“I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father’s protection.” Sigmund Freud

It is been an extremely difficult experience to recollect in vivid clarity my father and the ability to tell his stories, which in turn lead to my story. So to start off I will read a direct quote from my grandmother (my fathers mother ) telling his story from our family genealogy album and then I’ll try my best to fill in the blanks.

My Dad was born in a small town on the outskirts of Philadelphia Pennsylvania on March 28th 1954. His parents had lived on a small town road until shortly after a younger brother, Randy was born in 1955. The family then moved to a busier neighborhood in town. My Dad and his brother Randy went to the same elementary school I later went to. They did a lot of things together as young boys, since they were so close in age. My Dad also had an older brother Terry though he spent more time apart from them doing his own thing. A small wooded Park was one of the places they would go after they packed a picnic lunch, and then they would play there all day. Later, when they were older, they would go there again very early in the mornings before school to check the trap lines they set along the park’s creek. Trapping muskrats paid $2.50 to $5.00 per animal. They would have 50 trap lines set at any given time and used the more humane “Conibear” traps, which would kill the animal instantly so it wouldn’t suffer in the trap.

My Dad was anxious to go to work, so even though he wasn’t old enough to go to work, he lied about his age and got a job at a local steel foundry. His boss found out about his age and was ready to let him go, but instead allowed him to stay there as a sweeper. He graduated from high school top 10 in his class but like his father Leeroy, the drink and the drug were in full swing. He continue to work at a local steel foundry for 11 years and earned enough money to buy a yellow Corvette (later painted black (76 stingray, I remember it was the greatest ride on my block when i was a kid) as well as a chevelle a harley-davidson chopper and anything he could turn a wrench on, he was a natural car mechanic.. He learned from his father.Later my dad purchased an apartment house and his brother Randy was one of those tenants at some point. (I remember sneaking up to his apartment to play burger time on his coleco vision game system (fuck you x box!).. He married my mother in 1976 while pregnant with me (of course.)

If I had to guess I don’t think my father ever really wanted to get married but he knocked my mother up and at the time that was the expected thing to do at that time. My dad continued to cheat on my mother and I don’t know if it bothered him at the time but I know in later years he truly had regret for it. but I think at least at this point in time for the most part they were at least in love happy and had hopes for the future. I remembered my Dad telling me this was the song they danced to at their prom, it now seems to be a good place to put it.

“Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.” —Robert Browning

I think tonight I’ll start with telling you about my mother, my first conversation should probably be about my mother. I’ll tell you what I know and what I remember before I was born from what was told to me over the years through various people. My mother was born and grew up in a house that was converted from a chicken coop in what was at that time a very small quiet suburb on the far outskirts of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Her father was a lounge singer and her mother was going to be a Rockette.

On a side note, The Rockette’s are still around and she actually had a audition to go there. A showgirl in New York instead of Vegas.

She gave up her dreams and married my grandfather and from there acquired a bitter hatred towards men. My grandfather was quite the philanderer so I guess to some degree it was understood. My mother grew up very poor and subjected to the usual ridicule of wealthier peers. She wore white tank, tops to school mostly and your run of the mill bell bottom jeans. My mother was above average looking in this tiny little town, she cleaned up nice and she probably would have been a beautiful debutante given the means but like all social classes you can only play with the hand you’re dealt.

My Mother fought a lot with other girls at school and had a fierce Sicilian temper so not a lot of people messed with her. My grandmother left my grandfather at an extremely young age of my mother’s life due to the adultery from my grandfather’s groupies leaving her and her three brothers in an extremely twisted dysfunctional environment. There was constant screaming, beating, fighting, and of course pranks she endured from my uncles although they were quick to defend to the hilt if anyone ever messed with her. Blood is always thicker than water. Her brothers eventually became involved in a gang called the Park Boys which defined the area they use to hang out in (the local park downtown). My father was also in a gang called the Wall boys (guess where they spent their time)..

Back in the day gangs weren’t all about guns and violence. There were quite a few rumbles but rarely would you see a knife let alone a gun. Gangs were mostly about camaraderie, safety in numbers, pride in your neighborhood, fixing up and racing cars, greasing back your hair, listening to doo wop and howling at women (think the movie “Grease”). So at some point my father ended up partying with my uncles and he eventually met my mother. Over time he did a lot for financially. He was a hard worker and he made decent money for his age in the steel foundry (He lied about his age to get in early, but when they found out they kept him on as a floor sweeper until he became old enough.) At his age he made more money than the teachers at school. He’d buy her things like nice clothes etc. He eventually bought her a car it was a 74 Mustang it was dark blue. They were also senior prom dates, I still have the pictures.

I know at that time she loved my father. I read notes and letters she wrote my father saved, she can say what she wants but like everyone else there is always a time you love before you grow to hate. You just can’t hate that much unless you love that hard. So with all that in mind at some point in time I guess the next natural thing was to have me. I was not a planned pregnancy or an immaculate conception. There is nothing fabulous about my conception. My father told me I was conceived behind the local 7-Eleven. I wish I had something more eloquent to tell, but like most people, most regular people, sometimes it’s just that simple. Sometimes life begins at a hotel room with a prostitute or sometimes it’s done in a bed by two loving human beings that just decide tonight is the glorious night. They plan a date ovulation is peaked, notification is given, pillows are propped up right to hold in semen and courtship begins with some fucking Mozart to stimulate the babies IQ. Smiles and giggles. Joys of the hope of life and future and legacy. I’ve never seen it but I have heard of it. No I think most people just appear in the throws of random chaos. How can anyone believe in destiny when the birth process especially my own is so fucking chaotic and meaningless.

So that’s the story of my mother at least until I was born. Just a typical wild child falling in love with the town rebel and raising hell. I think everyone is probably comfortable with their place in life until somebody tells them it the real story. There was supposed to be this loving discussion and planning of an amazing conception. A beautiful life being brought into a beautiful world. It’s when you find out it’s not true. It’s all one giant fucking dream and at that very moment you begin to get angry. Not because you were sold a hollow bag of goods, not because of what you are. It’s because what your parents and society tried to sell you. Everyone else is doing it this way and hahaha look at your pathetic fucking excuse for a birth. That’s what makes you mad. I can’t say exactly who did what or said what maybe if I had a specific thing or person to punch maybe I’d feel better but life is just to big a thing to fight.

Or is it? Your whole life people,news,television,movies all tell you the way it should be and it’s impossible to reverse and redo correctly what should have happened. At no time do you have a choice in the matter and therein lies the rage. People should the right at any time to take their own life. Laws against suicide are pretty laughable but the fact that it is generally discouraged just shows how influenced and controlled we as people really are. Stay alive and serve the system and you will be rewarded. Does anyone reading this really feel that reward? ever? anybody? You do not because the controlling entities that promised that, have decided to keep it.