put all my stereo speakers toward his room and at 7 AM I blasted him with John Phillip Suesa march music, that would be the last thing you would want to hear when you have a hang over. This same guy came in the house another time at 3 AM and started making all kinds of noise down stairs. Ron came out of his room, and told him to keep it down or get out of the house. This guy was drunk, and said you just think you're so tough, why don't you come down and make me. Ron wearing only a towel, some how produced his 45 and shot 2 shots in the floor. The drunk guy was out of the house in a flash, he didn't come back for several days to give Ron a chance to cool down. For me the only trouble I got into was with girls. I had very little respect for females at the time, maybe from my upbringing. I was going steady with Mary, the girl that has stuck by my side through thick and thin, but I still cheated on her. My dad once told me not to burn my Bridgets behind me, so I had Bridget come over a few times, I also met up with a stripper while I was there, she was 12 years older than me, but she knew how to take care of a man. As chaotic as it sounds, everyone living at Ron's, had a set of common values. Never abuse or harass the innocent, never get involved in family feuds, never do something that will bring the law to the house, and if you do something wrong be prepared to do the time. Never lie to Ron. After 2 years at Ron's house, the police raids, the parties, I thought it was time I moved out. I rented a duplex and Mary moved in with me. Since my life was back on track, I thought that maybe I could patch things up with my dad. I talked with my dad at his house. He seamed to be back to "normal" but after a few times of going out with him, he said, I can't keep seeing you until you go to drug rehab. He took me to a support meeting where there were all kinds of people on all kinds of drugs. I found my self being hugged by heroin users, saying don't worry man we will be here to support you, while you kick the habit. Afterward I told my dad, I am not going back there, I am not on drugs, and never had been. We got into an argument, and I stopped talking to him again. Mary and me moved again into a rented house. About a month after moving in, I ran into an old friend. My friend told me that he was talking to my dad. He said my dad told him he had cancer, and he said I think he was crying. My friend said I don't know what your differences are with your dad, but if he has cancer, you should try to patch things up before he dies. So I called my dad, and guess what, no cancer. We talked for a while, and started seeing each other on the weekends. In 1991 I bought a small printing press and put it into my basement. This was the start of my business. One day my dad brought down some of my old military models, he also brought down some of my old comic books and even some family pictures, then he said by the way social security, sent me a letter, if you sign it I can get more money from them. So I signed it. The police called my house one day, they said that they were at my dads house and that if I didn't come over and vouch for him that he would be hauled off to a psychiatric ward. They said that my dad was talking to this guy and during the conversation my dad said he wanted to be with his wife. The guy said where is your wife, to which my dad replied why she is dead. This guy called the police for a suicide threat. When the got to the house, they found that my dad has not thrown anything away for years. Stuff like banana peels, egg shells, used cleanex, his house was filled with garbage from floor to ceiling, bugs crawling around every where. I had to promise the police that I would help my dad clean up the house, otherwise they were going to take him to the nut house. I made the mistake of vouching for my dad. This might have been the only time that he could have got help. It seemed at the time that if I let him go to the nut house, that I would be seeking vengeance on him. We were staring to patch up our relationship, or so I thought. My dad then started to borrow money from me, but would not pay me back. When I pressed him for the money, his answer was I guess you need the money more than me. I stopped "lending" him money and thing went down hill from there. He would say things like, I know why you won't admit to stealing from me, because I heard quote from a guy that said if you admit to doing something then you are weak, and I know your not weak, do you know who said that? I said no, who would say something like that. He said Ted Bundy, and Ted Bundy wasn't weak and neither are you. I hung up the phone. At the same time Mary had settled into domestic life. After knowing her for now about 9 years she went from 5'1" 115 lbs to 5'1" 167 lbs. I didn't want to see her naked, I didn't want to go to bed with her, so I broke up with her. Outside of Mary getting as big as a house, I started to like her sister, Sue. Sue and I had gotten fairly close, but it was all plutonic. Mary was a quitter when it came to problems, but Sue would do something about it. Sue read several motivational books on her own, like the magic of believing, how to win friends and influence people, etc. These were books that I had read, but Mary wanted no parts of them. Mary read the torrid romance novels with a half naked men (Fabio) on the front covers. When we went out I always tried to get Sue to go with us. It got to a point where Sue was able to finish my sentences. The trouble with Sue is that she always attracted nice guys, but were slackers with No ambition, and wanted to stay at home. I even wrote a very torrid love letter to Sue, but I did not have the balls to give it to her. Mary found the letter, and I somewhat talked myself out of it, but it further helped in getting Mary out of the house. My landlord who did not raise the rent the whole time that I was there, died in 1996. He loved Nascar, so his wife bought him a big screen TV for his birthday. One day he was watching Nascar on the big screen and had a heart attack and died in the middle of the race. Well now his wife owns the house that I am living in, and she says, I am putting the house up for sale, if you want it buy it, otherwise move out. I found another place across town, just 3 doors down from my former land lord. I used the extra money that I made from my business for the down payment. I worked days at my regular job and nights for myself.
Ron's dark side came out and was directed toward me and my house at a party. Ron had gotten very drunk at a little get together at my new rented house. He was so drunk he could not find the front door when he wanted to leave. Ron kept going to the door on the balcony, which we all tried to get him turned around, less he fall over the edge. On the third attempt to go out the balcony door our friend Keith (6'1" 260 lbs) grabs him to turn him around. In a split second blood was on my walls, for Ron sliced Keith's hand with his razor knife. Now everyone backed away from Ron and he was just standing there in the middle of the room clenching the knife with blood dripping off of it. As the host I knew I had to do something, so I ran and got my hammer, came up behind Ron and hit him as hard as I could in the funny bone, so he would drop the knife. It didn't work, so I hit him again and again, then I started hitting him in the back. All Ron did was start to laugh, in the most evil sound possible, he slowly started to turn around. The big guy Keith grabbed the hammer off of me, so I ran into the kitchen and grabbed the biggest butcher knife possible. When Keith saw me coming around the corner with the knife, he some how dis-armed Ron. I still kept coming, because I knew Ron had more weapons. Keith managed to get brass knuckles, a sap. a buck knife, a 45 and a 38 off of Ron. Then Ron really went crazy, and started trashing my house. Just about then the police arrived, and everyone , froze and went quiet. The police looked at Keith and said, tough guy huh, well you're going to spend the night in jail, and I know you ain't going to like it. That is when everyone in the room pointed at Ron and said he was the guy that started it. Ron snapped out of whatever trance he was in and said, why officer I didn't do a thing. The police broke up the party, and everyone went home. I didn't talk to Ron for 5 days, but when I did talk to him I ask him what happened. Ron said he had no recollection of what happened, it was like he blacked out. I ask him if he has ever had black outs before. He said that since he was 5 years old, he has had the blackouts, and the green man takes over. What green man, I ask. He said when he gets into trouble or a fight where he is out numbered this green man shows up in his head. The green man always takes over and then I snap out of it safe and sound. Ron said that some times he has to try to restrain the green man because, at times this voice is saying, KILL THE MOTHER FUCKER, KILL KILL. Ron told me the green man looks like a gorilla with huge human like muscles and large fangs, and of course all green. From this point on, I did not want to be around Ron when he is drinking.

The other side of the rainbow

2008-02-10T09:59:00.010-05:00

The Mail Order Intruder

This was the time of my life that I started to fall into a rut. Full of routines, where one day is like the last and tomorrow will be the same as today. Mary and I did this for 6 years and only 2 things really changed. 1 was the on again and off again relationship with my dad and 2 was Mary's weight which went from 5'0" and 119lbs to 5'0" and 172lbs. I tried to keep my self in reasonable shape, to look presentable to Mary, she did not have the same philosophy. She attributed the weight gain to getting old (we were only in our 30's) Maybe she saw the anguished look on my face when she was naked, but our sex life was starting to change and become less and less frequent. As much as I would have like her to look presentable and for her to take some pride in her appearance, I still wanted to have sex. One day when I was down in the basement printing, I had to come upstairs to get something. When I got to the living room, I could hear a faint buzzing coming from upstairs. I decided to investigate, but as I started up the steps, the sound vanished. I got to the bed room to find Mary "sleeping." The next time I was home alone I searched the bed room to find a vibrator. Now I knew that Mary had some sex toys, but this was different. She got it mail order, from a company that makes high end sex toys. By the looks and feel of it, you knew it was not the cheap stuff you find in sex shops, this was a quality instrument. How do you like that, Mary was starting a new relationship with her vibrator. I thought, if I confront her, she will be embarrassed and resentful of me. So why would a person give up a sexual relationship? Poor performance, is why most people give it up. I could not just break the vibrator, I just wanted to make it unreliable. So with Swiss army knife in hand, I cut a wire, but let it touch the contact just enough, to work sometimes, but never to full satisfaction. It worked, our normal sex life slowly returned, but it never changed Mary's weight. Eventually, I got tired of seeing fat during sex, and Mary was not sexually attractive to me. We were still young enough to move on. I did not want to make Mary feel guilty about her weight gain. It's a free country, and you can get as fat as you like, I just didn't want any part of it. So we broke up.

It is about time to take stock of my situation. I broke up with my girlfriend of 9 years, moved into my own home, started a business with marginal success, and work a job that keeps me at work for 10 to 14 hours a day. One of my friends got into the sound system business. He would set up his speakers and amps for small concerts and this new thing called raves. He told me that the rave people spend tons of money on flyers, so I thought that I would go after that business. I went to a rave dressed as a preppy and watched kids "dance" all night. My friend said the rave promoters are pretty tight, and they don't take to outsiders. At another rave my friend gave me an "e" pill. I said what is this? He told me it would keep me up all night. I took it and not much happened, except I wasn't sleepy. I started helping my friend and his brother set up his sound system and tear it down in the morning. My friend would give me and his brother "e" pills to keep us awake. I told his brother, I don't see much in the "E" pill and he agreed. We decided to go smoke a joint and chill for a while since we had 9 hours before we had to reload the truck with the sound system. It must have been the combination of the pot and the e, because we started to "roll" . The best way I could describe it is 1 our feat felt like we were as light as a feather, almost as if every step our feet had some sort of springs on then. 2, do you remember in the wizard of Oz, when Dorothy left her black and white world to the full color of Oz? All the colors were now brighter and the music was clearer, and layered. 3 the feeling was as if you went to Disney World at 6 years old. I had forgotten how happy I had once been in my life. Maybe because I had been seen at the raves or maybe because a promoter saw me bouncing up and down like an idiot, whatever it was I started printing rave flyers. Every weekend I would help my friend with the sound, talk to promoters, and pick up printing jobs, all cash, all under the table. One rave, I was talking to a raver chick, she gave me a loli pop, and said it was nice I was helping a friend. After about and hour I started to hallucinate. I told my friend there was something wrong. He ask me what my symptoms were. I told him that I could see streams attached to moving things, and that the music was very layered. He told me that I was on acid. I said no way, I never took acid. He said, weather you took acid or not you are on it now. After that, I figured this was a great escape, for me. I wanted to get so screwed up on the weekends, that I didn't remember my slave driver boss and working in a shop that reached over 100 degrees in the summer, I wanted to forget my ex-girl friend Mary, and maybe pick up a raver chick, and I also wanted to forget my dad, who told everyone that I know that I stole from him and was on drugs. What would he say now, " he really is on drugs this time"? I started doing acid more than, e. Acid did not give you a run down hang over like e, but I thought that it would open my mind up. After all most of us will not explore space, and the world has already been explored, the final frontier, is your own mind.
Financially I was doing OK. In 3 months I sold $60,000 in rave flyers alone, all cash. My flyers were went all over the country, but mainly on the east coast. In my home town, I did flyers for the clubs around town, and on a Sat. night, I could by pass the lines, and walk right in, my friend Ron was doing security for the clubs and the raves.

The Rave flyer business.

The Rave flyer business was pretty much open for me, as I did not have any competition, kept my mark up low, and fit in by partying with promoters and club owners. Then the flyer business started to drop off. It started with the out of town customers, then it hit my town. A out of town promoter, decided he was not getting enough money from the rave, so he decided to enter the flyer business. He was from Russia, and gave the appearance of coming from money. He drove a BMW, had a wife that looked like a model, and threw lavish parties. He was taking my clients out to show them his print shop. My clients described a shop that would cost several million dollars, with state or the art equipment. He was always beating my prices by $50 to $100, which was my mark up on most jobs. It didn't make sense to me, to spend that much for such a low return. The flyer business for me was just about over, with the exception of some loyal customers, and some promoters that tried to stiff me on the full payment. Then one day my phone started to ring off the hook, the flyer business was back with a vengeance. What was going on, you may ask. The Russian, which we will call Ivan, found a company that did cheap flyers. The company did not own 1 press. they would take your flyer and put it on a press sheet with several other flyers, thus dividing the set up costs among several people. At the time business on the internet was new, and only a few people knew of this flyer company, who was nothing more than a middle man. Ivan, was involved in several scams, one of which, he would order flyers from this company, have them shipped via Greyhound, then would sneak in, or pay off the Greyhound shipping employee, late at night, at about 2AM. He then would get paid for the flyers, then call the flyer company, and say he did not receive his flyers, and it was too late to reprint. The flyer company would turn in a claim to Greyhound, and get reimbursed. 100% profit to the Russian. This scam did not stop Ivan. He was caught by the FBI with a mobile surface to air missile launcher among other arms, stolen from local armories. He spent some time in jail, then deported to Russia. I found him recently on FaceBook. About that print shop he said he owned, he told a local printer that he was a printing broker, and he wanted to take some clients, on a tour of the shop, so they could see the quality and professionalism of the shop, all of course was BS.

For my company did well after Ivan was in jail, but as the internet became more popular, and the word got out about this company that did bulk run flyers, my customers only saw they could save $50 to $100, they went to the middle man flyer company. Quality was poor, and they rarely ever got the flyers out on time, cheap now ruled the flyer business. As a side note, since so many people are on FaceBook, and internet, the flyers are now sent out electronically, and the middle man flyer company, is not doing so good, thus the evolution of the printing business.

Getting back to drugs, since I did a lot of acid, it caused me to think a lot, especially about my ex-girl friend Mary. I also had a thing for Mary's sister, Sue. So I put it to fate, in a years time, if Sue did make contact with me, and if I did not fall madly in love with someone else, then I would try to patch things up with Mary. A year came and went, but not much happened except I had already started dating Mary again. I took her to a rave and told her about E, but she did not want to take it. So at the rave we got high, then I again suggested E. She took it and wow, she was a whole different person. She loved it, and let me tell you that sex on E is more wonderful than you could imagine. Mary and I started raving together, we would get into the back rub thing. We did a 3 way with a raver friend. We were both surprised that this guy who was relatively a runt, had a 9" member that was pierced. I really didn't think white guys got that big. During the drug phase we would do acid and e at the same time. I would always make suggestions, that Mary would hook up with a raver chick. Who could blame me, every guy wants to have 2 chicks. Mary made out with a couple of raver girls, but then ask me if you want me to do it with a girl, why don't you do it with a guy. Right in my face with a good question, turn about is fair play I guess. One time during one of our 3 ways with my friend (we were all fuked up) me and the friend started kissing. We then proceed to a all oral 3 way, which was not as bad as I thought. That expression, girls do it well with each other because they know what they want, also works for guys. I guess I will go into the introspective drug direction, for a short time. Why did I do drugs, 1 to expand my mind and experiences, and 2 on weekends I wanted to forget my crappy job, and I was especially not looking forward to all the insults my dad would hurl at me on our visits on Sunday. It was at one particular rave, when the e and acid was wearing off, and I started thinking that I had to meet my dad later on in the day. I did not want to take acid again, because the effects can last up to 12 hours, and e would last 4 hours and the rave was over in 2 hours. I took this stuff called ketamine or "k". Ketamine is like acid only, instead of being an observer you are right in the action. I did a bump of K and nothing happened, then some more, nothing, then I did what was left in my bullet ( special vile for dosing inhaled drugs). I just started to have some effects, then a voice came to me and said, are you ready to play with the big boys. I said I will give it a shot. All of a sudden I was pulled out of my body, from below. I could see the inside of my face as if I was looking at a mask from the reverse side. Down, down I went all the way through my shoes. I ended up in a very dark place with neon lights here and there. I could hear the rave, but it sounded like it was muffled, but I could hear talking where I was at, and it was crisp as a bell. After a few seconds, I started going up, back into the empty shell. Started with the feet and back into the mask. The next thing I knew, I was looking out of Mary's eyes, looking at myself. I could see her hands and arms where mine should have been. She was shaking my body, but I saw it from her perspective. I saw my self, and thought that I looked really out of it (no pun intended) About that time I reversed, went back down then back up into my body and was now me again. Another "k" experience was when Mary and I got home from a rave, and we wanted to make the e last a little longer, so we both did a bump of K. The next thing I knew is that, I was laying on the floor at the rave. The party was over, and they were cleaning up. I said to myself that, I better get up off the floor before someone sees that I am passed out. About then someone swept right over me, as if I wasn't there at all. I then ended up in this huge area, that was filled with these bluish white balls. I looked and saw that I had no body, but was one of these little balls. There were millions of little balls in this room. I ask what am I doing here, am I dead? a voice said that I was one of many looking for answers. I then went back to floor at the rave, and then woke up back at my house. A week later I ask if Joe was sweeping up, and If Don was taking out the garbage, they told me yes. That is what I saw in my "hallucination".
Mary and I would go to rave about every weekend. At one party, some guy showed an interest in Mary that went beyond a back rub. We were all rolling on E at the time, so I said what heck, lets do something about it. We all went to the basement, and we started a 3 way with Mary. A few moments later we were caught, and kicked out by the security. When Mary and I sobered up, we had a talk. I told her this was bad for my printing reputation at the rave scene. I told her that we might end up with someone under age, or a disease. I said that if we wanted to have sex with other people, that we should do it with people that want to, and have rules for safe sex. Guess what, we then got into swinging, but that will be another chapter.

SWINGING...YEAH BABY, well actually no baby

2008-02-09T09:40:00.002-05:00

Swinging maybe exactly what you think it is, but there are so many forms of it, that you might consider swinging yourself. Lets take someone who wants to do it in public places, well there are quite a few swingers who stay with their partner, and just want the experience of doing it in a public place, without being arrested. Now me and my wife, (yeah I got married to Mary) thought it was a logical progression to go from picking up ravers to going somewhere safe, with rules, and with people who want to have sex and are definitely the right age. I hung out with my friends at the raves and had no problem getting E. Most of the people in the "drug culture" were a good sort. We all had about the same rules for taking drugs, like don't take anything addictive, don't force your drugs on anyone else, you are still responsible for your actions while on drugs, take drugs to augment the music sex, etc. not just to get high. There was us, then there was the rest of the world that took there drugs of alcohol. Before you think that our lives are ruled by drugs, its not. I only mention it because it was one of the non-traditional aspects of our lives. I mean, everybody does some thing that acts like a drug. You have to ask, why would someone do drugs? The answer is almost always the same, to escape reality. So how do people escape reality? well they could drink alcohol, take a vacation, watch a movie or sports event, read a book, live their lives through their kids, and yes some of us take drugs. For my wife and I, we took E, because drinking upset our stomachs, and E augmented sex very well. In fact on our honeymoon, we met up with a couple of girls on the cruise ship, we all took some E, and lets just say things got pretty hot. My wife and I did not know where the swingers went, so we joined an online swing/ dating club. Unfortunately most of the people we met were single men that said they were a married couple, but would show up without the wife, with a flimsy excuse why their wife was not there. We did find a small town about 100 miles from us that had dances. You would go to the dance, but no sex was allowed at the dance, if you wanted to hook up you would have to go to your hotel. Mary liked it because you could dirty dance with people, and nothing had to happen, but sometime we did go back with another couple. So far as my dad, we would see him almost every weekend on Sunday. We would make the day of it, and tried to make things as enjoyable as possible. For some reason no matter how well the day was going, my dad would find a way to turn things sour. One time we had a picnic lunch, took him out on a rented pontoon boat, and then had dinner at a local restaurant. At the restaurant, the waitress came over and ask if everything was alright, a typical question after serving food. My dad some how thought this was an invasion of his privacy, and started to spit his whole mouthful of food on his plate so he could answer her. When she saw what he was doing she said, "I'll come back a little later. He said NO, just wait a minute, and made her wait until he spit the last pieces of chewed up food on the plate, and said very sarcastically, every thing is just fine, do you have any more questions? Toward the end of the meal, the waitress quickly left the check, as to not confront my dad again. My dad and I were talking, and after we about finished our conversation, I picked up the check, as I always did when we went out. He said I saw what you did. I ask what are you talking about? He said you left that check on the table to make me feel guilty about not paying, as if I was suppose to pick it up. I said, I don't know where you come up with this stuff, I waited so that while you were talking, I was giving you my undivided attention, if I had picked up the check immediately you would have thought that I did not care about what you are saying. We then drove the hour back to his house arguing about how fast someone has to pick up the check. I took him all kinds of places, and paid for him all the time, without even thinking about it. Even Mary said I was doing too much, for a man that still accuses you of stealing from him, a man that had no regrets in throwing you in the nut house, a man that married your mom on her death bed, just to get the house, and then throw you out 1 year later. I said, I am always optimistic, and that I hoped to kill him with kindness. He would try to use reverse psychology on you, like on fathers day, I told him that I would take him out to any steak house that he wanted. He said OK , lets go to Lone Star. When we go there, he just wanted was a water. I ask him if he is feeling well? He said he was fine. So the next obvious question, why would you want to go to a steak house and order just a water. He said I didn't want to put you out, on fathers day. You see he wanted me to beg him to order a steak. I said you wanted to come here so order something, so he said OK, I order the hamburger, from the children's menu. At this point I walked out, he followed, and asks what's wrong, I can order anything I want. Now he knew that I had enough money, he was just trying to make fathers day as miserable as possible for me. We did eventually go back and he did order a steak, but fathers day was already spoiled. After that, I would make plans with my dad for Sunday, but when I got to his house there would be no answer on the door. I drove back home and gave him a call, he said where were you. I told him that I knocked on the door. He said I must have been in the bathroom, and that he would wait by the door. I drove back to his house, no answer. I drove back home, and called him, again he ask's where were you, again I told him I was at his house knocking at the door. He said again come back over and I will wait for you outside. I was thinking to myself, he is playing some sort of game, maybe I should just make plans for next Sunday. So I said it was getting late, and we already missed the movie that I was going to take him to, so how about next Sunday. He said OK, and when next Sunday came, he did the same thing, I says to myself the hell with it, I am too old to play games, so I stopped talking to him again. Back at he rave seen, the drugs were getting scarce. The DEA started raids at the dances with body cavity searches. When word got out about the DEA the attendance went from 2000+ to under 500. So then the flyer business started to drop, and even the paintball customers that I had started to get less printing due to the Internet and that Walmart was selling paintball guns and paint. Why would anyone pay for paintball, when they could do it for free in their own back yards. Mary and I started to go to "swing clubs" where they would have a dance, and if you met someone you could go to a room or to a public area within the club. No more E, so I found a few places on line that sold research chemicals, which were legal to buy. Nothing was very good except 1, it was a liquid you could add to alcohol and just after 1 drink you would be plastered. One time we were at a nudist camp, and Mary and I were plastered on this chemical, she said she had to go to the bathroom. I waited outside, and waited, and waited. I yelled in, are you OK. No answer. I went in and she was passed out on the toilet. I tried to wake her up, but it was no use. I tried to carry her, but "dead" weight is a lot heavier than you think, and I was pretty messed up. A couple of guys came in and ask if they could help. I told them that I was trying to get her back to our tent to sleep it off. They both got on either side of her and carried her back to our tent. I was about to follow them when I just passed out. I woke up in my tent, with magic marker scribbles on my body. I ask the 2 guys that carried Mary back what happened. They said they had a hard time caring her, and when they came back and saw me, they tossed me in a wheel barrel and wheeled me around camp, before they dropped me off in the tent. I found out the symptoms of overdose of the chemical, that I took, was a deep almost coma type sleep, and that alcohol intensified the effects of the chemical. We waited to try to have a baby for about 1 year after getting married. There was a swing convention in Canada and we wanted to make this our last party before having a baby. After the convention, no drugs, no drinking, no chemicals, we tried for a year to have a baby, but no luck. We saw a fertility doctor, and paid about 2 thousand dollars for tests and treatments for Mary and I. They found Mary had a problem, but I gave her fertility shots for a few weeks, and then she was pregnant. The doctor monitored her progress, but after a month he said the baby was not developing properly and that if we let it go she would miscarry in a month or so and that Mary should take this pill to induce a miscarriage sooner. So she did, but was feeling pretty low about it. A few weeks later while I was at work (now I work night shift) Mary hit the speed dial on our phone but ended up calling my dad. She told him that we were trying to have a baby and that she just miscarried a few weeks ago. To which he replied, maybe God intended for only GOOD people to have babies. She hung up the phone and went to bed alone and crying. She told me about it the next day. I called my dad and ask why the hell are you picking on my wife for, and that she was already depressed about loosing the baby. All he could say, if the shoe fits...I just hung up on him. We then got into a pattern of swinging, then taking time off for fertility shots, but no luck, no baby. We started to go to one of the largest swing clubs in the country. They had over 1000 couples for their Halloween dance. The club was about 300 mile from where we lived and was close to a civil war battlefield. So we would swing 1 night and go to the battle field another, to indulge my new hobby of ghost hunting. I did have some success with ghost hunting, and started 2 web sites, with pictures that I took and others from people from around the country. We went to so many dances, that I became a sort of expert on that civil war battle, as well as getting to stay at haunted bed and breakfasts. Well all of the fertility treatments and the "consolation" parties cost some money, so besides my home business, we started to sell on eBay and at flea markets. We went to one last swing party on New Years. When we came back home I threw all of the chemicals and anything that had to do with swinging out. Mary found a lump in her breast. It was removed and found to be benign. We later found out that the drugs that Mary was taking for fertility, may cause fibroids to grow in the breast, and in some cases have led to cancer. We stopped all treatments, I did want to lose Mary like my mom. We decided to look into adoption. If you want a nice white baby it would cost $10,000 to start just for background checks, and agency fees then there would be further fees as it becomes finalized. If you wanted a black baby that had an addition from their mom doing addictive drugs while pregnant, well all the fees and background checks would be paid for. They would even give you money to take the kid to the doctor, to treat the addiction or any problems that arose from the addiction. Mary really did not want someone else's baby, but we decided to try to save the money in case we decided to adopt. Yeah, I was doing it strait edge, no drugs, no alcohol, no swinging. We started to go to church, and I came to the realization that it might be just me and Mary for the rest of our lives. We did manage to save a little, but we went to Florida on our anniversary. I took Mary in a hot air balloon ride and we went to Disney world. It is hard at times when you see families with their children, and you know that you will not have the same enjoyment that they have in raising a kid. I was still working nights and Mary days. We only saw each other for about 30 min. in the morning and 45 min. in the evening. I was waiting for Mary to come home this one day. She came through the door and looked as white as a ghost. I ask her (kidding) did you get fired? She said not yet. I ask what happened. She told me as a worker for a large health insurance company, she had access to peoples medical records. As a "curiosity" she looked up her old boyfriend of 20 years ago. She said that she called him and he was happy to hear from her. She sent him pictures of her that we used for our swing profile on the online dating club. She said don't you remember I was asking you where the picture files were on the computer? I said if I had known that you were sending them to titillate another man, I never would have helped you. Well she said I made arrangements to see him at the flea market. So I said, while I was selling as hard as I could to raise money in the front of the flea market, you were around back with him? She yes, but it was all innocent, all I wanted to do is talk to him. Mary said that she got into his truck just to talk, but then he un-zipped his pants and grabbed the back of my head and made me go down on him. I said made you? why didn't you just open the door and walk away if you didn't want to be there. To which, I got no answer. So I said how does this have anything to do with the job that you have been at for 14 years. She said that he called me and told me that I was going to be his sex bitch, and that he was going to share me with his friends. I told him NO, but he said that if I didn't he was going to turn me in where I work because I had gotten his name, address, and phone number illegally . So I talked with my sister and she said that I should turn myself in before he does. So I turned myself in at work, and they are getting an investigative team together, then I will under go questioning then they will review my employment status. Sure enough, she got fired. They then denied her unemployment ,for willful misconduct. I was thinking to myself, this is what happens when you try to do everything right. All kinds of things are going through my mind. Should I break up with her? Maybe I should have went after her sister years ago. Should I beat the shit out of her ex-boyfriend, and if I did what would that accomplish? Whose honor would I be defending? She had her fun with him, but I'm the one that feels violated.

LOOSE ENDS, LOST LOVES, AND REFLECTION

2008-02-08T10:15:00.048-05:00

Maybe its because I am older, or maybe I look at things different since doing acid, but now I put situations into an equation in the form of questions. If things don't add up, it's time for a change. For Mary cheating on me there were a ton of questions. She said it started innocently, but she kept it a secret around me. She said she was forced, so I said we will have him (ex boyfriend) charged with sexual assault, but Mary backed off the forced part, when asked why didn't you just get out of the vehicle. She said she talked with him just a few times, but the cell phone records show over 40 calls, on a daily basis, and sometimes twice a day. Do I divorce her, and let her go with her true love? I was glad that she didn't get pregnant, I would have hated to bring baby into this mess. Adoption...not now. Was this a fling or does she want to be with him? Maybe my dad was right, maybe I am not a good person. God took away my mom, he had my dad turn on me, my brother treats me like a 3rd cousin (later in the story), the rest of my friends and family think I am a kleptomaniac or are not sure, thanks to my dad. God took away my chances for having a kid, and now any trust, or purity that I saw in my wife, now is gone. Out side of taking up space, what was my purpose in life? I did, this time, think about suicide, after all it looked like I was the one that did not fit in the equation. My dad would be happier, Mary could go to her old boyfriend, my "friends and family" could forget me, and I would not have to watch my world, and what little I had, fall apart. I had more reasons for leaving this world than staying. A few reasons not to do away with myself were, I felt I would not see my mom again when I died, and that if I did not contribute anything to this world, then I still had my health and time to do something about it. For the heck of it I decided to call up Lorna. I knew she might be married, but we did profess our love for each other at one time, and she could give me good advice anyway. I called, a female answered. I ask is Lorna there? a long pause, then I heard, dad you better take this call. I had to think of something quick, so I said I was a classmate from her high school, and we were planning a reunion. The man on the phone said, she died 3 years ago of breast cancer. I said I was sorry to hear that and thanked him for the information. Lorna watched my mom die, she saw all the needles and tubes put into her. She saw what it did to our family with the highs and lows. In other words she knew exactly what she was in for. If we had stayed together, we might have had a daughter too, but I would have been an emotional wreck watching her go through the same thing as my mom. I cried when I got of the phone with her family, as I knew the pain that they went through. Mary and I kept going round and round about the infidelity, I knew that we would need help if this was going to be resolved. we went to a family councilor, and tried to work things out. To make a long story short, after attacking the problem from every angle, it was determined that Mary had a low self image, and she used the attention of men to validate herself. She got this attention when I was around, then later with swinging, but with me gone, and no more swinging, she looked else where. We slowly got our lives back together. She had to eventually take a job making $10,000 less a year, with crappy medical benefits and the nice pension that she was going to get was just about worthless now.

My best friend Ron.
   Ron was my best man at my wedding. I knew the guy for over 20 years. he got me into weightlifting, and I helped him in his construction business, sometimes working for free. I have seen all sides of Ron, from helping old woman with their groceries, to helping a cerebral palsy man on a toilet at a McDonalds. I also knew he did collections for the mob, I knew what he did when he got drunk...fight. I picked hip up from an Irish party, to drive him home. Mary and I were in the front and he was in the back seat. He started this "evil" laughing. I ask him what was so funny. He said, I could just cum, ha ha ha. I said what are you talking about? He said I can feel their teeth cutting into my hand, and their blood running down my fist as I hit them in the face. I can feel their teeth as I pull them out of my knuckles. I said OK, here you are at home. Boy was I glad to get him out of the car. As far as the house of mayhem which I briefly lived. Ron must have scared the rest of his tenants away, He never really took his construction business seriously, and since he had no income the city took his house for back taxes. He called me one time, to help him remove all the copper pipe, stained glass windows, and anything else of value. Ron then cut all the valleys on the roof with a razor knife, so the water would run into the house. by the time the city put the house up for auction, the walls and floors were so badly warped that the had to bulldoze the building, thus erasing any evidence of anything that happened in the house. Ironically the city replaced the house of mayhem with a tranquil flower garden. Now Ron works days with a welder. This guy did some work for me, and I said I would pay him with business cards. He said sounds good. The only problem, was that my computer got a virus, and all my software for designing was lost. I would have to look on the Internet to try to get back some of my programs. Then Ron calls, an says he needs this all done in 2 weeks. I told him OK, but I was still looking for the software. Then my helper quit at work, and I was working a shift and a half every day, without a helper, and to top it off our hot water heater broke and flooded part of our cellar along with getting a lot of stuff wet AND they were doing construction on my street with jack hammers during the daylight while I was to be sleeping. That's how it goes sometimes, everything hits al at once. I tried to call Ron to push back the deadline that he, and not the guy I made the deal with, imposed. All Ron could say was we fixed you car fast and now I want the business cards fast. I didn't meet the deadline, but I got another of Ron's friends to make up some cards to get them by for now. I came back a few days later with the design (yes, I was able to get some of my software back) I showed the welder (owner) the design, which he liked, then I went over to show Ron. All Ron could say was LEAVE, LEAVE, LEAVE, LEAVE, LEAVE. He was saying it so loud and fast that he couldn't even get his breath between words. I tried to call him on his cell phone, but before I could get 1 word out, he said fuck you, leave me alone, then hung up. That was the end of our friendship. I should have known, because he was best man at several of our "friends" weddings, but he is no longer friends with any of them now. He at one time confessed some of the things he did with the mob, and I sometimes think he is going to bump me off, so he can stay out of trouble.

Drugs and my dad.
   Why did I do drugs, well at first I wanted to find out what all the hub bub was about. Although I did E, I preferred acid. I knew I would never explore space or an uncharted wilderness. The only thing that is really unknown is the human mind. What makes a whole modern country like Germany, turn into a killing machine. Were we as Americans, any different. How can one baby turn into Einstein and another into Ted Bundy? When I see people playing on negative emotions, I think that is just what the Germans did. How can people hold such hatred in their hearts. Why cant people see that, mainly radio hosts are pushing peoples buttons to push their agenda. I took the mind expansion of acid and ketamine as far as I wanted to go. I could see that the more trips I took the more there was to see, and the more questions I had. So, I had to put the whole drug thing to my equation. Was I going to be able to figure out what I was seeing?...NO Was there anything redeeming or useful that I was learning?....NO. Could I better spend my time doing something constructive? YES The only drug that I had a problem with was E. While I was on it I was very open to suggestion and I did things that I would not normally do, nothing real bad. I have a problem with E in that it is a dis inhibitor, hence the reason I flushed it down the toilet. If I was going to start my life doing the right thing, there is no reason for me to have the wrong thing around me. Am I proud that I took drugs? NO, but it did change my personality, I was a lot like my dad before the drugs, but I have a lot more compassion for my fellow man. I try to find a positive solution to conflicts. I motivate people that work with me rather than wielding my authority around. At this point I can't change what I did with the drugs, but I am making something positive out of it. I do better understand addiction, but I think the real addiction, is the rationalization that we all use to support a bad habit, this includes drugs, abuse, gambling, etc. I heard that everyone gets their 15 minutes of fame, I guess min was when my flyers were all over that country, and when I could walk past the velvet ropes to the prestigious clubs around town. I would like to add to the expression Everyone gets their 15 minutes of fame, but given enough time, every one becomes insignificant. It is my belief that a subconscious personality comes out when you drink or do drugs. For me I was passive, and full of the curiosity and wonderment of a 5 year old. For my friend Ron, he wanted to fight the world. In everything that I ever did, I never fought anyone, hurt any one stole anything or in any way violate anyone's rights. If I was anyway destructive it was always turned inward. There is more of a chance of me hurting someone while I am sober, than there ever was while inebriated. All of my behaviors have been self destructive. There is no way that I could deliberately harm someone else. I would rather cut off my hand than ever use it to abuse anyone. On fathers day I heard a radio host saying that no matter your differences, you should try to re connect with your dad. so after 5 years I called my dad. I told him that we would need to see a councilor if we were going to make our relationship work. He agreed, and we talked for a while. I told him he could pick the councilor as long as they met 2 requirements. 1st they have to be qualified, and 2nd thy have to take my insurance. We would talk about once a week and about every other week we would go out somewhere. One time he had to put on his shoes when I went to pick him up. He invited me in his house. I almost cried and felt like throwing up at the same time. He doesn't throw anything out. All the garbage that you would throw away because it gets rotten, he saves. The house smelled like a sewer, there were no floors to walk on just garbage, and a green brown slimy substance. He has stacks of papers and other garbage piled from floor to ceiling. There are only narrow walk isles to walk in. Bugs of all sorts were everywhere. I had to get out, I felt that I was suffocating. A human being should not live like this, no matter how much you may despise them, a dog shouldn't live like this. I told him that I would help him clean up, but he said that he wasn't feeling well and got a little behind on his cleaning, but he would start taking the garbage out soon. I knew it was BS, but what could I do? After a several months, I could see he was doing nothing about getting a councilor. He told me he was busy, and did not have the time. Well Thanksgiving was coming up, so I said to him, I would like to take you up to Mary's mothers house for Thanksgiving, but they are old and lived a simple life, and I did not want him to blurt out anything like "God only wants good people to have baby's" I said that Mary's mom is recovering from colon cancer, and that I did not want any arguments there. He said he would not cause any problems. I also ask him to put on clean clothes and shoes, because he smelled like a sewer when I took him anywhere. He said OK. When I called before I picked him up he said he could not find clean shoes, and that he was going to wear his army boots, with the green/ brown slime on them. I went to Walmart, the only store open, and bought him clean shoes. Out side of my dad over eating, Thanksgiving went very well. I did not hear from my dad for a few days, so I called him. He put on this voice like a very weak whisper. He said that he had been sick and wanted to know if anyone else that ate their was sick. We said no, so as not to strain him any further I got off the phone. About 1 hour later we got a call form Mary's mom. She said my dad called their house and accused them of unsanitary conditions and changing the baby's diaper and not washing their hands when preparing the food. I ask if he sounded weak, and they said no he sounded very strong while accusing them. I called my dad back and ask why would you call and make these people worry after they showed you their hospitality. I told him he could do with words, what Manson could do with a knife. He said I just wanted to find out if anyone else was sick. I told him I already gave you that information, but he eluded to me having a credibility problem. I got off the phone, but he called a few days later, and said I have GOOD news, yes I have GOOD news, I found out what I have and it will be cured in 6 months. I knew he was leading up to something, so I let him go on and on. He said yes my friend Bob had it and he was cured in 6 months . Then he said, my friend Bob died in 6 months and I AM GOING TO DIE IN 6 MONTHS, ain't that good news? I ask if he saw a doctor, and he said no. So I ask did you talk to someone over the phone, that told you this.? He said yes. So I ask him so without any test, without anyone seeing you, you determined that you have cancer, and you are going to die in 6 months, you're just going to run with that. He said yes. I said call me in 6 months, let me know how you are doing, and I hung up My dad and I had several conversations that lasted many hours. When he was not accusing me of stealing, we would talk about current affairs, and some times his twisted opinion. For example he believed that people must be mentally unbalanced if they drank Coke, for no other reason than he did not like it. He believed that Rush Linbaugh must be on drugs, because he disagreed with his opinions, well he may have gotten that one right. In other conversations, he would hint at sexuality. He did tell me one time, straight out that he had a 4 sum with my mom and two other bi-sexual woman. He would say thing like when I was with your mom I had no desire to be with other WOMAN. This struck me as odd, with the emphasis on woman, when most people would say I had no desire to be with anyone else. He was against gays in the military. I ask him what is the difference, because the military does not believe in sex of any sort. He then said well if you are stuck on base, and you have a ferry that is willing to service the service men in the bathroom while your Sergeant is somewhere else, it might be tempting for some of the men. I felt his hypothetical example had a little too much detail in it. I also found out that he like to take pictures of his peccadilloes. He had a friend named Bob Weise that helped him develop some of his pictures. He told me that some acid spilled in the attic, from the photography chemicals that he had. I never knew that he was into photography, let alone that he developed his own pictures. Why would he have all this equipment, and never mention it to me as I grew up? If it was all innocent, then we could have shared the hobby. If it was just for pictures, then he could have taken them down to the local drug store to get developed. He told me of a time when his buddy Bob came into his room with his wife. My dad just happened to be on the bed nude, when Bob mentioned to his wife, "didn't I tell you he had a big one?" He left out all the details about how the situation occurred. It is hard for me to believe that this was all just an accident. My dad did not like blacks at all. He told me of a story where he had sunburn blisters on his back and this black "kid" popped his blisters up and down his back. It was years later, that I started to question the details of the story, such as if you didn't like blacks how could you let a black male come over and put his hands on you? And even if you did not know what was happening at first, wouldn't you jump up and get away after he first touched you? Another time I took my dad to a Borders book store, where I found a book of nude photography from the 1800's to about 1920. I knew since he had hinted about taking nude pictures that he might be interested. So I left him with that book, while I looked around. When I came back he was looking at a book of gay cartoons and gay art. He quickly put the book down when I came over and pretended to be looking at the book that I originally showed him. Does all this add up to my dad being bisexual, maybe, or maybe he was gay which would explain his abuse of woman. I really think my dad is a psychopath. A person that has no feelings for anyone but themselves. When my mom died, he tried his control tactics on me, but I would have none of it. Because I resisted him, and he had no control of me, he tried to find ways to manipulate and force me into someone that he had control over. He had told me of his abusive relationship with his mother, and an absentee father. He must have had a complete loss of control as he was growing up, and now he only feels safe if he can control others. Do I hate my dad, no, I believe that he has mental problems, and no more hate him than I would a person with downs syndrome. I do fault him by not putting his actions into an equation. Is it normal to beat your "wife", make her eat cat food when you can't hit any more because she has cancer? Is it normal to live in complete filth and squallier? If he could ask himself these questions, then he would have gotten help. That is the problem, if you get help, then you are not in control any more. He never did anything wrong the whole time that I knew him. If you don't believe me just ask him,, he will either give you a twisted reason for his actions or just deny it all together. If he were to admit that he did something wrong, then all his decisions might be questioned, and when you start questioning his action, then he looses control. As I see it now, my dad wanted everything, that is why he married my mom on her death bed, and made no provision for me in the will. He spent his whole life taking advantage of people that loved him, it is no wonder that he is all alone now. I have often wondered if any of his mental problems were passed along to me or my brother, or maybe my brothers kids(might have skipped a generation). So far, out side of my environment in which I was raised, I see no problems. Although it took me years of living in a "normal" environment, before my values became somewhat normal. The question for me now is whether I turn him into the county health department. He does pose a danger to himself and his neighbors, but if I turn him in, he will seek some sort of vengeance on me, or my wife and her family. I always under estimate how low he would go. I still have problems reconciling my relationship with my dad in my own mind. On one hand he was the foundation of my values and doing the right thing, but on the other hand the more I evaluate his actions with me and the other people in his family, I find a cold calculating, self centered man, that viewed anyone's love or compassion for him, as a weakness, that must be exploited. The only reason that he never killed anyone, was he felt that it would have been too great of a risk for him to get caught, besides, I feel that he got a sense of power by keeping his victims in prolonged agony.

The Girls
   We will start of with Bridget, the first girl that I really had sex with. I cheated on Mary with her, and she was always up for anything. One time Ron and I got drunk and drove to Bridget mom's house at about 3 AM. Ron threw a ladder that was laying beside the house up to her window. He climbed through the window and she was a bit surprised to say the least. Ron said, it's OK, its just me Ron. As Ron and Bridget started down the ladder, I started to see lights go on in the house. It was time to get going. They jumped in the car, and as I was spinning tire to get out of there. I saw her brother come out on the porch with what looked to be a shotgun. All three of us went back to Ron's house for a tag team match with Bridget. I lost track of her over the years, but ran into her at a supermarket. I told her I was married and introduced her to my wife. She said she was hooked up with some hill billy, He was about 5'6" and had about 3 teeth left. She called me from their house one time, but I could hear him in the background giving her some shit about calling ex-boyfriends. She tried to tell him that I was married, but about then the line went dead. I never heard from her again. Were there other girls? Sure, but none-of the had any relevant meaning to my life, ( I know that is a terrible thing to say) and therefore deliberately left out of this blog. There were only 3 woman I ever professed my love for. Lorna had passed away. Mary's sister, only knew of it from a torrid letter that I wrote long ago, and of course my wife Mary. Mary's sister, Sue was going out with this guy named junior. How many guys named junior, that you know, that weren't missing a few marbles in the attic. Well this guy was no exception. Nice enough, but had the intellect of a 14 year old. She almost married him, but I told Mary that they would not get married, and if they did get married, it wouldn't last. She broke off the engagement. It seams that when they were looking for reception halls together (how romantic), he insisted on bringing his 14 year old friend with then all the time. Sue bounced around a few boyfriends, until she met Michael. He appealed to her creative side. They met at karaoke, and he was an artist, his college major was art history. It was a story book romance. He was the perfect gentleman, a bit wordy, but that just proved he had an education. Well the two of them couldn't be too smart, because in a short time they had unprotected sex and then were surprised that she was pregnant. (duh)From the start of the pregnancy on their story book romance was shattered. For starters they both moved out of their homes and into a rented house. How many artists do you know that are rich or well off? That's right only the dead ones, and this guy was no exception. So she tried to work as a hair stylist, but her feet began to swell, and she found it harder and harder to keep working a full time job. He ended up taking a job paying a little over minimum wage. The arguments started flying after that. He was a mama's boy and his mom said it was the woman's job to take care of the house. So he happened to be a neat freak, and would yell at Sue for even the slightest spill or mess. He would also yell at her for her decrease in hours. She tried to reason with him, that her activities were becoming restricted as her pregnancy progressed. His response was to make slurs on Sue's family for not going to college. Finally the baby came, a beautiful baby girl. All was peaceful, for about 2 weeks. Then it was Sue's job to feed, cleanup, and put the baby to bed, all while maintaining a well kept house, cooking dinner, and keeping her income levels high. This was a recipe for disaster, when Mary and I would visit, they would argue over the most trivial stuff. Since I tried to remain neutral, they both would try to appeal their case to me, like I was some sort of referee. Sine there was all that pressure on Sue, she would cut corners. One of the corners she cut was that when her daughter wanted ANYTHING, she gave it to her. As her daughter got older the mom tried to say no, but then the daughter went into a tantrum, with her mom giving in. By the way now the little girl is 4.5 years old and still poops in her pants, because her mom did not want to upset her with potty training. When her daughter gets loud, her mom gives her anything with sugar in it. She says it temporally quiets her down. Her "husband" Michael and her don't argue as much since he just does what he wants, and when he is at home he retreats to his art studio in the attic, to paint very dreary paintings that nobody wants. In all of this chaos, I put forth a question to sue. I asked her, since Mary is getting up in years, would you have her child? She said well, I don't think so. Why did I ask?? Because when Mary and I get up in years, and the question comes up, maybe Sue could have had our baby, I can say I already ask and she said no. Am I still in love with sue? well lets put it this way, a part of me is in love with the sue I knew many years ago. I will never make a pass at her, I am in love my wife Mary, and I would not want to be the reason for the break up of their family. Although If I knew that Mary was going to cheat on me in the future, then I would have made my move for Sue those many years ago. Does Sue have any feelings for me? I am sure, that she may have thought about the torrid letter I wrote her, especially now considering her situation. For some of the same reasons as mine, she would not show it much. First she would not want to betray her sister, and then she would not want to break up her little family, even as dysfunctional as it is. It would not surprise me if I were to hear that Michael ended up with a fork stuck in his forehead.

My Brother
   My brother and I had a great time growing up. When we were kids, he was like the straight man and I was the comedian, always getting into mischief. Even though we got older, that same rule pretty much applies today. My brother broke off ties with his/my dad while he was still in the navy. He did come to town and visit our dad, his main gripe to my dad; "was I planned for?" When I moved out of my dad's house I had nobody to help me except Mary. I did not know where my brother was or what he was doing. I believe I was contacted about my brother through our grandmother. My brother was working for a defense contractor, and at one time was getting training in England. He talked about me coming over to visit. as much as I would have liked to go, I was still trying to get my life back on track from my dad. In one letter that I still have he was talking about this one girl Lottie Lilts, and about her wanting to get serious. Also in the letter he seamed to assert his independence as a bachelor. Less than a month later he announced his plans for a quick marriage. Yep, you guessed it, in 5 months after the marriage they had their first son. Now my brother was no introvert, but it seamed that way compared to Lottie. She was very smart and had a doctorate in mathematics. She was very out going in a folksy kind of way. I honestly like Lottie, she is something that was not known in our family(bright, outgoing and with a lot of connections) I believe that my brother thought she might be too bright. On one of my early visits to their house, my brother and I went out to the video store to get a VHS movie. In a rare moment of complete honesty, he said that Lottie was not suppose to get pregnant as she was taking care of that herself. He also said when they would get in discussions about money, not only would she remind him that she was making more than him, and that he would not be where he is without her connections. I just listened, because I think my brother just wanted to vent. Now through the years they had another boy and my brother settled into domestic life. As he became more involved with his family, our connection became less and less. On one of the few times that I was on speaking terms with my dad, I was told that my brother was in town. I told my dad no he isn't because after traveling hundreds of miles he would have called me (and I knew my dad was one to stir up trouble) My dad said that his friend Bob Weis, who was a friend of my brother's maternal family told him. I did not want to believe it so I drove over to where he would stay while he was in town, his cousins house. Sure enough his vehicle was there, and he didn't even have 5 min. to see his own brother. Then I noticed a pattern, he would make all the arrangements with his cousins, then would try to fit me into his schedule. I guess if he didn't have time, he never called me. So there it is, I am on a lower pecking order than his cousin. Maybe I remind him too much of the father he has tried to deny. Maybe I am so hard up in trying to piece together what little bit of family I have, that I never said anything to him. You know, some day his first born is going to do the math about his birthday in relation to his mom and dad's wedding. About that time, he might ask his dad, was I planned for?" I would suggest that both my brother and his son ask Lottie, she would know for sure. But I would tell my nephew, "well kid, being planned for ain't always that great". A personal message to my brother and sister-in-law. Don't get hung up on the fact about your first child being planned for, or the circumstances of your marriage. I would be the last one to point out any moral dilemmas. I only put it in the blog because of the irony involved. I know that as we get older, the huge problems that we thought we had when we were younger, have a way of becoming trivial as we age. I know that my brother would agree, that his stepfather was as fine of a man that ever walked this earth, and he treated you as good as any biological father would, and from what you told me better than most fathers. Not to sound corny, but love makes and holds a family together, not heredity. PS the names in this blog have only been changed slightly to provide me, and maybe my relatives with legal deniability. There are a couple of stories I left out, because I wanted to make sure the statute of limitations has expired, even though the incidents occurred over 23 years ago. And a personal note to Lottie Lilts, I can understand that you may not want my wife and I staying in your house, all I can say is my life is on track to be an ordinary schmuck, but I can't stop people from judging me for things that I did, or did not do in the past. I always wish the best for you and your family, and would not, and had not done anything that would jeopardize your families health, well being or social status. Me? Is that it? well no. as life has no real endings neither does my story. I do have regrets, but most of the are things that are out of my control. I wished that my dad would get help. For all the things that he did to everyone that loved him, he should not be living in the conditions that he is now. I would not wish it on my worst enemy. I wished that he would stop fighting the world an spend that time and energy to pull our family together. Do I have hard feelings toward anyone? For me personally no, because wherever I am at in life, that is where I must want to be. I took the option of leaving home when things got too bad. Even though I have someone (my dad) to this day trying to destroy my life and/or creditability, I still have options. If I really wanted Mary to get invetro, we could have saved and sacrificed till we had enough money. I think most people blame their circumstances on someone, but the person that is responsible is you. I have a friend from high school, who is now retired, and the most he ever made was $12/ hour. He had a goal and he did not let vacations or squandering money on hobbies or anything else get in his way. So, if I ever sounded like I was complaining, I was not, because I did have options, called sacrifice and hard work. The only person I have something against is my dad, for the way he treated my mom. She had no options, which is why she attempted suicide on a few occasions. If she were to leave him there is no telling what he might have done. I know this now, but for years I held it against my mom, by saying why didn't you just leave or kick him out of the house since everything was in your name. I hope my brother will try to under stand, that since I do not have many family ties, my relationship to my brother is probably more important to me than it is to him, since he already has a close and well adjusted "normal" family.

Was I ever abused by my father?
   Good question, but that would depend on the definition of abuse. If you mean physical abuse, I would have to say no, only because I did not let it get that far. I am sure that the first abuse of my Mom was not physical, but mental. It all starts with punishments, that she went along with. The punishments set the hierarchy of who was in charge and who was submissive. Once this is in place, it was only a matter of time and increasing punishments before full fledged abuse occurred. I do believe that my dad was setting the stage for him to shoot me with his 357 mag. On the occasion when I was to paint our living room, we moved all the furniture and stacks of newspapers away from the walls, so that I would have access to them. My dad and I got into an argument, which led to him saying, "YOU ARE NOT GOING TO PAINT THE WALLS. I WILL HIRE A PROFESSIONAL PAINTER TO PAINT THEM, AND YOU ARE GOING TO PAY FOR IT." He started to move the furniture and news papers back against the walls. I started to move them back away from the walls. He grabbed the stack of newspapers in my hands and tried to pull them away from me. A struggled ensued with me pulling the stack one way, and him pulling the other. I figured If you want the papers that bad, take them, so I let them go with a little shove in his direction. He lost his balance and fell straight on his ass. He got up and said if you ever attack me again, I have a 357, and I have every right to defend myself. That didn't worry me too much, because I decided to walk away from any further confrontations. That was until the incident, where I had locked myself out of my bed room, which meant that I would have to go down the steps and ask my dad for the key and listen to his sarcasm, and lecture. it was a cheap lock, which I bought anyway, so I broke the latch on my door and went to sleep. Only to be awoke by a knock on the door, and a mad saying this was the police, open up. I opened the door, and to my surprise there were 6 police outside my door. They told me that my dad said that I terrorized him and was destroying the house. I said all I did was break the latch on my door so I could go to be. The police turned to my dad and said, I don't think he will cause you any further problems, just let him sleep. The whole thing was blown way out of proportion, because I feel that if he were to shoot me, he could have documented, that he had to have 6 police restrain me. So far as the abuse for me, it started soon after my Mom died. He was inventing things that I did to him like taking his socks, or one glove, and trying to get me to admit to it so I could be punished. I was not my Mom, and I would not admit to anything that I had not done. This was an act of defiance, that must be punished. After all his obedient son would not defy him, so there must be an outside influence, enter the imaginary drugs and the so called bad influence of my friend Ron. It is odd, that it has taken me years to look back on my life and environment, and to see it as a normal person would and not someone who was enabling a psychopath. My Mom would always have bruises on her, but she said it was because she bruised easily. I was about 11 years old, and I believed her at the time, but now looking back she was probably hiding the fact that she was being abused. I now look at some of the few photographs of my Mom, and notice in some she was wearing sunglasses....indoors. My dad went to great lengths to hide what he was doing to her, from me and the rest of the world. I would hear things, like whacks, and whimpers of my Mom, in the next room, but at the time, I thought she was getting spanked like me when I did something wrong. I do remember that I would hear a whack and my dad saying, you moved we got to do it again. It was only at the point that my Mom knew that she was going to die, that she told me he was hitting her in the head so no one would see the marks. And for me it took years to figure out and draw a mental picture what was happening in the next room. So she had to bend in some sort of submissive position, so he could clearly whack her in the top of the head. If she flinched during this cowardly act, and she only got a glancing blow, she would have to stand there and do it again. Sometimes if the imaginary wrong was bad enough, she had to take several whacks. I feel guilty to this day, that I never did much to help my Mom, but who wants to think of their dad as someone who inflicts terror into someone's life. I do wonder though, there had to be people outside our household, that must have known something was going on, why didn't anyone try to help my Mom? No one to my knowledge tried to help, they just turned the other way, and said, yep, that is what I figured, my dad was an asshole. Do we live in a society, that looks the other way when someone needs help? If we do, aren't the people who could have helped, just enabling abusers, like my dad? Why did I write this blog? First as a testimony to my mom, as I am the only one that is willing to report the truth of what went on for over 20 years. No human being should ever be treated that way. And secondly, if you are in a relationship where you are abused physically, mentally, or both, I urge you to seek help. And remember some times, things don't always work out, in that instance just get out. My mom was told that her cancer was not that bad, and that her will to live, should have pulled her through. Her will to live died out, many years before the cancer took her life. Racism On one part of the blog, I stated that I had an admiration for the SS, but my views changed in high school, well this section explains how I made the transformation. Although I was brought up to be somewhat racist, from my dad, I was never taught to hate. My dad didn't hate Jews, but he always had a derogatory comment to make when a Jew showed up on TV. He was quick to point out how the Jews owned Hollywood, and was tried of them constantly bringing up the holocaust. It was about the same for blacks. He told me with some pride that one of my great uncles was a member of the KKK. It seamed natural at the time, for me to gravitate to Nazism and more directly to the SS. The SS because of the uncaring efficiency of the organization. Maybe I was subconsciously aligning myself with an organization that was able to shed any feelings to humanity. Why, well because if I had let my feelings of compassion and empathy for my Mom show, then I would be against my dad, or that is the way he saw it. He also used to beat our German Shepherd with a rubber hose, and sometimes apiece of cut down broomstick. One time my dad beat the dog, for wetting the carpet, (the dog was nervous around him, I can't imagine why) and the dog limped for 2 weeks. If I had any compassion, I would not have been able to live in the house. It was when I started high school, and saw a video of bulldozers pushing stacks of emaciated bodies into a mass grave, that I woke up, and any racist feelings I had, went away. I would tell my dad now, people don't talk about the holocaust enough. Until I saw the bodies the whole thing was just an impersonal concept in my mind, seeing the bodies and the faces made it personal. Now when they show the concentration camps and the bodies they blur out the faces. I totally disagree with that because it dehumanizes them, and that was Hitler's goal, remove their identity and dehumanize the Jews. The next train of thought was how did it happen? Go to the Holocaust museum in DC, and you will see the results incremental hatred. The radio propaganda of Germany, didn't offer solutions, but served up a sacrificial scape goat, that the populous devoured. So when I hear talk show hosts, blaming all the countries woes on one ideology, and then say we have to crush, this movement, I believe we are on the same path as Germany in the 1930s. None of them have any real solutions, but have affirmative action, liberals, feminist, and unions to serve as a scapegoat. These are the same people that wave the flag, and imply if you are not with us you don't love your country. The conservative talk show hosts say they love the UNITED states, why do they spend so much time be dividing us?

Religion
   Even though it seams the hip thing to do now is be an atheist or agnostic, I consider myself a very spiritual person. I say spiritual and not religious because I do not subscribe to any one religion, but if you were to put a gun to my head and say choose, I would have to pick Episcopalian. Here is a quick break down of what I believe. The Bible was written by men that were inspired by God or THOUGHT they were inspired by God. As we today come up with conspiracy theories to explain the death of Kennedy (only 40+ years ago), for sure the death of Jesus would have inspired many to find significance of his life and death. Well, it did inspire many authors, maybe too many so in around 350 AD the Council of Nicea decided what stories went into the bible, and which ones would be lost to the sands of time. They choose based upon the criteria of a new religion of Christianity being formed, so the stories had to be inspiring. Since so many authors wrote about Jesus, there many stories that were redundant, so I guess the less inspirational stories were left out. They also believed, as most do today, that this is a mans world, so any stories about Mary Magdalene spreading the gospel were left out, as not to inspire woman to preach. So here is a run down, you have a collection of stories that may or may not be entirely accurate, which were picked by a council of men, some 300 years AFTER the death of Jesus, in order to make a book that would inspire the populous to Christianity. Then from this hodge podge of stories, (some contradicting each other) the worlds religions were formed. This reminds me of the story of the statue of iron but had the feet of clay. To top it off they threw in the old testament, that is now interpreted from a Christian viewpoint. I have always felt that any Christian church that reads out of the old testament, should bring a guest Rabbi in to speak. Don't you think the Jews would have a better understanding of their own book. I will give you a quick example, when Lot's wife was told not to look on the destruction of Sodom and Gomorra, but she did anyway and she was turned into a pillar of salt. I know what you are saying, nice story, but no one can be turned into a pillar of salt. But I had a Rabbi explain it to me, the cities represented sin, and if you want to rid yourself of sin, turn your back and walk away, and don't look back upon the pleasures of sin less it will eventually destroy you. The same was echoed when Jesus came upon an adulteress, and he said go, and sin no more. In Jesus time he was teaching, the spirit of the word and not the letter of the word. The sermon on the mount was a cliff note version of the psalms. So how would you honor the greatest teacher in the world, well as I do and try to have the spirit of his word and his Fathers word with me, in my everyday life. But as of the time of Jesus, too many have fought, criticized, and murdered in the name of THEIR true religion, which was based on clay feet at best. I say celebrate Jesus' life, and go through life with a light heart. All the grudges, and plans for revenge only hold YOU down. Forgive others, even if it is in your own heart, so that you may free yourself. Sorry for the preaching, but maybe you can understand why I kept trying to patch things up with my dad. I felt of all the soles that I know, his was in the most need of help.

As we're middle aged, this is not the end of the story, just the half way point. So what is my situation now? I still work 12 hour shifts 4-5 days a week. I only see my wife on weekends and a 20 min. in the morning and 45 min before I go to work. All the stuff that you do with your spouse that most people take for granted, such as meaningless conversations, sunsets, watching a bad movie, visiting your mother in law, and even arguments, I can't do, because of my work schedule. I believe that some friends and relatives may think that I am on drugs because I am sometimes tired, or look tired or even nod off when I am around them. But even after 7+ years with this schedule, I still can't get my biological clock to work right. My doctor prescribed sleeping pills so I can sleep during the day, and on weekends, but I think this just makes matters worse. I could get another job, but where, I work at the largest printer in my area, all other shops are laying people off or going out of business. I feel like a ghost in my own house, I'm here but my wife and friends are gone. Another presence has entered our relationship, named doubt. Ever since my wife cheated on me, I always get worried when my wife doesn't answer her phone, or if she tries to allow time on weekends, for me to take a nap while she is shopping, I wonder if she is meeting someone. I remember when the whole cheating thing went down, she said,"I wasn't really cheating, since I did not lie to you about anything I did, I just didn't tell you, and you did not ask." Let me ask you, how many of you ask your spouse or boy/girl friend if they are having sexual relations with someone else. Now remember you will have to ask every day, because they could truthfully answer, NO, but they might do it on a day that you didn't ask. Maybe if someone else went through this, they could tell me how to remove doubt from my mind, without a divorce.
I once had a brother that when we got in trouble we still had fun. Then I saw less and less, till I lost him. then I found him again, and we would go on adventures together. Then he and I got married, but we still had fun with the family, but now that his kids are grown, I became a half brother, then a cousin, 2nd cousin, then finally just some dude, that lives 300 miles away, we might be related, maybe not. I am now the person, you feel obligated to say "Hi" if you see me, but just out of politeness. We used to have fun getting into trouble, but now I am more trouble, than a brotherly relationship warrants. I am now a disease, and only limited exposure to me can keep me from infecting your family. I guess it was humorous, that at a recent family picnic, my sister-in law, kind of stumbled over her words, when she introduced herself, as Will's,... er.... a...er... sister-in law. must of taken a great effort to admit to that. My brother, and dad, have a lot in common, they can pick their relatives, and turn their back on the ones they have no use for. I haven't mastered that skill, and I hope I never will. I imagine, my sister in law, is fighting words that I wrote at a different time, and a different attitude, I have no fight left in me. If she wants a fight, she will have to find someone else. I once had a brother, but now he is lost again.

Depression

I've been battling depression since I was 12. At 12, I was treated like the Elephant Man, something to be laughed at and jeered by fellow classmates and members of my Boy Scout troop. It was then, that I made my first attempt at suicide, by hanging myself with towels tied in knots. But because I didn't know what I was doing, failed. I think because of the way I was raised, with an overbearing and over authoritative dad, plus the way my peers and some adults treated me, I thought it would make the gnawing pain of depression go away. The 2nd suicide attempt (with pills) was after my Mom died, I lost my job, the girl that I thought I would marry, broke up with me, crashed my car, and my dad accusing me of steeling. As years went by, I thought I was over my depression, but I guess the way I grew up, the patterns of being shunned and unwanted stayed with me. My family is all but gone, my brother can only stand to see me for about 6 hours out of a year, my co-worker, tries to take advantage of work situations, that I tried to work out with him, and was forced me to go to management, to make the situation fair. Now that the situation is fair, he went to many of the other employees that are his friends, and told them I am a snitch. Now I get the cold shunning treatment from them. I got indirectly accused ("somebody is turning these knobs", when there is just the 2 of us working the machine) of sabotaging the equipment, the first time I let it go, the 2nd time I said something. Of course, I ended up on the short end of that. I thought I should just get another job, but with my personality defect of basically inviting people to abuse me, anywhere I go, the same thing will happen. So now I'm back to the suicide solution. Nobody wants to die, nobody wants to commit suicide, they only want the pain to go away, and it is a physical and mental pain. If was not a coward, it would be done already. Besides being a suicide coward, I also have a niece, who had a couple of friends end their own lives, I don't want to do anything that might encourage or endorse this, as a solution. I imagine, someday when the pain is unbearable, and I gather the strength, to overcome your natural instinct to live, it will happen. The patterns of my life repeat, and I see no way of changing it. Sometimes I do pray, that God would give me a terminal cancer or disease, instead of giving it to someone else. The only people that gave me unconditional love, were my late mother, and an autistic ex-girlfriend, who has moved on, and away from me, which I am proud of, since I should have treated both of them better, when I knew them. As I age, the whole prospect of wanting to live, is a distant memory. I go through the motions of life as a repetitive exercise, of a memory, when I thought life had some meaning. I have no friends, when I meet someone, things are good, but after some time, they distance themselves, and I am back to nothing. Left out of conversations, left out of someone showing their humorous phone meme to everyone but me. We had a company meeting, our boss thanked everyone in the meeting, by their name, one at a time. You guessed it, they thanked everyone for their service and experience, except 2 people, me and a guy they fired in 2 weeks. I fix their equipment, I talk to repairman, to talk me through some of the repair procedures, saving them thousands on someone coming in. I got systems started, that shortened start up time and increased quality, but no mention, not even a small thank you. I did get a thank you from my wife, I told her the world might be better without me, to which she replied "thank you". I did ask her if she had a coupon, for a 2 free sandwiches with her, before we left home. She said why would we be talking about the place, if I didn't have the coupon, why did you think I was looking in my purse before. All I needed was a simple yes, to something I try to make sure of, before we leave the house. So even asking a simple question, gets her upset, that I should have known better, and was annoying her with the question. So when people might say I am distant and don't talk much, it's because I'm trying to think, will the next thing I say, become miss interpreted. I've been miss read since 1st grade, then 2nd grade, where my teacher made me stand all day in class, and the her saying, "there is 1 boy in class, we all don't like, and we know who it is, don't we class" My entire life, I somehow rub people the wrong way, and I don't know what it is, that I am doing, or how to fix it, other than eliminating myself. For now, I am part of that equation, that just doesn't add up.

So far, I've used this blog, as a therapeutic tool. While some people vent to a bartender, family or friends, I have this blog. I write what is in my heart, at that particular moment, and does not necessarily represent who I am now, or will be in the future. Life changes, people change, and as we can't change what has passed, we can work to better ourselves, and our relationships, and our tomorrows. One thing I discovered, you can't change attitudes, or the way people or family treats, or mistreats you. My Mom changed herself, by admitting to things she never did, in order to keep the peace, and de-escalate situations. But by doing so, she lost herself, and naturally found herself in fits of depression. Although, when I was a kid, I could not stop my dad from abusing her, I wished I would have given her more hugs, listened and encourage her to sing and draw, talk to her about her childhood, anything that would show empathy. This I can say in retrospect, as a child and teenager, I did not know of the gravity and depth of her situation. I would ask, that anyone reading this, if you know of anyone that is abused or depressed, offer them a bit of humanity, a hug, a smile, or your ear. That small expression of empathy, can make a huge difference in their life, and will to live. That will to live, in a terminal illness, can tip the balance of life or death, and if nothing else, will give them some comfort at the end of their life.

The Rave

Ok, it's been over 10 years since this "blog" has been updated, so it took a while before someone told me how the Raves worked. Now as a printer, I knew how I made money on the raves, but I had to deal with numerous promoters, some came and went, but the most "successful" promoters, at times barely broke even, or many times lost money, or so I thought. The rave was an open air drug market, no the promoters would always pretend there was very little drugs, or distance themselves from the shady end of the rave. So what was their secret to making a profit? They would have a house drug dealer, that they knew would bring, and sell "safe" drugs, and they would say what they would allow in their parties. I also found out 1 of the production companies, were under Mafia protection, In turn they would bring their drugs in to the party in the lighting effects cases. Each successful production company had their own house dealer, which would pay back the production company for access to the drug market. As for me. I bought drugs, acid and ecstasy, and would sell off any extra that I had. I heard of a story that the lighting effects company forgot they left 1000 ecstasy pills in a light, and they ended up burning them when they turned the light on, during the party. Another time, a different Mafia crew stole the X pill shipment from the lighting company, but they did not have the market to sell them, since it wasn't coke. The Mafia crew that supported the lighting company, tried to put pressure on the other crew. In the end they negotiated a price, and sold the pills back to the lighting crew.

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The end of an Error

2008-02-07T08:26:00.015-05:00

Well, the magic man had done it again. To keep married life interesting I previously introduced drugs, swinging, raves, and now something I don't think I could even top. For our 10th anniversary, we took a 2 week Mediterranean cruise, and spent a few days in Europe after the cruise. Did we find the magic that should have accompanied this excursion? There were moments that brought back memories of our honeymoon. But that was tempered, by moments of "Hey, that's my cake" which my wife exclaimed as I was trying to make more room for other food, I took her cake off the plate, and put it next to my cake so we would have room for the other food in the buffet line. The fact I had to defend, my action, to show it would benefit the both of us, is beyond me, and I did not like the accusation that I was a cake stealer. It makes me think that her first response to my actions, is that if you don't understand what I am doing, it must be something bad. If she thinks that I would steal her cake, what does she think when I do something more complicated, that she does not understand. I guess what I am saying, is that after 10 years of marriage and knowing me for 25 years, you would think that I would get the benefit of the doubt. Back to the cruise, lets say I have caviar tastes on a janitors budget. How do make it come true, a lot of research, call in a few favors, and some luck. I organized the shore excursions through private tour companies, not through the cruise line, this saved over $5000. I got the cruise line to up grade our cabin, since we took prior cruises with the company, and I let it be known it was our 10th anniversary, and we also took our honeymoon with them. I watched the airfares every day, and pounced on them when the price dipped. Where did we go? We flew into Rome, the ship went to Naples we toured Pompeii (next to Naples), then to Rhodes Greece, then to Athens, back on ship to Ephesus Turkey, then 2 days in Alexandria, Egypt, where we boarded buses to Giza and the pyramids, stayed overnight in a 5 star hotel in Cairo. Went to the Egyptian museum, before the rioits and looting, 2 days at sea, then a stop in Sicily, then back to Rome. I could expand on this, but I would just sound like a commercial. The only thing I could conclude, was I am happy to be an American, after seeing how fucked up the rest of the world is. The Europe trip would have been the big news of the year, but my dad placed a carefully planed phone call to me 5 days before Christmas. He timed it that way because who would hang up on their own father just before Christmas. He wasn't making any sense, he started talking about wanting to give me a ladder and some DVDs, but after few minutes, he stated he needed some antifreeze for a car that has not run in 2 years. He would not say why he needed it right now. I told him I didn't want his ladder, or DVDs, because I thought he was setting me up to call the police a say I stole them. I got him his anti-freeze, and a flashlight, and a pair of small pliers to open the pit cock. I left them in a bag on his sidewalk, then placed a phone call to him after I was off his street, for him to pick them up. Why the non contact? After the last time I tried to reconcile with him, I told him that we would have to see family councilor if he wanted a relationship. I left up to him to pick the councilor, so he would not think I set him up. after 6 months he never picked a councilor, then he did a whole bit about my mother in law trying to poison him on Thanksgiving. So of course, if he had a problem with our food, why would we invite him to Christmas dinner, for more problems. After Christmas that year, since I did not invited him to dinner, he got very nasty with me on the phone. One of the phone calls he said he we diagnosed with cancer, (over the phone) and that he was going to die in 6 months, and said isn't that good news? About then I stopped calling him, and did not answer the phone if an unlisted number came up on caller ID. He then called my Grandmother, and said I abandoned him on Christmas and left him to die with no food in the house. This is why after 2 years of non contact, I did not want anything to do with him directly. It would take someone with knowledge of a dysfunctional mind to reach him, and after any contact with me only antagonized him. After drooping off the auto supplies, I drove down to the local police station, and ask them to check on him, due to the temps were below freezing and he had said he would cut his throat if he had unscrupulous motives in contacting me. They left a message on my answering machine stating my dad was doing OK, even with his house full of garbage. On Christmas of 2010 my mother-in-law made a food plate to take to him. I called him on the phone to let him know that we were coming over with the food plate wrapped in aluminum foil. He said he would come down to the car to get it, but after some time went by, my wife and I took it up to his house. We could hear the door moving but he did not come out. When he heard us I opened the screen door, and could see he only had the door open about 8", but could not open any further. he tried to squeeze out but couldn't. Then he ask for the plate. He could not fit the plate through level, then he turned it vertical, and in the house it went. In one of our last conversations, I brought up the fact that he use to make my Mom stand in a certain position, that allowed him easy access, for hitting her on the skull. And if she moved and it was a glancing blow, that she would have to stay in that position until she felt the full force of his blow. I did not expect him to admit striking her, but to my surprise he did. He said he HAD to be stern with her, because if he wasn't, she would run around with other men, then he would be gone, and not there to "protect" me, and then her and her new lover would murder me. "So I did it to protect you from being killed or abused, and you should be grateful to me for doing it" says my dad. I didn't want to argue this illogical point, nor the fact that when she was too weak to take a beating (too weak to even think about running around), that he made her eat cat food as a punishment. I did bring up that he had a punishment for everything, and 99.9999% of the time it was not because of her running around. Punishments for a late breakfast, for coming home late, unaccounted time, a perceived glance at another man that he deemed a "pretty boy", for contradicting him, lost socks, holes in the clothes, I could go on and on, but it is getting me depressed, and I think you get the picture. We had a couple of phone calls after that, one of the calls I said dad, take a look around you and the situation you are in, normal people don't live like that, my best advise to you is to get psychiatric help. I did not answer the phone after that, as I felt that I would only antagonize him again, and he would again start trashing me to my family. I went back to my zombie routine of working 5, twelve hour shifts a week. One morning I was on FaceBook chat with an old friend in boy scouts, talking about my dads involvement in scouts. About then it was 7:50 AM my doorbell rang. I opened the door and a policeman was standing there and ask to come in. I really did not want him to come in, as I had a shipment of paper sitting in the living room, and did not want him to know I was running a business in the house. he said I don't need to come in, but I regret to inform you that your dad died today. I ask how. He said it was a house fire, and that he could not escape, and the firefighters could not get in, in time due to the garbage blocking the door. My dad finally became famous, for being and dying a hoarder. It was on the AP, and national news.

I've always wondered how I was going to get news of a loved one passing. We would anticipate bad news if you got a phone call at 3AM. I didn't expect a local policeman to deliver it in person. What does a person do now? I've never been in this situation before. The first thing I did was drive to my dads house to see how bad it really was, maybe there would be some unburned papers, like an insurance policy, or what his last wishes would be. When I arrived at the house, which was still burning at 8:15AM, I talked to the chief fireman. He told me the alarm was sounded at 5:40AM, and they arrived at about 5:47AM. The house was full of flames when they tried to rescue my dad. They could non knock the door in due to the garbage, piled 3ft high behind the door. They had to saw it off the hinges. When the door was opened flames came roaring out to meet the fresh oxygen. And on top of the garbage was my dad with a sledge hammer in his hand. They feverishly applied CPR, but most knew, that nobody could survive the inferno. On the porch, I saw one tennis shoe in perfect shape but the other was melted in half lengthwise. I sent my brother 2 text messages, but got no response. When I got home I had a phone call from the local TV station. My first reaction was fuck them, they never cared when he was living, but now that there was a story, they wanted to jump on it. But then another thought crossed my mind, it is too late to do anything for my dad, but what if a little publicity, can save another hoarder, another dad, Mom, sister, or brother. So I gave the interview, focusing on our attempts to get help. We found out from the reporter, that the neighbors called the health department several times, about the foul odor emanating from his house. Did the health department respond? yes, they came out at least 2-3 times, and gave him a warning about some soda pop cans lying around his yard, but said everything else was A-OK. The garbage was so bad in his house, that when the windows broke due to the intense heat, garbage burst out all sides of his house. In the living room the garbage reached no less than 4ft high, with piles reaching 6ft. The living room looked like the waves of an ocean, no water, only garbage. I was told to call the medical examiner. They told me that they had his body, and that I could claim his personal effects. His last possessions were in a zip lock bag. we signed the necessary papers, and opened the bag in the car. The first thing that came out of the bag was the putrid odor of rotted, burnt garbage. We did find some insurance papers, but it looked like he had 3 policies. We called the first 2 companies and found he let his policy expire, just 2 months ago. The last policy was still active, but they would give me no information, because I was not the beneficiary. Who was the beneficiary? My brother? NO His sister? NO It was a cousin that he hasn't and I haven't talked to in 26 years. About then my brother finally called. He said that he did not get my text, because he was working at an Army base, and the security had his cell phone. He said he would help with the costs, and would come for the services, but not for my dad, but to support me. I did remind him that like him or not, you owe your existence to him, at least pay him that respect. I then got a call from the city, they said that the house was a hazard, and that they would be tearing it down in a few days. I ask what do you think caused the fire. They said they did a quick investigation, and ruled it accidental, but no further investigation would be done due to the instability of the house. I knew then that if I were to go back in the house, I would be putting my life at risk, but to get any family photos, it would be worth it.

I went back to the burned out house the next day, and I have several things on my mind. 1st find any legal papers or life insurance papers, 2nd look for any pictures, birthday cards, or home movies that may have survived and 3rd my personal safety. I wet through the kitchen to the dinning room which was almost untouched by the fire and found a filing cabinet. I found receipts and instruction manuals for just about everything we ever bought, but I also found a few birthday and holiday cards, and a few pictures I drew when I was about 5 years old. Next I went into the living room, which had the most "garbage." I found his TV with an electric heater beside it and a black mass of melted plastic all around the TV area. I found the plastic to be VHS tapes, he has thousands of them. There was no floor, just piles of garbage of varying heights. I dug around the front of the TV to find old mail under the top layer of garbage. I remembered we had an end table in the corner, so I started to dig through that. The smell of burnt, putrefied garbage, made want to spit up. Old boxes for the microwave, meat that went bad, rotten eggs, but what I found next, stopped my search in the living room. I do have gloves on, but when I came to human excrement, that did it for me. That was the end of today's search and the gloves. I came back the next day, and realized, the only place I might find something is up on the 2nd floor. the fires epa-center was in the hall by the stairs and burnt straight up to the roof, burning a hole in the attic floor. As the floor collapsed it started to tilt, thus tumbling everything down the stairwell and fed the flames. Before I could get upstairs, the neighbor came over, and wanted to know who was going through the house. I introduced myself, and after he became comfortable with me, he opened up. He told me that my dad told him that he kept all his important stuff in his car, because he said that I was coming in the house and stealing from him. The neighbor ask my dad, what did he steal? My dad said, well he took my hat and some stainless steel spoons. The neighbor did not argue with him, even though it did not make sense. But the neighbor, did see my dad cleaning out his car, the day before the fire. My dad told him that he had hit and run someone last week, and saw the police looking at his car, so he wanted to get his "valuables" back in the house before they impounded the car. Well, what I thought was valuable and what my dad found valuable were 2 different things. I found a ladder in the garage and climbed on the front porch roof to enter the walk in closet, in the master bedroom. I figured that this house put up with tons of garbage, was lit on fire, and had tons of water drenching it, and me weighing 180lbs would probably not collapse the house. there were about 1.5ft of burnt out coals, but under that most of the stuff in the close was untouched. I found a lot of comic books that he collected, most were first additions of Marvel and DC comics. He would buy 5 or 10 first additions, that he planned to sell when they became valuable. These were all burnt on the edges and had water damage. Over the course of 6 days I returned to the house looking in different locations on the 2nd floor. I did find several family pictures in about 5 different spots around the master bed room. I also had my suspicions confirmed, and found swinger magazines from the 1970s AND the 1980s after my Mom died. I also found a picture book of my Mom and dad and another woman, in various sexual positions. My dad took over my old room, and had kind on an apartment going. This room did not have as much clutter, he had a bed, and a tilt back chair, and a jar of hard pretzels next to the chair. He had a TV and fan opposite the chair, and set up to watch TV from bed or chair. I also found a .22 mag rifle ext to the window. I went into the 3rd bedroom, which used to be my old toy room. The heat from the fire melted some of my old models, but there was nothing burnt in the room. I did not enter the room, because the timbers that supported the floor were burnt through, from the fire on the 1st floor. I knew where I kept my Star Wars figures, but I found the box, but no figures, not even melted ones. I did find my Star wars "baseball" cards, but I found out that they were not very valuable. He must have sold the Star wars stuff along with his collectors Lionel train sets that he had in the attic. So now I had to work my 12 hour shifts, try to preserve the old photos, make funeral arrangements, answer all kinds of questions from my relatives, plan a wake, find his life insurance, get his bank to release funds for his funeral, and go back in the house, in case I might find something important, before they tore it down. My dad was a father, swinger, widower, abuser, manipulator, 1st Sergeant, salesman, but the world will now only remember him as a hoarder, that died because of his compulsion.

I felt some urgency, to find as many family photos as I could, because anything left behind would end up crushed and in the city dump. That got me thinking, once I recover the photos, what's going to happen to them when I die. What's going to happen to any of my possessions? Well, I guess it would be the same for most of us, your possessions will end up at flea markets, thrift stores, or the city dump. Your family will keep pictures of you, but after several generations you will be forgotten, your great grand children's nephew will end up with your pictures, and ask, who's this in this old picture? Someone will answer, I think we might be related to him. It does make you think, that the possessions, that family members fight each other over when we die, the pictures, the objects of sentimental value, will all and up at the city dump or flea markets and thrift stores. So why do people fight, and sometimes break up families, over things that will have an eventual value of nothing. Maybe when someone dies, people might see the real value of coming together as a family, and making new memories with each other. If you believe in life after death, the only thing that you can take with you is your shared experiences, and love of each other.

The day of the funeral was approaching. Many of my relatives said, well just cremate him, its cheaper, and he is burned anyway. The funeral home (the same one where my Mom was laid out) called and said, we picked up your dad from the coroner, he has had significant trauma on one side of his body, we cannot do an open casket. They also said he is naked, and to bring some clothing. We went to a thrift store and bought a grey 100% wool suit, that did not look like it had been even worn, (dad would have been proud of me). We went to a department store, and bought underwear and a nice dress shirt. The day before the funeral, and my brother was at my door. He gave me a hug, something we had not done in 25 years, and we actually talked. Since the time he stopped speaking to our dad (27 years ago) he never spoke about him, and would not elaborate on anything I would say when the topic was brought up. Now we were thrust together, and forced to talk about the subject. My brother brought up stories about the times we would be looking for a parking space at a store, our dad would drive round and round until he found one close to the door. If he saw one from the other side of the lot, and someone got there before him, he would break their antenna, or take the valve stems out of their tire(s). I was going through the pictures that I had recovered, and saw all of us at happier times. I told my brother, we did have a close family at one time, the pictures prove it. I said my only regret is that I think of what we could have been as a family, and how far apart we had become from the happier times. I also ask my brother to not hold any more grudges against our dad. I said our dad would have to be one of 2 things to do what he did to people in his life. 1 he would have to be pure evil, or 2 he had something mentally wrong with him. I think the hoarding proves he had something mentally wrong, and as such, I would not hold a down syndrome person, responsible for their actions, I do not hold him fully responsible. We talked about the theory, that hoarding was hereditary. We tried to go over our behavior, but found nothing, overtly wrong. We talked about the good times, and some bad times, but mostly, how this man shaped our lives, interests, and personalities.
The day of the funeral, and there were scant flowers around the flag draped coffin. I made up a collage of family pictures from the happy times. Most of all the flowers came from my wife's family. His sister came, and she told me that about a year ago, on Thanksgiving, she talked to my dad. She said she knew he was not doing well, and wanted to ask him to live with her. But my dad kept spewing hatred about their Mom and dad, and about me. She said she did not ask him to stay, because she just wanted to keep a peaceful home, and did not want turmoil, this late in life. Only one of my dads old friends came, he did not shake my hand, I guess my dad got to him also. I did show the pictures of the house to my aunt (dad's sister) She could not believe it was that bad. I look at the pictures, and I have never seen anything like this on the TLC hoarding show.

MY JOB
I had one of my best days of productivity at work. I am given a list of jobs, I start at the top and work my way down. This day I had about 2 days of work on the list. I did about a day and a half of work, and I thought that when my boss came in at 6 AM, he would be pleased. He came in and saw the printing completed skids of paper, all lined up. He started yelling, throwing his hands up in the air, swearing, slamming his fist on the skids, walking away and coming back to yell some more. I said what's wrong, did I mess the job up? He said you were not to print this job, its not on the list, why did you print the job? I said it is on top of my list 1st job to print. NO IT'S NOT, and it is not on my list either. I showed him the list, there it was on his list and mine, on the very top. He said look it is on the bottom of the list for another press. I said, yeah, but it is on the top of my list and I did it, and I don't pay attention to other peoples lists, because it does not concern me. It ended up he listed the job twice, and forgot to take off my press. Was the job wrong? No, it was a long run, and he wanted other jobs printed instead. Now I wish, that people would get that outraged, that excited, about someone that lived and died in the conditions that my dad lived in. My boss got all worked up over the scheduling of a job, but no one really cared, that much, about a mans life, before and after he died. This incident puts in to perspective how trivial our jobs are, when we could have saved a life. As a side note, our Co. has a write up policy. It is there if you violate Co. rules, but it is also there to slap the least favorite employees down. Everyone does their job to the best of their ability, but some times even after you do everything you could to make the job look good, some thing happens that makes the job unusable. Then they take you in a room and have a written paper you have to sign, as they explain how much you cost the company, and are taking away from the profits and raises. Even though you took all reasonable steps to make the job look good, they always come up with some unreasonable step that you missed. I protested the unreasonable Monday morning quarterback assessment of our procedures. The answer I got was, "You're lucky, the last shop I was president of, we not only had a write up policy, but I used to send a letter addressed to the wife of the worker, explaining how much their husband cost the Co. and if they did not shape up, their job may be in jeopardy. I wanted to do that here, but they won't let me....yet"
If I can make a moderate income, I will dedicate the remaining years of my life to help other families of hoarders. I want to make my dad the poster child of hoarding. This is the tragic and violent end, of a life filled with errors. I hope that anyone reading this, will help anyone that had a compulsive disorder, or anyone in need. We truly are our brothers keeper. Don't let the chaos of society distract you.
Unfortunately in my dads case there was nothing more that I could do. He needed professional help. The only thing, that I beat my self up over, is that I didn't try harder to get that help. But I guess it is human nature to 2nd guess yourself when a tragedy occurs. Someone said, well I guess this really proves that he was mentally unbalanced. Nobody wins in this situation, maybe if Tough Love would have listen to the BOTH of us they might have gotten help for him sooner. Maybe if my Mom would have said no, and not compromised her values, his life might have taken a different course. Maybe if the County Health Dept. and the police would have done a little more than lip service, he might still be alive.
A couple of thoughts crossed my mind. I thought about how easy it is, from a moral standpoint, to be a victim. If you were a Holocaust survivor, of an abused prisoner of war, if you could get past the physical and emotional abuse, then what could anyone, even God, hold against you. The main question that every survivor is "Why?" It is more a rhetorical question, than anything else. Now how about the abusers that survive, how will they answer their conscience (if the have one), or God, about why they pushed Jews into the gas chambers, or why they HAD to beat their wives to death. Those survivors will come up with answers, but they will only be hollow justifications, of their heinous acts. I was on an acid trip one time, and that I was going before God to explain my sins, but as I got closer, I saw me standing there. I had to justify, to myself all the things I ever did wrong. I knew I was a goner, since how can you lie to yourself (although people do it every day). I often think, since my dad died, how will he face God? Will he try to justify, why he beat and degraded my Mom? I sometimes say out loud, how's it going pop, were you able to con God? If you ever did something morally wrong, did you find away to justify it, did you try to do something to make it right?

Why did my dad hoard? I did put this question to a grief councilor. They said that a lot of children that grew up in the depression, were taught, not to throw anything away, as you might need it again. So I ask, why garbage? They responded that it sounded like your dad always had a problem with hording, by saving newspapers, and TV guides, but as he got older, dementia might have taken over, and he could not tell good stuff from garbage. Well, I agree with her, that my dad probably had mental problems, but I have 2 theories, 1) he just did not care anymore, about his appearance, or the condition of the house due to depression, or

2) my dad lived his life based on vengeance and self pity, so I figure he wanted to be found dead in that filth, so people would say, what kind of son would let his father live like that, plus the additional vengeance, of who ever would take over the house would still have to put up with his shit.....literally. The biggest moral crime my dad was guilty of, was not the physical or mental abuse, but the time wasted, pursuing enemies, that only existed in his head. How much time past, where he could have been a good husband, father, brother, or son.

Is This The End?

For me? I've been seeing a councilor to fight depression. Maybe it is just me, or it has something to do with the magnetic fields of the Earth, but quite a few people that I used to "rave" with, had commit suicide. Just the other day, a guy that I knew for 12 years, and that I just talked to a month ago, stepped in front of a freight train. It almost seams a logical extension of a life, without purpose. It starts with a life evaluation, or equation as I like to call it. 1st I have a wife that when I am away (or for that matter still here) for a short time, will be drawn to truckers, or her out of work, ex boy friend. I don't know where she stands with me, but from her past exploits I know she would be able to pick up the pieces if I were gone. The brother I almost had; I imagine that him and his wife Lottie have read this blog. From remarks that Lottie has made and her not wanting to "friend" us (twice) on facebook, I get the impression that she finds me morally repugnant. This is reinforced further by the lack of communication of my brother. If I were out of the picture, I would no longer hinder my brothers security clearance for his well paying job. I am sure that Lottie has brought this up to my brother, that a close brotherly relationship might jeopardize his job. I have no kids. My Grand Mother, did not try to help when I was thrown out of my house, and still doesn't call. I work to pay bills, then get further in debt, to work more to pay more bills. The only thing that i have to cling to, is my trade. But I haven't learned to take the blame for over-sites my boss has made. I haven't learned to admit to mistakes that I did not make. I haven't learned to kiss my bosses ass. I haven't learned to forget demeaning and demoralizing things my boss said. I still think fairness and equality should rule the workplace, you can see I have backward beliefs. So despite, my printing skills, I've been painted as a social undesirable by my boss. It is just a matter of time before I get fired. So you add this equation up, and what is the answer? For me, I am just tired and worn out, fighting for the love of my dad, brother and sister in law, or grandmother. For my wife, I think I am holding her back, and giving her a "guilt trip" over her ever increasing weight. She should be allowed to get as fat as she wants, and maybe the trucker, or out of work ex, will desire even more the bigger she gets. As far as another job, well, I always find someone who makes me feel like shit, and worthless. The councilor said it is a personality disorder, that probably came from the way my dad ran the household. Abusers sense, when they can dump on someone, and get away with it. She said someone, who has more confidence would not stand getting dumped on. I told her I am just tired of fighting everyone. I did try to make the connection with my dad, for over 20 years, and I tried to get him help, to save his life, I failed at that also. So am I thinking of harming myself? NO, but I am thinking of what the world would be without me. Like if I had an accident, or terminal illness. - me would be a + for a lot of people. I would like to thank Lottie Lilts for tolerating Mary and I until their children were grown, I am sure it must have been a trying experience for you. But remember, people like me, make you feel wonderfully pseudo-pious. Maybe some day you can donate your time to a soup kitchen, or to any organization that helps people, then you will have done a few good works, and would not have to look down on others to feel good. To my brother, I told you I was naïve, and not lacking in mental capacity. After several times of visiting my home town, but not making any time to see your brother, and now that your kids are out of your home, your invitation to visit you, AFTER you move into your new house (several years from now), all I can say as now I get it. You only want a casual relationship. My dad put a premium on his time, as if I should be just lucky enough to be in his presence, I am not going to do the same for my brother. Don't feel guilty bro ( I am sure you won't) about not wanting a brother or the knowledge of anything meaningful in my life. I hope your new job, new found wealth, your wife, and her social status, will fulfill your life that will be void of your fathers family.  I guess when all is said and done, I am guilty of being hopeful that we could be a normal close family, to which I spent many wasted years in pursuing. Had I a chance to do it again maybe I would be cynical, and end the family relationships which "I have no use for that person". Maybe not, that is not in my nature to base people on what use, they may be. How about you? do you base family relationships on how convenient or free from problems they are? I have started to make some rules, to help me get through life: 1)You can't change what people think, or say about you, you can only change how to, or not to, react to it. 2) Have no respect for someone who shows you no respect. 3) (This one came straight from my dad, I wished I would have heeded his advice, as it would have saved me 26 years of hardship and wasted time) Only associate with people, who have your best interest at heart. 4)You can't fix the past, but you can change today, and all days in the future. 5) Your friends or relatives, may not want the close personal relationship that you want, accept that and move on. 6) Accept things at face value, even if people have alternate motives (you will go nuts, trying to figure out why people do what they do) 7) Forgive, even if it is only in your own heart. 8) Be grateful for what you have, it could be a lot worse. (count your blessings)
I did find out what truth is. I always thought truth is what actually occurred, but I am finding out that truth is what people are willing to accept. If you make a mistake or even the wrong first impression, many times people will judge you on that mistake, and that will your truth to them. You could go years, living a honest upright life, but every time you see these people, they will say, (behind your back) "oh yeah, that's the guy that did_____." My dad was many things, some good and a lot bad, but his truth, and what he will be known to the world as is a hoarder.

I some times look at my life as the Wizard of OZ, complete with evil witch out to destroy me, psychedelic adventures, to the end where, now I am just happy to have, what I have, just happy to be home. I would like to leave on the thought, that sometimes, a little bit of love can make all the difference, sometimes not, but you will never know, if you could have made a difference, if you didn't try.

   There will be more stories coming, including a section of tales of my father, which will contain, stories of his life before I was born.

One of the few positive stories that my dad used to tell, happened when he was about 5 years old. My dad and 3 other boys aged 6-7 years were outside playing on a Sunday afternoon in the month of October. One of the kids found a ticket, that said "keep this ticket" with a number printed on it. They said wow we got a ticket, I wonder what it's good for. One of the kids said, maybe it's a ticket for the movies. So the 4 of them walked down to the local movie theater, and presented the ticket, but the guy said that ticket is no good here. So another kid said maybe its for Luna Park, and amusement park about 8 miles away. Now as kids, you would have no idea of distance, so off they went. After traveling some distance, they wondered if they were going in the right direction. One of the kids said hey there's a bunch of people coming out of church, across the bridge. The bridge is about 1/2 mile long, and when they ask the parishioners how do you get to Luna Park? Instead of any concern of 4 little kids, trying to get to an amusement park that was closed for the season, they answered go back across the bridge, and make a left, you can't miss it. By now they were getting hungry, and one of the boys said I heard you can eat grass. But much to their dismay they found the grass to be more or less in-edible. Finally they got to Luna Park, only to find it closed. One of the boys said maybe the rides are still open, just the gate was closed. 3 of the boys went under the fence, but my dad had enough, so he started walking back. When he got within 3 miles of his home, he saw the newspaper boy on his bike. The paper boy said your parents looking everywhere for you, I better get you home. So the paperboy, put my dad in his basket and rode him home. At home my Grandfather was waiting, he said your Mom has been all over town looking for you, if she sees you now, she is going to raise the roof. My Grandfather said we better get you to bed. My dad wanted my Grandfather to crank up and play the Victrola. My Grandfather, OK but just one song, then to bed. And so that ended the long day that started with an innocent ticket. When I was going through the rubble of my dads burnt house, I found the old Victrola that bonded my dad and Grandfather, but the house was so filled with garbage, there was no way to retrieve it, and like the story it ended as a memory on the sands of time.