Now for a look at my dad's beginnings...
I was born on August, 13th, 1963 at South Haven Community Hospital in Michigan. I was welcomed to my home in Breedsville, MI by
my mom and dad, two older brothers and sister. Life seemed "normal" at
that time in my life. One of my first memories of my childhood was going
to the beach in South Haven. South Haven is a city that lines the
beautiful beach of Lake Michigan. I loved the sounds of the water and
the feel of the sand. I also remember thinking the walk to the beach
from the parking lot took forever. It's funny how the concept of
distance is skewed as a child. Another vivid memory was my first day of
kindergarten at Bloomingdale Elementary. I cried! I had an empty and
alone feeling when I was dropped off in my classroom and I did not want
to be there. Christmas' were usually a disappointment. We'd always get
the knock-off version of what we wanted. You know, like Jolten Jumps
instead of Hot Wheels, things like that.
My parents disagreed a lot during this time in my life. My Mom and Dad had separated when I was around four and a half and were divorced by the time I was five. Once I was woken up from my sleep by my parents fighting so loudly in
the driveway. I later found out that my Dad had followed my Mom home
from a baby shower and had attempted to choke her. My Grandpa hit my Dad
over the head with his cane and my Mom was able to escape to a distant
neighbors house where she called the police. I watched as the
cops showed up and took my dad away in cuffs. The fights seemed to
intensify. I remember my mom getting mad at my dad during an argument
and busting a glass ketchup bottle, splattering red ketchup all over the
table.
Seeing my dad after the divorce was few and far. There were the scheduled "every-other-weekend" visits that I would pack my bags and get ready for, but then he wouldn't show up. The times that he did show up, he would either drop us off at either my grandmas and take off, or the movie theater and leave us to watch a movie on our own. Needless to say, I remember very little of my father.
My mom had to work to provide, so my siblings and I were left to ourselves to run free. We had BB guns that we would shoot everything with. I also tried my first cigarette when I was five-years-old. My brothers and I would search for old cigarette butts to smoke until we were able to buy our very own cigarette making machine. Then we smoked just about anything we could think of! My oldest brother was in charge of us during the day. I don't know if it was because of the divorce, but he was angry and was always into trouble. He would frequently beat on my brother and I. I became very quick-witted with words, because I thought if I couldn't beat him up with fists, I'd beat him with words. Of coarse, that only led to more thrashings. He would throw us up in the air, and move out of the way so we would drop to the ground. He'd also push his feet so hard into my chest that I would pass out. When I would come into consciousness, he'd slap me and say, "don't you ever say that again!"
My grandpa lived in a small converted section we built off of our garage in our back yard. He was a very overweight and bed-ridden man for most of the time that I knew him. When he was a younger man, living in the Chicago area, he worked as a painter. While working one day he fell and landed on his knees. Over time, arthritis set in and with his growing weight, he became more and more immobile. We had to wait on him and take care of him and I remember he smelled awful! He had weird collections of things, like his floor to ceiling supply of bottles of Pepsi, and toilet paper, sugar, and snickers bars that he kept in his freezer. I don't know if he was a hoarder, or just the result of living through war rationing, but it was weird. He also had a T-bar above his bed that he used to help get himself in and out. I remember swinging on it and doing flips over his belly. He was also a retired Police officer and my brothers and I would play with his spot light and search through all of his old WANTED posters, hoping to find some sort of adventure.
My mom re-married probably when I was still
five. This time to a very strict Arkansas man whom we would later learn
had deep-seeded anger issues.
