Age 8

2nd grade was in Berks Christian Academy,I was removed from Limerick Chapel. I think the schools got switched for a cheaper tuition at a guess but I never really new knew why. I also lost my 3 best in school friends. Brian,Alex, and Charles. I never talked or spoke to them again for the rest of my life. Years later I would be doing a carpet job at that school for a contractor I worked for and I took a glance on the wall at their names on the graduation list for that year. It was the closest I ever went. The path I was on had nothing to do with their futures that was for sure. I imagine I am long forgotten, and they are doing well. Some kids get to stay in the same school their whole life? Wow. I had to wonder what that was like. By then when I noticed that list I think I totaled over 15 different schools at least if not more.

We are certainly different people now, but I wonder what kind of person I had been if i would have graduated right next to them?

So now we come to my first day of a new school ever. All my doubt, my fear, my nervousness about going to a new place, riding on the bus in a strange isolated silence, new people no one introduces you too, hopefully being accepted by your peers and faculty. It was like at this point my new family was squashing everything from my old life. I suppose it was a lot like being reprogrammed. At the time did feel loved, and felt like a proud part of my new family. My new dad as he was called corrected me physically a few times here and there, but it was rare and mostly for things children do. There was always a hug at the end of it and even sometimes an I love you buddy. The bible was well versed to me at this point, so sparing the rod and spoiling the child became quite the mantra for my discipline. Life just became well, normal. Well,whatever a child perceives at that age is normal.

This first school day, this moment. My last major life shift that would wipe out any of the old life I had lived. No more grandmother visit’s no more of my mom’s family, just this one now.

Walking in the classroom had white tables, not desks. We sat in groups. I remember some things like reciting phonics, spelling and reading poetry from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

That’s when I first saw her. Or what would be the beginning of everything I was to imagine I would want for the rest of my life. Blonde hair, the most innocent vivid blue eyes I ever seen, strawberry cheeks, a smile that would melt a glacier. Her name was Heather and little would she ever know for a long number of years she would become the framework for everything I would want in any fantasy I ever had for the rest of my life. Just daydreaming about long walks, laughing, talking. My heart got warm inside my chest.

A boy’s first crush. Just sitting near her made me feel amazing, not in a sexual sense but a warmth. It made me smile to see her smile. Just thinking about looking at her made me feel warm. For a long time (or whatever to a child seemed like forever) I would debate in my mind on what to do about this.. Do I tell her how I feel? There were plenty of kids in the class she seemed to be talking to other than me, other interests etc… The days drug on to months and finally I remember the day I had the nerve. I wrote her a multiple choice note of all things, lol of all the fucking things right? This is what you get when you never get a chance to consult someone wiser than you. 2nd grade first girl I liked and only the worst ideas came out of my own head. So in my vast genius the note read and I will never forget it, “I love you heather do you love me? ” a yes b no c undecided. Ha Ha. Youth is such an embarrassing thing. Still, if I didn’t bear my entire soul for this moral inventory it would be a complete lie.

She took it straight to the teacher who promptly read it in front of the entire class. In retrospect, my 2nd major rejection in life and my first from a female. I think the whole self worth issue of myself started here. I also wasn’t aware of the first major rejection being my father until many years to come. I also feel being rejected by something you loved so hard and the pain it causes this was my first real taste of it. Even now that I think harder about it, it was my 3rd. My mother was still all but out of my life. The reasons were now a linking chain between finding a new husband and finding a new child. My brother. I kind of expected that, what little they did involve themselves with me just going away but not what happened next. How could I ever seen what was to come. The sad part is, even if I did there was nothing I could do about it.

This year was also my first taste of leadership manipulation and control. I spent a lot of time getting the shaft from psychologically unstable and dysfunctional adults till now I.E. My dad and my family. Traits like, manipulation, art of the swindle, the human mind and how ego’s work. I learned the basics very young. How people lie and deceive to get what they want in their own selfish interests. I learned quickly by giving someone what they think they want or need to hear, but lacing in with subtlety a few of my own wants and needs, most people will accept it as an even trade. My promises were never hollow, but I always came out ahead. That’s how easy it easy to get anyone to follow you. Be deliberate, be everything you say and do to the letter, go against the grain. In an elitist atmosphere of white privileged, it’s easy to acquire the outcasts of the land to be used to your disposal. Just the unity of another group and the value of that to them is usually enough. What the elite never caught onto is, the more exclusive you make your little club, the bigger the outcasts you discarded will be. Unify them, and your little group of elitists become the outcasts.

At the time, I think I was just trying to impress heather. She was in the exclusive group of the pretty and smart. If you cannot get past the elitist’s wall, smash a hole so big you can walk in, any way possible. The principal noticed a few things going on, such as the senior walking across the quad making fun of my little band of misfits. Wasn’t so funny when 8 little misfits tackled him down tore his shirt off and beat the shit out of him though. So in come the parents to address the behavior problem, he called me “The Ring Leader” and a bad seed. Maybe I responding to the rejection with rage.

After the dust settled, and seniors knew my name, my ego went right to my fucking head. I would lay in bed at night feeding my ego and in turn reaping the high of endorphins it pumped back to me. What would I do tomorrow? , I just had to wait for the moment. It cam when we were all out at recess. The senior thing never went away, they always had an murmur or two about it towards me. The senior class on this day were walking out to gym in the soccer field. Words were exchanged. I planned our assault. Probably only 10 to 15 kids against 10 seniors maybe? We ran out there with all we had and started brawling in groups, one or 2 at a time. Felt like a war. The rest of the playground decided to run out to the field too and before you knew it we were all going after anyone, groups would band together, Jesus it was something out of Braveheart. Whistles were blown and nurses were really busy the rest of the day. Clothes torn etc cuts bruises, what a nightmare. I never got the credit, but I think a few teachers suspected. I suppose by acknowledging I did it, it would have made me worse.

The end of the school year was near, and with the seniors graduating next year was like it never even happened. Of course this only brought on a new set of issues. For now in came the summer. I would begin my unpaid slave labor pulling weeds, cutting grass and cleaning up hedge clippings for our yard and up to 4 or 5 others. Gunnar charged his share of course, no doubt made a killing. I guess he figured he needed it since his 3rd shift mop job wasn’t paying the bills.

My father came around once or twice in this summer. We talked for a little while, then he would wander off. I’d beg for him to take me somewhere but his only interest was in the drug dealer up the street. It was extremely hard in my day at this time to defy your parents will. possession was 9 tenths of the law and people would throw you in youth facilities for not listening to your parents. If you ran away you could be taken away, a custody of the state. I have no idea what would have been better, I was just trying to hold on to what I had..

Age 7

With my mothers pregnancy happening this year the next step was to buy the lousiest house in the worst neighborhood in pottstown. The house was sold by a man named joe gurka, he gave some furniture pots and pans he didn’t want. The basement flooded, the roof leaked, it was what we called a half a double (one house split down the middle for 2 families.) The walls were baby shit green, none of the doors worked, the place was eerie and unsettling. Loaded with cockroaches. I mean loaded like you could hear them crunch under your feet if you didn’t turn the lights on. Sometimes they didn’t even give a fuck about the light. Home, what a joke. One bathroom for the whole house.

First grade was in limerick chapel, I had made some great friends then. I still remember their names to this day for they stayed in all of my future dreams. I loved school and couldn’t wait to get there and away from being alone, adults were nice but peer company was even nicer. I could finally shelf my imaginary friends and trade them in for some real ones. Things began to happen to me psychologically. I used to sleepwalk and my imagination would be most of my self entertainment. However for a child that age I appeared to be extremely self-reliant.

I also remember this year my father coming to pick me up for a visitation. He was with someone, not sure who but I remember we ran out of gas somewhere. The man walked off with a gas can and me and dad sat in the car for hours. Not saying a word. I just played quietly with my thoughts in the back seat and who knows what dad was doing, sleeping drunk maybe. The thing of it all was my first swear words. They spent the day calling each other dildos and pussies. Funny words, it stuck. I remember talking to my mother one day a few weeks after and dropping a person was a dumb dildo and a pussy. Don’t remember who. She asked if I know what a dildo or a pussy was and I kind of scratched my head a second and said something to the effect of I dunno, some cats? The innocence of ignorance and youth.

With my brother Joe being born the positive attention and family interactions went out the window for me, It was all about Josef. Settling in of the new old piece of shit house the only thing I had with all of the new rules and duties to go with it. I didn’t mind much though, I still had school and all my friends. I’d get through it. It was just going to take time. Soon I’d have a brother to pal around with. I was looking forward to it.

The birth of my second brother.

I remember mom and Gunnar my stepfather talking about it. Mom so excited she was pregnant. I finally had a brother coming. I was so excited. Finally someone to play with, love on, protect and guide. I was going to be a big brother.

We went to the hospital all of us, I had a Polaroid camera I bought at a yard sale and Gunnar had his kodak top of the line 35mm camera for the delivery. I had to wait in the fathers waiting room for hours just sitting there taking pictures and looking dopey excited. I had no idea how babies were even born for all I knew the stork was flying by for a drop off.

The funniest part of the story is Geo is taking all these photos like a fucking news man at a celebrity runway and here he forgets to put film in the camera. I was the only one with pictures of my newborn brother. Imagine that. He was the first born of Gunnar ’s family in America. His family was really excited. Gunnar ’s family was born of Polish and German ancestry, Now also adding Sicilian to the mix. I was so happy to hold him in my arms, I really was. I loved that boy from the first day I saw him. I can still see him in my arms. I find it amazing as a young child to be able to just swap a family in your mind. What was and what now is. I think later in life I blamed myself for that replacement, writing off my dad’s family due to lack of interaction. I know I didn’t realize what I was doing and why, but the drive to reconnect was always there in later years, especially when the acceptance decreased

I of all things even then, wanted to belong somewhere, to someone. So taken it is for granted the simple security that vastly shapes who we are from outcast to a part of. Yet no ones becomes aware of the former when they have the latter. Over the years to come, he would become my closest sibling. Out of everything I ever wanted in life up to that point and beyond. I truly wanted this child, and a bond that hopefully would never break. I was no longer the last of my kind.

The birth of my first brother.

I make this mark like an unknown grave. This was the birth of my father’s seconds son, Greg. I was to never really know him, just hear stories of him. I suppose the timing was right, my mother remarried maybe he just decided to start again. Either way this was his day, and oh what different but yet so similar a set of lives we would lead. I at least had the benefit of knowing my father at some point, Greg never had a chance. We share the same last name, and we would both acquire different pieces of him. It would be years before we were to be reunited and what seemed like an eternity to realize how badly we needed to love each other. But for now this day, this day is my brothers, and my brothers alone.

Through the years I only heard fragments from uncles etc telling me how Greg’s family wanted nothing to do with me and Greg was a bad seed. Many attempts I made to connect with him, but all seemed in vain. So eventually I let him go in my mind for many years. Always thought of him though, and wished he was well. Turns out later I would have a strong drive to finally find him. But not today, today was his birth and this spot will forever mark that. I also remember my father picking me up a few time and taking me over to his new place with his new family. Somehow even though it should have bothered me as much as my mothers marriage did, it didn’t.

Her name was Mary and she seemed like a nice woman. She smiled a lot but she slept a lot to. I used to play outside with her 2 daughters. Rachel and Rochelle. They were identical twins, also nice to me. I had fun the couple of times I was there and dad wasn’t even around. He was inside the house with Mary doing whatever. The couple of things I do remember was him telling me where she taught her kids how to roll a joint one handed, which I found weird not even knowing what a joint was really. He also told me he had to lay a towel across her stomach to cover a horrible c section scar. Why he told me I will never know. Sometimes the shit he dropped on me was like. ehhh. But that was my dad. Rough edges and raunchy humor. So that as they say is that.

age 6 The new DAD

My mother around age 5 going into age 6 had just vanished. I was a latchkey kid when I came home and took care of myself. Weekends she would have a babysitter look after me, Renee Swain was her name. She never told me where she was, why she left, why we never had those cries on my shoulder anymore or talks about my father. She’d take me to her church on Sunday. There I found no acceptance,my mothers family said I was born in sin and evil but I began to develop a love for God. He was a father, he loved kids, he saved you from all your troubles. Why wouldn’t I be drawn to this? My uncle lived next door and his family were deep into it, and I was expected to catch up I guess. So I read, I recited verses, I played the part. I believed I had a quest to complete. With every step I took to conform the more i was patted on the head like a dog, the more my tail wagged.

My mothers’ mother was also heavy into this sect of Christianity I now know as the Plymouth brethren. We all would take trips to Iowa for conferences and tent revivals etc.. This was the dawn of the evangelist on TV and the hell fire and brimstone apocalypse of revelation was the guiding weapon to drive what they thought was morality back into the people so full of sorrow for all the decadence of the 70’s. I was along with many other children of this era to pay the bill for their own guilt.

Kindergarten was new, I excelled in reading and reading comprehension. Probably due to all the King James Bible reading I did every day.I remember having some kind of graduation thing involving a school play and me reading some poetry. I have a tape cassette of it around somewhere, god knows if anyone has a player anymore those fucking things are as ancient as 8 track tapes. A friend of my mothers Jill had a daughter that also went to that school and we were in the same grade. Her name was Tara. We played together a few times as kids do but never really talked.

My school days were religious sermons, My evening and weekends were bible studies from my grandmother consisting mostly in the doctrine of the apocalypse, revelation and sin. I lost all contact with my father’s family I was not permitted to contact them in any way. Even though the sorrow was unbearable I swallowed it all. The words force fed to me became who I was. In retrospect I realize now whatever was said I had to be, that is who I became. All through life every partner I ever had who in anger blurted out an exaggeration or fucking lie to attempt to hurt me, out of reaction that is what I would become. A true product of my surroundings.I was told at this time I was covered in the armor of the lord. Loved and protected. Not by my mother’s family of course, they had no fucking idea how to love. So they just passed the buck to God and God will love you. It worked for them, I guess they thought it would work for me too.However for a time I was whole again. In retrospect it really is amazing what I endured at that age, but a child usually is fairly resilient, they mold things in the view of innocence and no malice. I had none in my heart at that time. Honestly I think that’s the trick for all children. Right and wrong became good and evil, blessing and sin. I was happy to be adored, or what I thought was adoration at that time. I did however miss my mother and my Dad.

I remember spending a fair amount of time at UTZ’s corner store. He sold candy and had few arcade games and some pinball machines. I wasted every dime I ever had there playing Pac man, donkey kong and the like. Swedish fish and root beer barrels were a staple in my diet.

I remember one time I forgot my damn key. I never made it to the bathroom in time and well, I shit myself. Went next door to my aunt Jane’s and uncle Gary’s and asked to use their bathroom where I emphatically tried to clean myself up for 2 hours. After the 3rd knock on the door I opened it and gave up. My poor aunt had to clean up the mess. Soaking wet clothes everywhere I tried to wash with bars of soap water all over the floor. Nice job genius.

One night I slept walk to the bathroom and peed in the trash can, I woke up doing it. I dreamt it was the toilet, I don’t know what was happening exactly. The best I can figure it was the abandonment of my mother, but what for? What did I do to lose her?

It turns out it was what I did not do. Really what I could not do. I could not be a husband.

What I really remember of this year was first laying eyes on my future stepfather. He came out hobbling on crutches because apparently he met my mother in the admissions office where she worked while going in for knee surgery. He climbed into my mother’s mustang and looked at me in the back seat. I’ll never forget his words. “Hi buddy” . I just looked back in shock.. Who the fuck is this guy and why does he want to be my buddy? He’d spend night s over the apartment we lived in. He never interacted with me I was placed in bed before he’d come over. Along came the day my mother just came out and said, “this man George is going to be your new father, because we are getting married. Isn’t that great? God gave you a new dad. ” I said I didn’t want a new dad and I asked her not to marry him,in fact I begged her. You would think it was because of my love and approval for my father, I would too. But there just wasn’t something right him. This did not feel right. It didn’t feel right because I had no say. I feel in retrospect if he really loved my mother he should have courted the both of us.

George was a fucking giant. he stood 6 foot 2 inches and had a physique that would make Arnold Schwarzenegger do a double take. My Dad didn’t fuck around with him, and I am sure my Mom enjoyed the security. I wish for the life of me I could remember this part, but I do not. My Nanny (fathers mother) told me when my dad was in the hospital for the first time, maybe an overdose of alcohol or drugs, George took me to see him, and asked him to let him and mom have the 3rd street house I grew up in. I don’t know if George convinced me to ask him or he just took me up there to prevent a fight or use me as some kind of leverage, but I think at this point my Dad knew all of this was over. He probably felt like he almost lost his life, he totally lost his wife, and now his son. I know what that feels like now, so I know why he never came around. Funny what the mind forgets.

So just like that came the wedding. I was the ring bearer, they were married in the same church my father tried so hard to win my mother back in, I even sat in his chair. However, my mother was happy and her smile made me smile. The adjustment time was kind of blurry. But I don’t remember any more fighting like Dad and Mom used to do,and we did things. All of us together. It felt nice. Church functions, parks, I remember having a lot of fun. Again, a child’s hope. In a short time they bought a house. A big house with too many bedrooms. But I guess we all saw what was coming next.

5 years. Drugs, Booze, Bills, Whores, and Divorce

My first 5 years were the last of my original parents trying to stay together. Fragments in my head mostly. My earliest memories consist of my beagle puppy Amy. I loved that little dog so much. She followed me everywhere, she slept with me at night. She protected me from all the scary noises. The yelling the fighting. Everyone loved that dog. She had a habit of getting pregnant a lot, I also remember her first litter of puppies. I was sad to give them away but I did understand I think. I had a rabbit too for one Easter given to me by my Nanny, my fathers mother. It was white and shit everywhere. It left a trail of shit everywhere it went. Needless to say the rabbit disappeared quickly, probably into a stew. I had a sandbox in the backyard I played in frequently, a small wading pool in the summer. The neighbors were an old retired named the Irmals. They used to give Amy scraps of food and I remember being babysat a few times I think. I had 3 imaginary friends I played with all the time. I never named them just called them what they were. Bear, Bee, and Butterfly. Now that I write and look back maybe more fitting names were Protection, Temperance, and Love. My matchbox cars and my imagination were what I did mostly. My mother used to call me bunky as a nickname. No idea where that came from or why it was so popular for the time.

I remember my dad at night watching chips patrol laying on the couch drinking. I used to always steal his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when I was sitting on the floor near him . I tried to be sneaky about it but I don’t think it was because I was hungry I think it was just because they were his. The last time I did he spiked them with crushed red pepper and I spent an hour under the sink washing my mouth out. He used to have this laugh, it was the kind of laugh that made you laugh. I remember him walking around the house singing to anything or anybody “another one bites the dust” by queen. Just the course, anytime anything warranted it I guess. He loved Mr. bill from Saturday night live. My mother says he didn’t play with me much or at all, I remember so much more. I remember him saying “HERE COMES THE DRILL!!!” and I’d scream as he poked me and tickled the fuck out me going ZZ ZZ loud as he could every time he got me. In my last post I said there was no love from him, my mother said he just didn’t know how. I think she was wrong. For some reason I just don’t remembered my mother doing anything with me although feeding and wiping my ass was sufficient attention in her mind.

I think she worked, and I think she always hated working. I think she wanted to be a kept woman and with all the money my dad was blowing on drugs and alcohol it became fairly scarce.

With all the light above you would have thought everything was dysfunctional but yet normal but, in must come the darkness. The arguments, always about money. Bills not being paid etc.. He just didn’t come home much after that. He was usually drunk when he did. A story I am told goes Mom tried to hide grocery money from him under her pillow one night he put a .357 revolver to her head for it.As a little boy the only physical abuse I ever saw was what happened to me. I remember my mother was taking me to my aunt’s to be looked after and my Dad, drunk of course was so mad he picked me up and threw me in mid air down a long ten foot hallway. I remember him screaming I don’t want him going with that bitch.. I don’t think i was hurt, but I know that was the beginning of the end. My mom would get mad and go away for days sometimes weeks. One day she came home and found another woman in their bed with him. I only remember seeing her too while my mother was screaming. That’s how I lost my family.

My mother tried to move out, my father followed her everywhere. He beat up her boyfriends and I remember one story in particular of one of mothers boyfriends at her job (it was a frozen food factory) running from my father and him locking himself in the freezer to get away from him. He showed up to her job with a baseball bat looking for him. She must have had at least 5 different apartments. I remember the car full of furniture and my mother crying driving around town trying to lose my father following her. He loosened the lug nuts on her mustang tires once but he told her later because he said he didn’t want anything to happen to me. Sometimes I’d see in the middle of all this my father going to our church or even having a bottle of wine with my mother at the house trying to win her back. She said he didn’t know how to love her, but when someone else wanted her he did everything in his power to stop them from taking her. Due to my personality with women over the years I think I would have to agree. It’s an inner implosion of a fond family curse.

The men of my father’s family all felt like they were nothing. They deserved nothing. Maybe because when we were all children we blamed ourselves for everything. I know in my heart somehow, I wanted to fix them. My parents. I wanted to love them and be loved and be happy, go back to the way it was. The guilt of that was my start of my value in life. Then we find love, a warmth of a woman’s touch. The part that is so rare to be reached for men like us. We hoard it, we fight for it, we value it, and through our own self destructive behaviors we destroy it. We know what that feeling did for us, we know it will go to someone less deserving then us.Why less deserving? I still have yet to figure out how all these losers can fuck up and miss and be forgiven but we can’t miss once. Money and/or status perhaps,but that is another story. Now in our rage at the world, the world now has a face. The face of who stole it from us. That person then receives the wrath of all of everyone and everything that made us feel like we are nothing. If not for my personal struggle nothing is what they would ever be. If I gave in to half of my incredible impulses I would not only be a murderer, I would be the most savage murderer ever known. I have never thought of ending a life, in fact their death would sadden me. Everything up to it however, I would revel in it.

Eventually the divorce went final. My father went away. My mother started living in an apartment next to my uncle. I went to kindergarten in a little Christian school in limerick Pennsylvania named limerick chapel. Then my mother got a job at the local hospital at some point. She would come home and tell me all the horrible things my father had done to her in the past, and what a terrible man he was. I was a tiny child being used as a confidant through her divorce. I did not think that was right in retrospect, but not a lot of things my mother did were right at that time ever. Visitation became slower and more scarce from my father. I think he was seeing me to check up on my mother because I remember when he did show up wherever we went it was a party full of drinking and drugs.

I remember going to a mechanics garage and a bunch of people showed up. They tied me to a stool for hours and left. I remember just spinning in the stool thinking it was a game. I was tied to a chair and left there so My dad and his friend could go off and do God knows what. One time we went to a horse farm, he left me there in the barn for hours and I almost got trampled. He would drink and drive everywhere we went. Even after all of that, I never cared I was just glad to see him. I wanted his love.

My uncle Terry was a country boy and the oldest brother, I was lucky enough to meet him at very young age and he after we spent the day together he gave me his hat. I kept that shit-kicker hat even wore it on occasion it kind of looked like the undertaker’s hat in wwe. I do hold that memory pretty tight, in years to come I would help him out a lot more than he ever deserved. As for my Dad I could count maybe 10 visitations he came by and he was turned away from 2 of them by my stepfather for being drunk. But the 8 I had with him, I wish I could say made up for the lifetime he was gone. It did not. Just liquor, whores and drugs, and me the bastard son.

So it begins….

I don’t remember my exact time, or my birth weight. I used to.

I know my middle name was specially selected by my mother so I would not be a junior. Evidently she knew then what kind of man he was. At around this time he was running with a biker gang called the warlocks and heavily addicted to speed. He also associated with the local Italians who dealt with just about anything from drugs to guns to murder. I guess his early life was a lot like the Sons of Anarchy show. He spent a lot of time with his brother Randy partying at houses, parks, hunting cabins, and anywhere there was one I suppose.

My mother however was in process of being converted by my uncle Gary (One of her blood brothers)with the rest of her family from Catholicism to Christianity. A fundamentalist sect called the Plymouth brethren. She realized she didn’t want the bad man anymore, she wanted a good Christian man. My dad of course was never going to conform to this, he did not and would not stop for anyone. Bull headed my family called it.

I know I was born loved, I know from my baby pictures and so many of them I was loved. My father however, was not capable of giving me any of that love. I learned many years later my father had major love and intimacy issues. I realize in retrospect when I did eventually live with him why we never got close, or hugged. We never even said we loved each other. I think that came from his father.

I can imagine every way it possibly could have went, but its not so much the event, it was all a means of what was to come. The only thing I can tell you for sure that was learned on this night is having a child will never save a marriage. Forcing a marriage over an accidental pregnancy will never make anything any better. The retrospect of this confirmed my future beliefs in abortion. It was not the best of situations, certainly not the worst. But as I know now, I would pay heavily for the price their choices all through my life.

No song to mark this moment, no retrospect of a fond existence and how it was worth it,just Happy birthday, or Fuck You. Either way works.

“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.