Wednesday, August 02, 2006

• Currently Listening Break the Cycle By Staind see related

   

  UPDATE: I can't believe how many of you had the patience to read through this story, but I thank you. This is a cheap and easy way to comment you all, but I am pressed for time this evening, and I just don't know how else to do it right now, but - here is a comment I left for someone (Xcholo4u) and it pretty much sums things up:

   

  RYC: Life can and does suck in a lot of different place, lol. I'm not sure that it would sell very well if I turned it into a book, but I'm thinking about it. Truth is more strange than fiction sometimes, huh? It is difficult dredging this stuff up out of the depths of my memory, and my heart, but I'll probably finish since I started. I can't believe people are actually having the patience to read through it all! For people who went through similar things, or had painful childhoods, I am sure the memories and feelings the story evokes can be just as painful for the reader as when I'm sifting through my memories in writing it. It's empowering, though, when we remember that we survived it, and sort of in one piece. Some people haven't been as lucky. I can't say those times didn't effect me and some of the decisions I've made in my life (not all good decisions, either), they surely did.

   

  For those of you who never had a childhood like this, I am hoping that you are counting your blessings and hugging your children if you have them, kissing your significant other, and generally being thankful.

   

  I'll be around to leave brief comments and with them eprops. Forgive my cookie cutter comment this time, please. I just have run out of time today. You guys are the greatest!

   

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  A local radio station here has an all-day concert every year called "X-Fest."  Yesterday they announced some of the major acts that will be performing:

  • Staind
  • Avenged Sevenfold
  • Three Days Grace
  • Buckcherry
  • Hinder
  • Bullet For My Valentine
  • Hurt
  • Damone
  • Black Stone Cherry
  • and 18 Visions.

  The concert is on a Sunday in September, and the tickets are dirt cheap ($15 a ticket!!). I think we'll take the whole family. I'm excited!

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  My eldest daughter, Far_Skies, has posted some of her wonderful photography. I think she has some real talent for it. Go over and take a look if you would, and let her know what you think!

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  For those of you who are still interested, here is the next installment of the Florida saga:

  Ahhh, Florida! - Part IV

  Most of my days while living in Florida seemed to melt together, one right into the next. It was always the same routine night after night, but I was able to find a few diversions and escapes along the way during the day. School was a welcome break during the week, and I probably hadn’t ever been so glad to get up and go as I had been during that time. When I would come home from school I would do my homework and then stay in my room and listen to my radio until it was time for dinner and evening chores. It was during that time that my love for music really took root. I quickly memorized the lyrics to all of the songs they played on the radio, like Night Moves (Bob Seger and The Silver Bullet Band), Play That Funky Music White Boy (Wild Cherry), and Let Your Love Flow (Bellamy Brothers), just to name a few.

  Weekends were the hardest to deal with since my stepfather was often home then. I would do my best to stay away from him, but frequently that was impossible. There were times that we did go to the beach, and the snow-white sand and the sea oats were something I’ll never forget. I would venture into the ocean then; I even had an opportunity to be taught how to surf from a world champion surfer. But the times we went to the beach as a family were not as fun. My stepfather would take me out past the breakers in a big, old tire inner tube, sans life jacket, so deep that I couldn’t touch the bottom. It would usually take me some time for me to make my way back to shore and I was usually worn out by the time I got there having fought the tides, and ready to go home. The last time he ever did this I felt something bump my leg. He wasn’t too far away from me yet as he wasn’t finished dragging me out. I said, “Was that you?” He replied, “What?” “Did you bump my leg?” He just looked at me and started swimming for shore. I brought my legs up and over the inner tube and paddled with all my might with my arms toward the beach. I don’t know for sure that it was a shark, I never saw a fin, but then I wasn’t looking – I was bound and determined I was getting back to the beach. I never went back into the ocean past the first breaker ever again until I was an adult snorkeling in the Bahamas.

  We had only lived in the ugly blue trailer for maybe 6 months before we had an opportunity to move into the double-wide behind it. As trailers go it was much nicer and bigger than most. My bedroom even had its own bathroom in it! I remember when we were moving that it was just my mother and I. It was summer, and a weekday, which meant my stepfather was at work on base. As I was packing things in boxes to carry over to the other trailer, I happened upon the paddle which he used to spank me. My mother was right there when I found it in its hiding place. I picked it up and looked at her. All I said was, “Please?” and she shook her head in affirmation. I ran out the door of the trailer and to the end of the pier, and with all my might I threw that paddle into the deepest, darkest part of the swamp. That hard, dense wooden paddle sunk right to the bottom never to be seen again. I’m not sure what story was used to cover up the fact that the paddle was missing, and I’m not sure why my stepfather never made another, but he didn’t. I also took the chore chart off of my bedroom door and tore it to shreds and threw it in the trash. Oops, it was damaged beyond repair in the move, sorry ‘bout that…I’m also not sure why he didn’t make another one. Maybe he just got bored with it temporarily. Maybe he found others to torment during the day. I’ll never know, but it was a great relief for a time.

  I can’t remember exactly how long it was, but we weren’t there in the trailer park for very much longer after that before moving into a real house. The house we moved to was a fairly new brick ranch style home in a nice quiet suburban neighborhood. The yard was a decent size, and there were kids my age and a little bit older in the neighborhood. The change of scenery didn’t do much in the way of dissuading my stepfather from beating my mother on a nightly basis, but it did give me other escapes from the insanity in my home. It was during this time that I had my horse, and also during this time my stepfather had his dog brought down from Ohio to be with us. Bruno, it was said, was a “Bavarian Wolf” which he found in Sicily, Italy and brought him back to the states a few years before marrying my mom. Although, to this day, knowing my stepfather as the liar that he was, I think Bruno was a long haired German Shepherd from right here in the U.S.. Regardless of what kind of dog he was, Bruno and I became best buddies in no time, and he was the smartest, most gentle canine I’ve ever been around. My stepfather found out very quickly not to lay a hand on my mother or me in the presence of “his” dog, because Bruno would protect us. Of course, my stepfather didn’t like this and would punch Bruno in the head and face every time he would growl and bare his teeth at him. This just made Bruno hate him more, too.

  There was one evening when Bruno was outside, and I was in my bedroom, when there was a ruckus in the kitchen. My stepfather was beating my mother again, but this time outside of their bedroom where it usually happened, and more brutally than I had ever witnessed. Since this didn’t happen behind closed doors I ventured into the kitchen to find my stepfather choking my mother with his hands. Once again, having not learned my lesson the first time, I jumped on his back. This time instead of throwing me, he managed to swing me around off of his back, grab me by the neck with one hand, and pin me off of the ground onto the refrigerator. I couldn’t breathe, and I could feel my head and face swelling with blood. He gritted his teeth and snarled, “Stay out of it!” and dropped me on the ground. I fell into a heap, got my breath, and my mother, through tears said, “Run and call the police!” I ran through the family room, through the utility room and out the back door as fast as I could go. I literally hurdled myself over a 4 foot chain link fence to get to our next door neighbors back door without touching the fence.

  My adrenaline was pumping and I could hear my heart beating ferociously. I pounded on their back door and fell to a sitting position on their back step. I was so worried that my stepfather was coming after me and that their door wouldn’t be answered in time before he got me. I was also worried that my mother would be dead the next time I saw her. It seemed like forever until someone came to the door, but it was probably just a few seconds. I looked up at my neighbor, whom I had often babysat for, and through my tears said, “Please may I use your phone? I need to call the police. My stepfather is hurting my mother and I’m afraid he’s going to kill her.” She grabbed my hand and quickly got me inside. Being before the days of 911, they looked up the number to the police in the phone book and dialed it for me. I told the dispatcher on the other end what was happening and what my address was. My neighbors had me stay inside until the police came. The neighbors asked me questions as to whether this had ever happened before, and had he also beaten me. I told them it had, and sometimes he did. It was the first time I had ever admitted to anyone what was going on. Up till then we must have looked like a very normal, peaceful family.

  The neighbors and I watched out the window until the cruiser pulled up. I saw my stepfather walk out to the officer, who was still in his car in the middle of the street, talk to him for a few minutes, and then walk back to the house. The cruiser turned around in a driveway and drove away. I was in shock. So were my neighbors. For all anyone knew my mother was dead inside our house. The officer never got out of his cruiser. I looked at my neighbors, thanked them for allowing me to use their phone, and said I would go back home now. They both told me that if I ever needed them, that they were there and I could come over any time. I thanked them again and walked back to my house, afraid of what I might find.

  When I walked in my mother was sitting in the kitchen at the kitchen table, my stepfather was in the den watching television. “Bizarre” cannot even describe that scene. I walked over to my mother, kissed her and went to my room. It was late, and I had school the next morning. I wasn’t going to miss it for the world if I could help it.

  I’m not sure if my mother even went to bed that night, but before the sun came up I heard my mother and stepfather talking rather loudly and animatedly. I got up, still very sleepy, and walked into the den where they were looking out the window toward our neighbor’s house. I walked up behind them and asked what was going on. My mother backed away from the window and let me have a look. In the neighbor’s yard there was a cross about 4 feet high, and it was on fire.

  Things were starting to make sense to me now. I knew my stepfather, the bigoted coward that he was, had joined the Ku Klux Klan because several weeks before he had walked into the kitchen where I was sitting in full white satin regalia, scaring me senseless in the process. I already knew he was a depraved psychopath, so as shocking as it was to me that there was still such a thing as the KKK on this planet, I would have never put it past him to belong to such a foul organization. I had also been secretly privy to conversations about government officials and such in our area who were also members. So…the police officer…it only made sense that he was a member, too. That's why he didn't bother getting out of his cruiser. They knew each other. By running to the next door neighbor, and them helping me, I had inadvertently put them and their children in danger. I couldn’t have felt more awful, or more afraid than at that moment of realization. My God, what had I done?

  And it wasn’t over yet…

   

  • 4:58 AM
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