How long do you have fruitless dreams? How many disappointments do you endure? I suppose as many as you live to see.
From the moment I was forming my own thoughts, I never doubted there was a God. As my life was riddled with misfortune and every endeavor shredded to pieces, I sought a higher power to get me through.
Every Sunday without fail, you would find me at church growing up. It was a small church in a small town; majority black folk...Methodist. If you read the central core story of this blog, you know that it was within walking distance. There was another church down the street, but people spoke ill of it especially after the pastor put speakers outside that spewed his words that everyone not attending his church was going to hell.
Of course, being a child I grew bored quickly with the main sermon delivered at my church. I did enjoy the music and passing notes with my cousins. I loved church. I loved the building. I loved the routine. This began to change the year of my a-mom's funeral. As I cried and suffered, I still "called on the Lord". I had no one to turn to. My a-family did not excel in talking through issues with their children. My Aunt Pam came the closest, but even then...
Nope. Often, it was just me and God. In fact, the times I've tried to commit suicide, I looked forward to meeting the divine entity that controlled existence.
I left Texas and once I settled in Tulsa, I tried to attend a few churches. I kept my interest in men to myself because I was/am a private person (and a little bit of fear of reaction). I made a really "good friend" through work, who invited me to attend her church. I think they were called "Rema" or something like that. She was as sweet as she could be, until she found out that I dated men. Then she ditched me.
My attitude towards "Christians" continued to dwindle. I had every confidence in what a Christian was supposed to be, but had a difficult time finding anyone that supported my belief. I never gave up on God, though. For 15 years, I visited churches that were warm as ice sculptures. I was terribly shy, but figured church would be the one place where people would embrace you...especially as a new comer. What a disappointment. Yet then, I knew that these churches were off base and that God was right even if the churches were not.
I prayed for my family, even when I wasn't talking to them. I prayed for my future, for guidance. It didn't matter what environment I lived in, who I was with, or what I was going through. I was introduced to that famous phrase though; "God always answers prayers. It's just that sometimes the answer is no."
For some reason, around 2009, I felt myself weaken. I just grew tired of "keeping the faith" and "meeting heartache after heartache". When I prayed, God's answer always seemed to be "no". Then, I was told I wasn't praying "correctly". I have been told I'm going to hell no matter what I do. People have spent years vomiting the same cop out response that everything happens for a reason. The more I heard "Christians" talk about God, the more skeptical I became. It all just seemed like they had an answer for everything (whether it made sense or not).
What I came to believe is that IF God is real, he can't be pulling strings in our life to make "something happen for a reason" because we are all given free will. If we have free will, then he wouldn't be doing anything to influence us, right? That's just an example of where my thinking was going.
Now, don't get me wrong...I think everyone is entitled to believe what they want. As I once wrote in one of my movie scripts "We all are on different journeys, trying to reach the same destination." (or something like that). I think it is better to believe in something if it gets you through life, brings you comfort, and isn't hurting anyone else.
My point in all this is that life has been cruel to me. I have also been very lucky. In each moment, I believed in God, with all of my heart and Jesus was my only constant friend. Yet, the more I sought him in churches and rubbed elbows with the "righteous", the weaker the thread between me and HIM became. Well, except for one church...
It was/is an unusual church that promoted itself as an open door church that was for those who felt as if they didn't fit in at other churches. I was in awe the first time I attended a service there. They put on a little mini-southern rock-style concert (which was heaven) including smoke and light show, followed by a passionate and seemingly genuine service that was displayed on a big projector. The people were simple, worked hard, and didn't judge or ask. We were only there for the Lord.
I left that church too...for many reasons. In the end, I saw changes taking place that removed what I had found so endearing. People that I had grown to really care for were leaving and I have an uncanny ability to assess people. I can meet them once and get an inner "green" or "red light" for what kind of character they are. The congregation as a whole are wonderful people, but between the changes it was going through, changes I was going through (including a 10 year relationship that ended supposedly over God)...I could not return.
Where am I now? Nowhere. I sought God for 30 years, working hard to have a relationship...to now be left with something of an empty heart. Make no mistake. I hope he is real. I hope that the void will close and I'll find the kind of nirvana that I've only experienced once or twice in a few years.
If you believe in God, I would like to recommend that you sincerely think about Him and embrace whatever good you feel in your spirituality. If you don't believe in God, don't pick on or ridicule those that do...no matter how you feel they treat others. It isn't your place to convince them of anything. Like every group, there are good and bad members. Plus, you didn't make the hypocritical ones assholes, and you most likely won't change them.
Good night.
17 February 2011
14 February 2011
Cupid Involved In Drive-by Shooting...Story at 10.
love (noun) - a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend
I am not one to talk about love or my personal life with others. I am a private person. My brother Joe says I'm too private. So, I'm going to take a chance and open up about love, domestic violence, and relationships. Now, before I go any further, let me assure those of you that are homophobic, uncomfortable with gay related subject matter, or anyone with a g-rated mentality, that I will NOT be getting into any inappropriate details. It will be nothing that I wouldn't share with my mother or yours. In fact, if you are hesitant, I encourage you to push ahead and read the rest of this blog.
RECAP: A-mom passed away. Brothers are scattered over Texas and I have lost contact. I have moved from Texas to Tulsa, OK. I moved in with a controlling, disgusting, roommate.
So, in my effort to curb lonliness, I used the safest means I had to finding someone to love. Being young and gay in the 90's, you couldn't just walk up to someone and ask for thier number the same way you would if you were straight. You might get slugged or shot. So, I used a phone dating service.
Not long after entering my information, I came in contact with a man named Darren. I was about 19 or so. He was 30. He lived in a very small southern Oklahoma town. We talked every day, sometimes twice a day. The conversation was great; music, jokes, a little of our history. That's really it was all about. We enjoyed talking to each other.
I quickly decided to go visit him. He offered to buy me a greyhound bus ticket. Yes, now I see the stupidity of going hours away from anyone I knew to spend the weekend with a stranger. However, the moment I saw him, I thought...what a nerd! (Fortunately, I like nerds) He had limbs like Popeye, and eyes like a child. Not a model, but Darren gave off the most warm and loving aura.
Those two days it was like I was in jr high again. We just laughed the whole weekend. When time came for me to go back to Tulsa, we hung out at the park and cried until the bus came. We connected faster than any stranger I had ever come in contact with. Before I got on the bus, he said "Move in with me." I think I looked at him like he was crazy.
So, two weeks later, I quit my job and moved to this ridiculously small town. I was this lanky young adult, new to the world and was moving to the town of Atoka. Darren was on disability, but had a part time job at the library. He did not want me to work...so I didn't. I had always kept a job since leaving Texas. Unemployment was new. He was innoccent, took care of me, and showed nothing but love...until...
One night, I was asleep and I heard this crash in the living room. I got up and realized that Darren must be in the living room. I walked out of the bedroom and saw Darrn on the floor, phone reciever in hand, and coffee table overturned. He was sitting there trying to put the phone on the table, though the table was on its side. His eyes looked sleepy and his hands were uncoordinated. I stared at him, frightened. I eventually forced myself to go in. I asked "Darren, what's wrong?" tears in my eyes. He slowly turned his head to me and held the phone out to me, as a toddler would offer you something. I helped him to bed, cleaned up the living room, and went to the bedroom. I did not sleep.
The next morning I asked him what was going on. He explained that he took medication to help with something or other and sometimes it made him a little loopy. I accepted that answer and didn't think any more of it.
As time went on, Darren started displaying "Dr. Jekyll / Mr. Hyde" type behavior. One moment he was sweet and loving, almost to the point of needing to be cared for. Then, he would lash out and not make any sense. By the next day, he was apologizing. He passed it off as bi-polor disorder and said part of his medicine was for that. I knew little of mental disorders, but I wasn't as inclined to subscribe to the fact that the meds made him act so strangely. We argued on and off, usually with him apologizing the next day. The fighting became more common until one day he grabbed my arm when I tried to leave. It hurt.
For the next 2 years, Darren and I would have this on again, off again relationship that built to a few occassions of him getting physically abusive. Once in a bar, to the point the bartender had to intervene. Another time, he shoved me with both hands as I was about to descend a flight of metal stairs. Always after he had popped a few pills...sometimes washed down with booze. His addiction increased. I eventually learned that he was writing his own prescriptions. He would steal pads from doctor's offices and (thanks to his early studies to become a pharmacist) write out whatever he wanted. He got away with it too. I spent at least 6 seperate nights in the hospital because of his overdosing. Each time, he told me it was because he couldn't live without me.
In the middle of my "Darren Years", I met Robby. Robby was a young, beautiful man, as sweet as southern tea, who was actually supposed to be meeting and dating Darren (during our longest hiatus). As things turned out, Robby and I spent roughly 6 months together after Robby wrote me a letter nervously confessing his growing feelings for me. I grew to truly love Robby. He was just who I needed at the time. He was one of two relationships I've ever been in that showed any sympathy for everything I had gone through and one of the only boyfriends that made me feel as if I were worth something. So what happened?
Darren happened. A psychotic roommate happened. Our youth and inexperience, not having a car, and a few self-righteous friends happened. With Robby, I felt as if the building debris of drama surrounding me was bringing down this bright ball of light. I decided to let him go. My life was an embarassing mess and I cared about him enough to let him go.
I cried and sunk into a deep depression. I moved out of my psycho roommates home and in with Darren and about 7 drag queens (proof that I was hitting rock bottom). Darren still pursued me. I have no doubt that he loved me...well, the good Darren did. The pill-popping Darren hated himself more than he loved me. This was where I lived when he tried to push me down a flight of stairs. For a moment, I saw me snapping my neck on those steps. It was too much; living with Darren, losing Robby, missing my family, feelings alone, hating my job...
One rare day, while all of the drag queens and Darren were out of the apartment, I took a handful of pills...asprin, diabetic meds, etc....whatever was in the house. Darren came home and found out what I had done. He screamed at me in anger. How ironic. All the overdoses he had done and how I had stood by his side, but I had done the same and he was so angry he wanted nothing to do with me. Analyzing it now? I think it made him think of the part of himself that he hated...so I became who he hated.
I was given a choice at the hospital. I could either be arrested and committed to a mental health fascility or commit myself. I was defeated. I went along with it. I had to spend two weeks locked away from the world. The one time I called Darren, he cussed me out and hung up on me...even told his roommates I had stolen a missing phone card. That place was...like a resort. I don't think they helped anybody...but the peace was nice and I had time to think about my predicament.
When I got out, I tried to get back together with Robby, but he was smart enough to decline. Our time had passed, I guess. I poured my heart into a letter, which he politely and gently returned without reading. He included a letter explaining. It hurt at the time, but upon reflection it really was a mature decision on his part.
Darren and I did get back together. It was "okay" for awhile. He really tried, I think. Addiction doesn't let go easily, though. He followed me around and would call and threaten to kill anyone who talked to me or went out with me. I got home after being made aware of this fact, by a rattled young bouncer who had given me his number.
Darren and I were living together because he had nowhere else to go...and I didn't like being alone. That night I got home and confronted him about the calls. It blew into a screaming fit. This escalated into a punch being thrown. I had enough. We began to exchange one blow after another. He backed down and I left the apartment.
The next morning, Darren had overdosed again. This time, he went onto life support. I sat with him at the hospital as much as I could. Our landlord and I had a long talk about everything that happened. She allowed me to remain, but Darren was not allowed back. It was a wise move on her part. That was the first break in our unhealthy relationship.
He eventually got arrested again, for forging a prescription. I visited him at the holding cell. I told him that I loved him, but that we were only hurting each other. That was the last time I saw him.
A few years ago, I tried to look him up on the internet and found out that he had passed away. He was finally at peace.
From Robby, I learned what a relationship could be...the potential for dates in the future. I do not compare others to him, but keep my mind open for how great one could be. From Darren, I learned to stand up for myself. I learned about unconditional love. I also learned that loving someone does not mean that you belong together. You can love people without having them in your life. Darren was just another amazingly wonderful person who was dealing with his own curse, like a werewolf fighting a split identity. His curse and my curse was killing us...so I left him, to save myself.
It's bittersweet to some, but I feel nothing but love when I think of them. That's why I chose to write about this time in my life.
Happy Valentine's Day.
I am not one to talk about love or my personal life with others. I am a private person. My brother Joe says I'm too private. So, I'm going to take a chance and open up about love, domestic violence, and relationships. Now, before I go any further, let me assure those of you that are homophobic, uncomfortable with gay related subject matter, or anyone with a g-rated mentality, that I will NOT be getting into any inappropriate details. It will be nothing that I wouldn't share with my mother or yours. In fact, if you are hesitant, I encourage you to push ahead and read the rest of this blog.
RECAP: A-mom passed away. Brothers are scattered over Texas and I have lost contact. I have moved from Texas to Tulsa, OK. I moved in with a controlling, disgusting, roommate.
So, in my effort to curb lonliness, I used the safest means I had to finding someone to love. Being young and gay in the 90's, you couldn't just walk up to someone and ask for thier number the same way you would if you were straight. You might get slugged or shot. So, I used a phone dating service.
Not long after entering my information, I came in contact with a man named Darren. I was about 19 or so. He was 30. He lived in a very small southern Oklahoma town. We talked every day, sometimes twice a day. The conversation was great; music, jokes, a little of our history. That's really it was all about. We enjoyed talking to each other.
I quickly decided to go visit him. He offered to buy me a greyhound bus ticket. Yes, now I see the stupidity of going hours away from anyone I knew to spend the weekend with a stranger. However, the moment I saw him, I thought...what a nerd! (Fortunately, I like nerds) He had limbs like Popeye, and eyes like a child. Not a model, but Darren gave off the most warm and loving aura.
Those two days it was like I was in jr high again. We just laughed the whole weekend. When time came for me to go back to Tulsa, we hung out at the park and cried until the bus came. We connected faster than any stranger I had ever come in contact with. Before I got on the bus, he said "Move in with me." I think I looked at him like he was crazy.
So, two weeks later, I quit my job and moved to this ridiculously small town. I was this lanky young adult, new to the world and was moving to the town of Atoka. Darren was on disability, but had a part time job at the library. He did not want me to work...so I didn't. I had always kept a job since leaving Texas. Unemployment was new. He was innoccent, took care of me, and showed nothing but love...until...
One night, I was asleep and I heard this crash in the living room. I got up and realized that Darren must be in the living room. I walked out of the bedroom and saw Darrn on the floor, phone reciever in hand, and coffee table overturned. He was sitting there trying to put the phone on the table, though the table was on its side. His eyes looked sleepy and his hands were uncoordinated. I stared at him, frightened. I eventually forced myself to go in. I asked "Darren, what's wrong?" tears in my eyes. He slowly turned his head to me and held the phone out to me, as a toddler would offer you something. I helped him to bed, cleaned up the living room, and went to the bedroom. I did not sleep.
The next morning I asked him what was going on. He explained that he took medication to help with something or other and sometimes it made him a little loopy. I accepted that answer and didn't think any more of it.
As time went on, Darren started displaying "Dr. Jekyll / Mr. Hyde" type behavior. One moment he was sweet and loving, almost to the point of needing to be cared for. Then, he would lash out and not make any sense. By the next day, he was apologizing. He passed it off as bi-polor disorder and said part of his medicine was for that. I knew little of mental disorders, but I wasn't as inclined to subscribe to the fact that the meds made him act so strangely. We argued on and off, usually with him apologizing the next day. The fighting became more common until one day he grabbed my arm when I tried to leave. It hurt.
For the next 2 years, Darren and I would have this on again, off again relationship that built to a few occassions of him getting physically abusive. Once in a bar, to the point the bartender had to intervene. Another time, he shoved me with both hands as I was about to descend a flight of metal stairs. Always after he had popped a few pills...sometimes washed down with booze. His addiction increased. I eventually learned that he was writing his own prescriptions. He would steal pads from doctor's offices and (thanks to his early studies to become a pharmacist) write out whatever he wanted. He got away with it too. I spent at least 6 seperate nights in the hospital because of his overdosing. Each time, he told me it was because he couldn't live without me.
In the middle of my "Darren Years", I met Robby. Robby was a young, beautiful man, as sweet as southern tea, who was actually supposed to be meeting and dating Darren (during our longest hiatus). As things turned out, Robby and I spent roughly 6 months together after Robby wrote me a letter nervously confessing his growing feelings for me. I grew to truly love Robby. He was just who I needed at the time. He was one of two relationships I've ever been in that showed any sympathy for everything I had gone through and one of the only boyfriends that made me feel as if I were worth something. So what happened?
Darren happened. A psychotic roommate happened. Our youth and inexperience, not having a car, and a few self-righteous friends happened. With Robby, I felt as if the building debris of drama surrounding me was bringing down this bright ball of light. I decided to let him go. My life was an embarassing mess and I cared about him enough to let him go.
I cried and sunk into a deep depression. I moved out of my psycho roommates home and in with Darren and about 7 drag queens (proof that I was hitting rock bottom). Darren still pursued me. I have no doubt that he loved me...well, the good Darren did. The pill-popping Darren hated himself more than he loved me. This was where I lived when he tried to push me down a flight of stairs. For a moment, I saw me snapping my neck on those steps. It was too much; living with Darren, losing Robby, missing my family, feelings alone, hating my job...
One rare day, while all of the drag queens and Darren were out of the apartment, I took a handful of pills...asprin, diabetic meds, etc....whatever was in the house. Darren came home and found out what I had done. He screamed at me in anger. How ironic. All the overdoses he had done and how I had stood by his side, but I had done the same and he was so angry he wanted nothing to do with me. Analyzing it now? I think it made him think of the part of himself that he hated...so I became who he hated.
I was given a choice at the hospital. I could either be arrested and committed to a mental health fascility or commit myself. I was defeated. I went along with it. I had to spend two weeks locked away from the world. The one time I called Darren, he cussed me out and hung up on me...even told his roommates I had stolen a missing phone card. That place was...like a resort. I don't think they helped anybody...but the peace was nice and I had time to think about my predicament.
When I got out, I tried to get back together with Robby, but he was smart enough to decline. Our time had passed, I guess. I poured my heart into a letter, which he politely and gently returned without reading. He included a letter explaining. It hurt at the time, but upon reflection it really was a mature decision on his part.
Darren and I did get back together. It was "okay" for awhile. He really tried, I think. Addiction doesn't let go easily, though. He followed me around and would call and threaten to kill anyone who talked to me or went out with me. I got home after being made aware of this fact, by a rattled young bouncer who had given me his number.
Darren and I were living together because he had nowhere else to go...and I didn't like being alone. That night I got home and confronted him about the calls. It blew into a screaming fit. This escalated into a punch being thrown. I had enough. We began to exchange one blow after another. He backed down and I left the apartment.
The next morning, Darren had overdosed again. This time, he went onto life support. I sat with him at the hospital as much as I could. Our landlord and I had a long talk about everything that happened. She allowed me to remain, but Darren was not allowed back. It was a wise move on her part. That was the first break in our unhealthy relationship.
He eventually got arrested again, for forging a prescription. I visited him at the holding cell. I told him that I loved him, but that we were only hurting each other. That was the last time I saw him.
A few years ago, I tried to look him up on the internet and found out that he had passed away. He was finally at peace.
From Robby, I learned what a relationship could be...the potential for dates in the future. I do not compare others to him, but keep my mind open for how great one could be. From Darren, I learned to stand up for myself. I learned about unconditional love. I also learned that loving someone does not mean that you belong together. You can love people without having them in your life. Darren was just another amazingly wonderful person who was dealing with his own curse, like a werewolf fighting a split identity. His curse and my curse was killing us...so I left him, to save myself.
It's bittersweet to some, but I feel nothing but love when I think of them. That's why I chose to write about this time in my life.
Happy Valentine's Day.
10 February 2011
Me?
We are who we feel most comfortable being, usually catered to who we have found ourselves to be most comfortable around.
I'm going to stray from all the heavy topics that we have been covering. Instead, I'm going to simply share some of my favorites.
Favorite Video Game; Anyone that truly knows me, knows that my favorite video game is Final Fantasy (in particular Final Fantasy VII). I own almost every FF game, which there are 13 (not including the spin-offs and special games). I like it because the truly good ones (like 3, 7, and to a lesser extent 10) encompasses everything. It's funny, scary, romantic, action-packed. It almost always kept to the top of the list with its graphics and gameplay. The characters were far deeper and stories much richer than any other game series in existence.
Favorite Animated TV Show: It used to be the Simpsons, without hesitation. I mean...they've been on the air longer than any other show (animated or live-action). Still, these days they seem to recycle jokes and the characters haven't grown. So, I have to choose Groening's other popular show, Futurama. I find it edgy and funny enough, without being desperate like Family Guy.
Favorite Pizza : Hawaiin w/ onion. It covers all of the food groups.
Favorite Moment: My happiest moment was doing the children's show at the Gaslight Theatre in Enid. I have done more difficult roles, more complex shows, and performed in front of larger audiences. Still, nothing is more rewarding than capturing a child's attention. They are so honest that if they like you, you can trust it without ulterior motive. When I've seen soo many unhappy children, looking in thier faces after performing Jack & The Beanstalk was stellar.
Favorite Horror Movie: Tough, but I still have to go with the original Halloween, by John Carpenter. Watching it, growing up I was terrified. There was little/no gore, but the suspense, tension, and genuine concern for the lead heroine was all I needed. Jamie Lee Curtis became a star because of that movie and I was an instant fan of the series.
Favorite Action Film: Tough...because early on I didn't enjoy the "mainstream" action films such as "Rambo" and "Die Hard". There was the two exceptions; Chuck Norris's "Silent Rage" and anything with China O'Brien. These days I like heroes who can perform amazing (unrealistic) feats. So, with that in mind...I'd have to go with Kill Bill. You TOTALLY understood that characters motivation and could almost think she'd have enough rage and frustration to wipe out literally 100's of people...single handedly. It was full and satisfying.
Favorite Band: Bedlight For Blue Eyes. A friend of mine left a copy of thier album at my house and I fell in love. His voice was strong and powerful, the band was solid, lyrics tight...etc. They are no longer together but they left me enough with one album.
I think that's all I have for tonight.
I'm going to stray from all the heavy topics that we have been covering. Instead, I'm going to simply share some of my favorites.
Favorite Video Game; Anyone that truly knows me, knows that my favorite video game is Final Fantasy (in particular Final Fantasy VII). I own almost every FF game, which there are 13 (not including the spin-offs and special games). I like it because the truly good ones (like 3, 7, and to a lesser extent 10) encompasses everything. It's funny, scary, romantic, action-packed. It almost always kept to the top of the list with its graphics and gameplay. The characters were far deeper and stories much richer than any other game series in existence.
Favorite Animated TV Show: It used to be the Simpsons, without hesitation. I mean...they've been on the air longer than any other show (animated or live-action). Still, these days they seem to recycle jokes and the characters haven't grown. So, I have to choose Groening's other popular show, Futurama. I find it edgy and funny enough, without being desperate like Family Guy.
Favorite Pizza : Hawaiin w/ onion. It covers all of the food groups.
Favorite Moment: My happiest moment was doing the children's show at the Gaslight Theatre in Enid. I have done more difficult roles, more complex shows, and performed in front of larger audiences. Still, nothing is more rewarding than capturing a child's attention. They are so honest that if they like you, you can trust it without ulterior motive. When I've seen soo many unhappy children, looking in thier faces after performing Jack & The Beanstalk was stellar.
Favorite Horror Movie: Tough, but I still have to go with the original Halloween, by John Carpenter. Watching it, growing up I was terrified. There was little/no gore, but the suspense, tension, and genuine concern for the lead heroine was all I needed. Jamie Lee Curtis became a star because of that movie and I was an instant fan of the series.
Favorite Action Film: Tough...because early on I didn't enjoy the "mainstream" action films such as "Rambo" and "Die Hard". There was the two exceptions; Chuck Norris's "Silent Rage" and anything with China O'Brien. These days I like heroes who can perform amazing (unrealistic) feats. So, with that in mind...I'd have to go with Kill Bill. You TOTALLY understood that characters motivation and could almost think she'd have enough rage and frustration to wipe out literally 100's of people...single handedly. It was full and satisfying.
Favorite Band: Bedlight For Blue Eyes. A friend of mine left a copy of thier album at my house and I fell in love. His voice was strong and powerful, the band was solid, lyrics tight...etc. They are no longer together but they left me enough with one album.
I think that's all I have for tonight.
08 February 2011
Every Yellow Brick Road Is Rocky
No matter what we think, we are TAUGHT to love. It is not what we are told, but what we see that gives those lessons.
So, the year is 1992; one of two years that this blog centers around (the other being '79, the year my b-mom was killed). My brother has opened the door to a huge secret of my heritage. In most stories, that would probably be the "happy ending". Brothers are reunited, truths have been revealed, and an end to the life I knew. What do you think happened then? Me, Joe, and Scott began our loving relationship as family? Not quite.
The week Joe came to town, he got to spend the week with me (see previous post). I think it was sad that we had to beg my a-mom for this "favor". Hesitantly, she allowed him to stay. The first night, we were up late. We laughed and talked until the wee hours. My a-mom barged in and threatened to send him back to Dallas, if we didn't keep it down. She was not above using guilt or threats as a way of expression.
That same year is the year my a-mom passed away. Joe moved down (I later found out that my a-dad had called him and asked for help with me because he was worried about my welfare).
When Joe moved in, I was estatic...for about 10 min. Joe hit the streets with a vengance, meeting everyone in the neighborhood (especially the women). He had wanted me to go running with him, but I was different. I can't blame it on how I was raised, or just being gay. I was simply a kid who went to church every Sunday, pressed to be perfect by my a-mom. My morale compass was working overtime, while Joe's seemed to be broken. I was furious with him. I had lost around 12 or 13 years with him and was insistant on catching up on lost time.
The thing I did not realize about Joe until now, is that he had one goal almost his entire life; to find me. It was not about catching up, re-hashing the past, or any of that. He was a 17 year old teenager, who had lost so much and lived a less than charmed life. It was simply about having his brothers in his life.Once he did, everything else was straight in his world.
For me, it was all about grasping the fact that I had a brother and getting used to him...hell, getting used to any of this being real. I was trying to bond and get to know him. I was a serious and mature kid (for my age anyway). I was standing at a fish bowl that was this other life, tapping on the glass. Joe was swimming around oblivous to much. I had this new life waiting; controlling, but loving mother passed away and a new set of brothers.
There was one or two occassions that we made plans, but he didn't show due to hanging out with one girl or another. That was the kind of crap I had gone through with my a-brother (adopted), Willie. I spent my entire life with him making promises that he did not keep.
It happened one too many times and along with the secret that I was "gay", the loss of my mom, the mental decent of my father, the family falling apart...blah, blah, blah...I had a nervous breakdown. I was in my room when I began crying. It built into me getting physical with the furniture. I grabbed pictures and books and threw them. I took the drawers out of my dresser and flung them (with contents). I took scissors to a few stuffed animals. The room was a wreck. I fell asleep in the middle of it all.
I eventually got up and went to the kitchen. That's where I was when Joe came home and found the destruction. I remember his voice and tone when he came into the room. "Chris! What happened to your room?" I refused to answer, at first.
That was the start of one of many explosive arguments. Joe tried. He really did. I tried, too. We needed more help, though...to cope with everything that had happened and to cope with each other.
At one point, we added Scott to the mix (see "Perfect Weather For A Kidnapping" blog). Scott and Joe already had a relationship. Though they didn't see each other THAT much, they knew of each other and had spent time as brothers. So, when Scott came, I was just that much more of the odd man out. There was constant fighting, it seemed. Joe was chasing "love" from the girls in town. Scott wasn't thinking for himself, because Joe was thinking for him. Then, there was me. I was afraid of what they were doing to my home, the guy that killed mom, and life without my a-mom's guidance. Even the very night that Scott came to my house, we fought. Joe had friends over and they began to harass and make fun of the guy that brought us from Dallas. I was furious. This guy had rescued Scott, in my mind, from his grandmother. He deserved thanks. (Maybe Joe will share the details of "Brother Bob"...maybe he won't). Point is, our first night together was as special as a natural disaster.
We got Scott in school, made space for him in one of the bedrooms, and thus set off the six month, testosterone fest that was my house. Yet, the illusion of building this life with my brothers was destroyed. See, we had stolen my brother from Dallas...from our grandmother, who threatened to blow my brains out with a shotgun for taking Scott. She proceeded to tell me how I had no family in Dallas, no one wanted me around, and that I was only a bad memory of my b-mom, her daughter, Judy. Not long after that, she came with the police. I looked to my a-dad, and he said there was nothing he could do right then. He wasn't an aggressive man anyway, but I think he would have helped if he could have. I was crushed.
Not long after that, Joe left. I was alone. I was losing everything I loved; mom's to death, dad to his own depression (will cover later), Scott to grandma BJ, and Joe to our inability to find peace.
It was going to be a LONG road to reunification.
So, the year is 1992; one of two years that this blog centers around (the other being '79, the year my b-mom was killed). My brother has opened the door to a huge secret of my heritage. In most stories, that would probably be the "happy ending". Brothers are reunited, truths have been revealed, and an end to the life I knew. What do you think happened then? Me, Joe, and Scott began our loving relationship as family? Not quite.
The week Joe came to town, he got to spend the week with me (see previous post). I think it was sad that we had to beg my a-mom for this "favor". Hesitantly, she allowed him to stay. The first night, we were up late. We laughed and talked until the wee hours. My a-mom barged in and threatened to send him back to Dallas, if we didn't keep it down. She was not above using guilt or threats as a way of expression.
That same year is the year my a-mom passed away. Joe moved down (I later found out that my a-dad had called him and asked for help with me because he was worried about my welfare).
When Joe moved in, I was estatic...for about 10 min. Joe hit the streets with a vengance, meeting everyone in the neighborhood (especially the women). He had wanted me to go running with him, but I was different. I can't blame it on how I was raised, or just being gay. I was simply a kid who went to church every Sunday, pressed to be perfect by my a-mom. My morale compass was working overtime, while Joe's seemed to be broken. I was furious with him. I had lost around 12 or 13 years with him and was insistant on catching up on lost time.
The thing I did not realize about Joe until now, is that he had one goal almost his entire life; to find me. It was not about catching up, re-hashing the past, or any of that. He was a 17 year old teenager, who had lost so much and lived a less than charmed life. It was simply about having his brothers in his life.Once he did, everything else was straight in his world.
For me, it was all about grasping the fact that I had a brother and getting used to him...hell, getting used to any of this being real. I was trying to bond and get to know him. I was a serious and mature kid (for my age anyway). I was standing at a fish bowl that was this other life, tapping on the glass. Joe was swimming around oblivous to much. I had this new life waiting; controlling, but loving mother passed away and a new set of brothers.
There was one or two occassions that we made plans, but he didn't show due to hanging out with one girl or another. That was the kind of crap I had gone through with my a-brother (adopted), Willie. I spent my entire life with him making promises that he did not keep.
It happened one too many times and along with the secret that I was "gay", the loss of my mom, the mental decent of my father, the family falling apart...blah, blah, blah...I had a nervous breakdown. I was in my room when I began crying. It built into me getting physical with the furniture. I grabbed pictures and books and threw them. I took the drawers out of my dresser and flung them (with contents). I took scissors to a few stuffed animals. The room was a wreck. I fell asleep in the middle of it all.
I eventually got up and went to the kitchen. That's where I was when Joe came home and found the destruction. I remember his voice and tone when he came into the room. "Chris! What happened to your room?" I refused to answer, at first.
That was the start of one of many explosive arguments. Joe tried. He really did. I tried, too. We needed more help, though...to cope with everything that had happened and to cope with each other.
At one point, we added Scott to the mix (see "Perfect Weather For A Kidnapping" blog). Scott and Joe already had a relationship. Though they didn't see each other THAT much, they knew of each other and had spent time as brothers. So, when Scott came, I was just that much more of the odd man out. There was constant fighting, it seemed. Joe was chasing "love" from the girls in town. Scott wasn't thinking for himself, because Joe was thinking for him. Then, there was me. I was afraid of what they were doing to my home, the guy that killed mom, and life without my a-mom's guidance. Even the very night that Scott came to my house, we fought. Joe had friends over and they began to harass and make fun of the guy that brought us from Dallas. I was furious. This guy had rescued Scott, in my mind, from his grandmother. He deserved thanks. (Maybe Joe will share the details of "Brother Bob"...maybe he won't). Point is, our first night together was as special as a natural disaster.
We got Scott in school, made space for him in one of the bedrooms, and thus set off the six month, testosterone fest that was my house. Yet, the illusion of building this life with my brothers was destroyed. See, we had stolen my brother from Dallas...from our grandmother, who threatened to blow my brains out with a shotgun for taking Scott. She proceeded to tell me how I had no family in Dallas, no one wanted me around, and that I was only a bad memory of my b-mom, her daughter, Judy. Not long after that, she came with the police. I looked to my a-dad, and he said there was nothing he could do right then. He wasn't an aggressive man anyway, but I think he would have helped if he could have. I was crushed.
Not long after that, Joe left. I was alone. I was losing everything I loved; mom's to death, dad to his own depression (will cover later), Scott to grandma BJ, and Joe to our inability to find peace.
It was going to be a LONG road to reunification.
07 February 2011
Is This Yours?
You hug a friend, then you're a good friend. You hug a stranger, then you're a good person.
As we've covered, my brother and I were left with strangers. There was really no connection. My a-parents (adopted) were recommended to my b-mom (bio-mom) by a friend. Truth be told, a small part of me felt that dis-connect. In addition, I had a much lighter skin tone than everyone else in my family. They were obviously black. I was like a vanilla mocha drink (my friend once called me "Buttered Toast"). You'd think I would question the skin discrepencey, but I assumed it was a genetic fluke or something.
Now, also because my a-parents feared my bio-family kidnapping me and an escaped killer on the loose, I was not allowed out of her sight very often. I was rarely let outside to play in the front yard alone. I eventually quit asking. No friends from school ever came over while she was alive (I was scared and embarrassed of her screaming at me in front of them or putting me down). I never spent the night with anyone other than adopted family. If I did go outside, I had to come in every 10 minutes to let her know I was okay. This is no exaggeration.
My family did not talk about sex...at all...ever. Anything related to sex was not only taboo, but the consequences for saying anything or looking at anything sexual was a good whipping. There were one or two occassions where my a-parents asked about me having a girlfriend, but there was never any discussion.
I was a weird, awkward, and socially inexperienced child who turned into a weird, awkward, and socially inexperienced teen, with no guide for human interaction other than television.
At school, I was picked on, made fun of, and bullied. Once a kid asked me, laughing the entire time, "What's wrong with you? Did your dad molest you or something?" I was stunned. I think THAT was the moment I began to learn the extent of other people's cruelty.
I went through a brief stage of bullying, but mostly I was a punching bag for almost everyone in my life. At home, my female cousin bossed me around, when my mom wasn't. My adopted grandmother treated me different than her other grandchildren.
For example, she had a candy shop in her house. All the people in the neighborhood would come and buy candy, soda, chips, pickles. On the weekends, for several years, they even took orders for hamburgers. Well, my cousins would freely take things from the store. When I asked, I had to pay for it. Years later, I would theorize that she was racist and treated me different because she knew I was part white. This was re-enforced by her standard first question when someone shared a story about a person she didn't know; "What color was he/she?"
No matter where I was, I fell short.
When Joe found me and I became acquainted with my bio-family, I felt more disconnected from the family I grew up with and had not connected with my long lost family. I fled Texas.
In essence, I think caused me to become a high-maintanence individual. I don't need material things at all, but it takes a lot for me to feel wanted by people. I often made up ulterior motives for why people invited me somewhere or called me. I think people love me. It's just hard to form the ties that make me feel that they wanted me around.
On the flip side, I have spent SO much time alone in my life that I...well....Let me put it this way; you know how cats can be very affectionate and loving, but once you give them too much loving they either run away from you and hide under the furniture or scratch you? Yeah, that's how I am.
Age is a wonderful thing though. Your insecurities may still be there, but you get to tired to dwell on them. You have less energy to devote to paranoia. I can't wait until I reach the age where I'm sitting in a nursing home, throwing my food, walking around pantless, and basically losing all ability to care what other people think.
As we've covered, my brother and I were left with strangers. There was really no connection. My a-parents (adopted) were recommended to my b-mom (bio-mom) by a friend. Truth be told, a small part of me felt that dis-connect. In addition, I had a much lighter skin tone than everyone else in my family. They were obviously black. I was like a vanilla mocha drink (my friend once called me "Buttered Toast"). You'd think I would question the skin discrepencey, but I assumed it was a genetic fluke or something.
Now, also because my a-parents feared my bio-family kidnapping me and an escaped killer on the loose, I was not allowed out of her sight very often. I was rarely let outside to play in the front yard alone. I eventually quit asking. No friends from school ever came over while she was alive (I was scared and embarrassed of her screaming at me in front of them or putting me down). I never spent the night with anyone other than adopted family. If I did go outside, I had to come in every 10 minutes to let her know I was okay. This is no exaggeration.
My family did not talk about sex...at all...ever. Anything related to sex was not only taboo, but the consequences for saying anything or looking at anything sexual was a good whipping. There were one or two occassions where my a-parents asked about me having a girlfriend, but there was never any discussion.
I was a weird, awkward, and socially inexperienced child who turned into a weird, awkward, and socially inexperienced teen, with no guide for human interaction other than television.
At school, I was picked on, made fun of, and bullied. Once a kid asked me, laughing the entire time, "What's wrong with you? Did your dad molest you or something?" I was stunned. I think THAT was the moment I began to learn the extent of other people's cruelty.
I went through a brief stage of bullying, but mostly I was a punching bag for almost everyone in my life. At home, my female cousin bossed me around, when my mom wasn't. My adopted grandmother treated me different than her other grandchildren.
For example, she had a candy shop in her house. All the people in the neighborhood would come and buy candy, soda, chips, pickles. On the weekends, for several years, they even took orders for hamburgers. Well, my cousins would freely take things from the store. When I asked, I had to pay for it. Years later, I would theorize that she was racist and treated me different because she knew I was part white. This was re-enforced by her standard first question when someone shared a story about a person she didn't know; "What color was he/she?"
No matter where I was, I fell short.
When Joe found me and I became acquainted with my bio-family, I felt more disconnected from the family I grew up with and had not connected with my long lost family. I fled Texas.
In essence, I think caused me to become a high-maintanence individual. I don't need material things at all, but it takes a lot for me to feel wanted by people. I often made up ulterior motives for why people invited me somewhere or called me. I think people love me. It's just hard to form the ties that make me feel that they wanted me around.
On the flip side, I have spent SO much time alone in my life that I...well....Let me put it this way; you know how cats can be very affectionate and loving, but once you give them too much loving they either run away from you and hide under the furniture or scratch you? Yeah, that's how I am.
Age is a wonderful thing though. Your insecurities may still be there, but you get to tired to dwell on them. You have less energy to devote to paranoia. I can't wait until I reach the age where I'm sitting in a nursing home, throwing my food, walking around pantless, and basically losing all ability to care what other people think.
Women in lil brothers life
Being that I love my women I always set myself up for disappointment. I just want to let everyone know how the baby brother feels on this situation. I could really use some feedback on if I am writing about what yall want to hear. Good or bad you know make some comments
When I was 12 or 13 I fell for a gorgeous sister named Allison. Boy did I like her alot. Keep in mind this is way back when BoysIIMen hit the sin with end of the road (was that the good old days or what). Hold on let me sing this song real quick. Ok Some may think this was my first sista but it wasnt. Allison was about 5 foot 3 18 gorgeous and I loved everything about her. One day I had heard a rumor about her seeing someone else. So I confronted her on this and found out it was my big brother ( yes I was mad). We talked for just a little longer then she left fo the army. I still think about her today. I would love to find out how she is doing or something.
It didnt stop me from moving to the next one. My next girl was a girl by the name of Jennifer . Let me tell you we had some fun we dated for 4 and lived together for about 4 -5 years. I really believe that she was my next love of my life. Jennifer and I done alot of things in my life. We did everything (ok not everything) and I sold what I could get my hands on. This is another topic though. Let me specify what exactly I have done before I move on. Mary Jane Acid Speed Coke. I was never strung out. I did not want to be like the rest of my family. One of the memories with Jennifer was when she told me she was pregnant. I was happy yet very very scared. She made the decision to have a abortion. At the end of our final chapter was so weird yet my fault. I know I was done being tied down and was ready to explore more of what was out there.
Christina yeah now this was a relationship that went totally the wrong fucking way. She was my boss at Papa Johns and was had a really nice body who had a bf. She was tired or what not of him I was just trying to forget about Jennifer. We started you know messing around having mad sex every 2 hours. We had some really good sex and alot of it. Once again I messed up and was really joking around and said we should get married. We laughed it off and moved on. Next thing she was like when we getting married blah blah. Let me tell you NO ONE I mean NO ONE liked her cause of her attitude friends family etc. So YES we got married things was fine until that one sunny morning when she came down with her BFF and threw her pergnancy test at me. The only thing that came out her mouth was and I quote "I HOPE YOU ARE FUCKING HAPPY". Yeah that is what the call BI POLAR. And we was offically married for a month and we was never a couple again. Yes we have one more child after that that was birthday sex. Do I regret it no. I have 2 very important kids in my life now and would not want it any other way. Yes I wish we was all together but I can not deal with her. She ruined my love life for 4 years.
Dolores was the next women I fell in love with. She was my everything. I meet her at work she was the new employee. I remember when we first talked she was walking in front of me and all these mexicans was starring at her saying things about her butt so I used my paper or something to cover it up. She was so happy I did that we just hit it off. We exchanged numbers and talked for hours on the phone. Why is it that she ended up having a bf. Yes I know seems like thats a trend girls with men. Well yes she left her man for me and we had some years. I remember her grandmother and mom wanted her to have a child we had talked about it. I was against it for the simple fact I did not want to have kids all over the world and we break up. We was both convinced that we would be together forever so yes I broke down and we had a baby boy and yes another gorgeous kid. We struggled money wise and I made a huge decision to move to Minneapolis MN. Yes I left and took her with me. Keep in mind she is alot younger then me. I dont want to give anyone to much of blogs so I will end this short. We split up a few days before xmas. Yes I was crushed alot. I think money can run a relationship or break it.
I just want to share with everyone that a Man can be hurt just as bad as you can. These are my serious relationships that I have been through. Sorry but this is what I wanted to share with yall. Lil brother is out see you again soon. Stay tuned laterz for my next topic.
When I was 12 or 13 I fell for a gorgeous sister named Allison. Boy did I like her alot. Keep in mind this is way back when BoysIIMen hit the sin with end of the road (was that the good old days or what). Hold on let me sing this song real quick. Ok Some may think this was my first sista but it wasnt. Allison was about 5 foot 3 18 gorgeous and I loved everything about her. One day I had heard a rumor about her seeing someone else. So I confronted her on this and found out it was my big brother ( yes I was mad). We talked for just a little longer then she left fo the army. I still think about her today. I would love to find out how she is doing or something.
It didnt stop me from moving to the next one. My next girl was a girl by the name of Jennifer . Let me tell you we had some fun we dated for 4 and lived together for about 4 -5 years. I really believe that she was my next love of my life. Jennifer and I done alot of things in my life. We did everything (ok not everything) and I sold what I could get my hands on. This is another topic though. Let me specify what exactly I have done before I move on. Mary Jane Acid Speed Coke. I was never strung out. I did not want to be like the rest of my family. One of the memories with Jennifer was when she told me she was pregnant. I was happy yet very very scared. She made the decision to have a abortion. At the end of our final chapter was so weird yet my fault. I know I was done being tied down and was ready to explore more of what was out there.
Christina yeah now this was a relationship that went totally the wrong fucking way. She was my boss at Papa Johns and was had a really nice body who had a bf. She was tired or what not of him I was just trying to forget about Jennifer. We started you know messing around having mad sex every 2 hours. We had some really good sex and alot of it. Once again I messed up and was really joking around and said we should get married. We laughed it off and moved on. Next thing she was like when we getting married blah blah. Let me tell you NO ONE I mean NO ONE liked her cause of her attitude friends family etc. So YES we got married things was fine until that one sunny morning when she came down with her BFF and threw her pergnancy test at me. The only thing that came out her mouth was and I quote "I HOPE YOU ARE FUCKING HAPPY". Yeah that is what the call BI POLAR. And we was offically married for a month and we was never a couple again. Yes we have one more child after that that was birthday sex. Do I regret it no. I have 2 very important kids in my life now and would not want it any other way. Yes I wish we was all together but I can not deal with her. She ruined my love life for 4 years.
Dolores was the next women I fell in love with. She was my everything. I meet her at work she was the new employee. I remember when we first talked she was walking in front of me and all these mexicans was starring at her saying things about her butt so I used my paper or something to cover it up. She was so happy I did that we just hit it off. We exchanged numbers and talked for hours on the phone. Why is it that she ended up having a bf. Yes I know seems like thats a trend girls with men. Well yes she left her man for me and we had some years. I remember her grandmother and mom wanted her to have a child we had talked about it. I was against it for the simple fact I did not want to have kids all over the world and we break up. We was both convinced that we would be together forever so yes I broke down and we had a baby boy and yes another gorgeous kid. We struggled money wise and I made a huge decision to move to Minneapolis MN. Yes I left and took her with me. Keep in mind she is alot younger then me. I dont want to give anyone to much of blogs so I will end this short. We split up a few days before xmas. Yes I was crushed alot. I think money can run a relationship or break it.
I just want to share with everyone that a Man can be hurt just as bad as you can. These are my serious relationships that I have been through. Sorry but this is what I wanted to share with yall. Lil brother is out see you again soon. Stay tuned laterz for my next topic.
06 February 2011
Lula Lee
No matter what takes place in the real world, personalities begin to form from what happens at home.
The following is while I was still under the identity of "Billy" before the truth came out about my history;
When I read What's Eating Gilbert Grape? in high school, I cried. The mom in that book made me think of my a-mom. While no one ever said anything to me about my a-mom, somewhere deep down I knew people probably had commented on her weight. This liberty was extended by the fact that she was practically a "shut-in" by the time she died. The city of Teague saw less and less of her.
My life as "Lil' Billy" was deeply controlled by everything and everyone around me. Mom controlled what I said and where I said it, where I was, who I was. Outside of home, people's opinions of me and my fears controlled me.
But this isn't really about me, but more about my adopted mother, Lula Lee (also known as "Aunt Ray"). She was married to my adopted father for my entire life. I believe that she had tried to have a child, but was unable to concieve. Probably explains why she would be so willing to take in two children who were marked as targets for a murderer.
She was old-school, small-town...I was not allowed to be outside alone almost up until she died. I have no doubt that she wanted me safe. I imagine she made a promise to my bio-mom and aimed to keep it. I have no memories of her breaking promises.
She could be hysterically funny, with a loud and infectuous laugh. She could also be a tyrant and at times cruel. One of the things I hated about her funeral was everyone talking about her like she was Mother Theresa. She was a wonderful woman, but her foul language and bossy demeanor were part of who she was (and often made for some funny stories). When I die, I want to be remembered for the good and the bad.
Anyway, one of my earliest memories of her was after I had come back from the store. My brother Willie (or maybe it was my adopted dad, Billy Sr.) had bought me a rubber snake. I thought it would be funny to leave it on the floor by my parents' bedroom. Fake snakes + a drama queen mother = fun for all...Right?...Right? Mom saw that thing sitting there and let out a ear-splitting cry. She yelled and yelled, while I laughed and laughed. My hope was that after the screaming, she would join me in a chuckle. That moment never came.
Instead, she cussed a lot and took a knife to the rubber snake. Poor little thing.
She LOVED Christmas. She went all out. We easily had the brightest and most complex light decor in the neighborhood. Every year I think we just added more lights. It always involved a-dad getting on the roof and affixing this HUGE cross to the top of our house. And the tree was always surrounded by more gifts than I ever deserved...It's like she was getting enough for two children. I can only guess that in her heart, she was. My mom showed love in many different ways, but none more than spending money and hugs. :)
Our family was comfortable, financially speaking...when I was a child. As I got older, everyone seemed to have less and less. As I hear it, my family was big on lending money to others...but those others were not as keen on giving it back.
I think that bothered mom. When we started heading towards a more meager means of living, we had to go on welfare. I recall one occassion of going to the welfare office with her and she was decked out as nice as she could be. She wore her nice costume jewelry, hair perfect, clothes nice...I always thought she dressed more like she OWNED the welfare office more than coming to ask for help.
It seemed like she was always screaming at me, like a siren warning of the storm that was her almost non-existent patience. Even at a younger age I knew there was something wrong with her method. She was always yelling and screaming about something, to the point where I got so nervous. But I was not allowed to really say anything back or deal with those nerves in an outward way. The few times I tried to tell her how I felt, she disregarded me. So how did I cope? I developed a nasty habit of biting the skin off of my knuckles...often until they bled. It was my way of screaming or punching. As an adult, I don't understand how we as adults don't like to be screamed at...we get frustrated and have our limits that we let people hit and yell at us, but we expect our children to be able to take it.
Anyway, the yelling was far more troublesome than the "whippings". The whippings were usually with small tree limbs we called "switches". They hurt like hell and left welts wherever they made contact. I also got hit with fly swatters, a couple of times with her wooden walking stick, her hand, etc. It got to where I couldn't tell the difference between a mistake and me actually misbehaving because they all warranted a whipping.
Looking back, it wasn't so much that I got whippings, it was just that the event itself was so traumatic. What doesn't work well with a frustrated passive kid with nervous issues from all the screaming? More screaming combined with "whippings" that made random contact on my body. After a minute or so, she would start shouting "Stop crying!" while she was hitting me. I assumed it was a way of life...and for some cultures here, it is. I don't think I learned anything from those...they just made me more nervous, made me lie to her about things I had done wrong out of fear of those spankings, made me unable to think clearly. It really wasn't until I became an adult and started working with kids that I found out how all of this affected me.
Again, this blog isn't really about me. My mother was old-school. She was strict. She cared what others thought of her. She often acted out of love, but as I got older she acted out of frustration, pain, and exhaustion.
But I stress again, she was a wonderful woman. Why? Well, here is a direct lift from a diary that she started (I have fixed spelling errors so it will read easier);
"Feb 1, 1992
Already I have mis Jan. ; and you know, that month of Jan. is a important month. My young son Birthday month Jan:12 - was 15 yr old. Now Feb 19 is important too. You see that is the month of my first born. My older son this Feb 19 - he will be 30 yr old.
I thank God for my 2 boys. You see, diary, they have given me so much joy. Now sometime they make me sad, but that is to be expected, you know.
Well, as of now I am doing fairly well. Some time ago I had a run in with the young one; but the house is quiet right now. You see I have it all on my shoulders. I have to be Dad and mom when it comes to my children and everything else. Some time ago it was much easier because my health was better and there was more love in my home;"
I guess my reason for putting that here is to remind myself and share with you that my mother may not have done everything right, but she did the most important things right; she loved us. Sometimes we don't realize how difficult our parents' jobs really are.
I may post more from her diary. It speaks more than I ever could.
She was my mom. I loved her very much.
The following is while I was still under the identity of "Billy" before the truth came out about my history;
When I read What's Eating Gilbert Grape? in high school, I cried. The mom in that book made me think of my a-mom. While no one ever said anything to me about my a-mom, somewhere deep down I knew people probably had commented on her weight. This liberty was extended by the fact that she was practically a "shut-in" by the time she died. The city of Teague saw less and less of her.
My life as "Lil' Billy" was deeply controlled by everything and everyone around me. Mom controlled what I said and where I said it, where I was, who I was. Outside of home, people's opinions of me and my fears controlled me.
But this isn't really about me, but more about my adopted mother, Lula Lee (also known as "Aunt Ray"). She was married to my adopted father for my entire life. I believe that she had tried to have a child, but was unable to concieve. Probably explains why she would be so willing to take in two children who were marked as targets for a murderer.
She was old-school, small-town...I was not allowed to be outside alone almost up until she died. I have no doubt that she wanted me safe. I imagine she made a promise to my bio-mom and aimed to keep it. I have no memories of her breaking promises.
She could be hysterically funny, with a loud and infectuous laugh. She could also be a tyrant and at times cruel. One of the things I hated about her funeral was everyone talking about her like she was Mother Theresa. She was a wonderful woman, but her foul language and bossy demeanor were part of who she was (and often made for some funny stories). When I die, I want to be remembered for the good and the bad.
Anyway, one of my earliest memories of her was after I had come back from the store. My brother Willie (or maybe it was my adopted dad, Billy Sr.) had bought me a rubber snake. I thought it would be funny to leave it on the floor by my parents' bedroom. Fake snakes + a drama queen mother = fun for all...Right?...Right? Mom saw that thing sitting there and let out a ear-splitting cry. She yelled and yelled, while I laughed and laughed. My hope was that after the screaming, she would join me in a chuckle. That moment never came.
Instead, she cussed a lot and took a knife to the rubber snake. Poor little thing.
She LOVED Christmas. She went all out. We easily had the brightest and most complex light decor in the neighborhood. Every year I think we just added more lights. It always involved a-dad getting on the roof and affixing this HUGE cross to the top of our house. And the tree was always surrounded by more gifts than I ever deserved...It's like she was getting enough for two children. I can only guess that in her heart, she was. My mom showed love in many different ways, but none more than spending money and hugs. :)
Our family was comfortable, financially speaking...when I was a child. As I got older, everyone seemed to have less and less. As I hear it, my family was big on lending money to others...but those others were not as keen on giving it back.
I think that bothered mom. When we started heading towards a more meager means of living, we had to go on welfare. I recall one occassion of going to the welfare office with her and she was decked out as nice as she could be. She wore her nice costume jewelry, hair perfect, clothes nice...I always thought she dressed more like she OWNED the welfare office more than coming to ask for help.
It seemed like she was always screaming at me, like a siren warning of the storm that was her almost non-existent patience. Even at a younger age I knew there was something wrong with her method. She was always yelling and screaming about something, to the point where I got so nervous. But I was not allowed to really say anything back or deal with those nerves in an outward way. The few times I tried to tell her how I felt, she disregarded me. So how did I cope? I developed a nasty habit of biting the skin off of my knuckles...often until they bled. It was my way of screaming or punching. As an adult, I don't understand how we as adults don't like to be screamed at...we get frustrated and have our limits that we let people hit and yell at us, but we expect our children to be able to take it.
Anyway, the yelling was far more troublesome than the "whippings". The whippings were usually with small tree limbs we called "switches". They hurt like hell and left welts wherever they made contact. I also got hit with fly swatters, a couple of times with her wooden walking stick, her hand, etc. It got to where I couldn't tell the difference between a mistake and me actually misbehaving because they all warranted a whipping.
Looking back, it wasn't so much that I got whippings, it was just that the event itself was so traumatic. What doesn't work well with a frustrated passive kid with nervous issues from all the screaming? More screaming combined with "whippings" that made random contact on my body. After a minute or so, she would start shouting "Stop crying!" while she was hitting me. I assumed it was a way of life...and for some cultures here, it is. I don't think I learned anything from those...they just made me more nervous, made me lie to her about things I had done wrong out of fear of those spankings, made me unable to think clearly. It really wasn't until I became an adult and started working with kids that I found out how all of this affected me.
Again, this blog isn't really about me. My mother was old-school. She was strict. She cared what others thought of her. She often acted out of love, but as I got older she acted out of frustration, pain, and exhaustion.
But I stress again, she was a wonderful woman. Why? Well, here is a direct lift from a diary that she started (I have fixed spelling errors so it will read easier);
"Feb 1, 1992
Already I have mis Jan. ; and you know, that month of Jan. is a important month. My young son Birthday month Jan:12 - was 15 yr old. Now Feb 19 is important too. You see that is the month of my first born. My older son this Feb 19 - he will be 30 yr old.
I thank God for my 2 boys. You see, diary, they have given me so much joy. Now sometime they make me sad, but that is to be expected, you know.
Well, as of now I am doing fairly well. Some time ago I had a run in with the young one; but the house is quiet right now. You see I have it all on my shoulders. I have to be Dad and mom when it comes to my children and everything else. Some time ago it was much easier because my health was better and there was more love in my home;"
I guess my reason for putting that here is to remind myself and share with you that my mother may not have done everything right, but she did the most important things right; she loved us. Sometimes we don't realize how difficult our parents' jobs really are.
I may post more from her diary. It speaks more than I ever could.
She was my mom. I loved her very much.
03 February 2011
I Was Not Meant For This World
At the start, we live the life that was chosen for us. In the end, we live the life we choose for ourselves. It was the transition that proved to be most difficult...and the most crucial.
I was told that my b-grandmother discussed aborting me with my b-mom. Obviously, my b-mom decided to have me. This would be the first of many dances I shared with death, without going home with it.
Around the age of five, I was standing in the kitchen searching the freezer for a pop sicle. I had a stellar little afro, huge curls and shaped to perfection. A-mom took great pride in my hair. My a-mom was cooking supper. My father? He was sitting in the next room on the sofa, cleaning a shotgun.
A-mom yelled at me for standing with the freezer door open. I turned and looked at her. There was a huge *BANG* that rocked everyone's nerves...except mine. Purely by accident, the gun had gone off and sent a bullet blasting through the wall, where I stood on the other side. Not even an inch away from my head was the hole the bullet left behind. My a-mom was terrified and furious. I imagine my dad was served a healthy helping of cuss words.
Well before the age of ten, my family installed one of those enourmous above-ground pools. I had no idea how to swim, but my a-brother, Willie, was watching me as I kicked around on a small floatation device. For whatever reason, Willie left me for a few minutes. Of course, that was the moment I slipped off the "floaty" and sank like a rock. I thrashed around for a bit, starting to panic. I held my breath as long as I could, then just as I swallowed a bit of water, Willie returned and pulled me out.
Of course, all this time there was also the bastard that running lose that had threatened to kill me and my b-family. But as you've read, I didn't know anything about this.
There was the time I got covered in fire ants and went into shock. All I really recall of that moment was being rushed to the hospital where I was covered in ice-cold towels. I can't forget the time my house caught on fire while everyone was asleep, the time my first apartment in Tulsa caught fire, the numerous times I tried to commit suicide, the racist rednecks in my hometown that threatened to run me and my friends over, getting stranded in 100 degree weather out in the middle of nowhere...It just keeps going.
At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I've rarely felt like I belong here. When I was very young, I would catch bits of news or hear of something horrible and my heart would break. As I got older, I could not understand or accept how cruel people were to each other. I was just as baffled at how people took care of themselves. I worked so hard at trying to do the right things, caring about people...The real world did not function that way. Now, everyone can say that, I'm sure. However, I could not ignore or allow the wrongs of the world to become natural to me. I felt...alien.
This is all before Joe even came into my life. Still, I went about life with this outrageous sense of humor. I went through a few years of bullying kids that I thought were weaker than me. I was cruel to them. By seventh grade, my obnoxious, wild, funny side was reaching a peak. I tortured people with comments and actions that I hate to admit to.
Oddly, I remember the moment. I was sitting in science class, looking at a projected image of the human anatomy, which made me think of one of my teachers. Then, like Mike Tyson punching me in the chest, I was struck with this feeling of pain and depression. I stopped talking, stopped joking, stopped bullying. At the end of my junior year, I wrote several letters of apology and gave them to a few of the peers I had been most cruel to. I changed like a switch being flipped right there in class, staring at that projector screen.
Nothing had happened in my life at that point. I have no idea where that came from, but between all the near death experiences, my inability to cope with the awful things people do to each other without remorse, all the mistakes I have made, and the tragedies that have piled up in my life...I begin to think...I was not meant for this world. I am a mistake.
I've spent my entire life struggling with the values I placed on myself, values I expected and tried to force on others and on this never-ending fight to "perfect" the world as I thought it needed to be. I couldn't find a place that I belonged, so I tried to create the "perfect" world...but that will NEVER happen.
Why do I keep going? Why am I still here? Because of that AA prayer about having the strength to change what I need to, the ability to accept things I cannot change, and wisdom to know the difference. Maybe I don't belong here, but while I'm here I have found people and things that I can help. So, I keep trying different philosophies for living and recently adopted this one; Stop trying to fight the entire world. Stop trying to save the entire world. Just live in it and try to make it as good as possible for the people I love...for as long as we are all here. Cheesy, but true.
I was told that my b-grandmother discussed aborting me with my b-mom. Obviously, my b-mom decided to have me. This would be the first of many dances I shared with death, without going home with it.
Around the age of five, I was standing in the kitchen searching the freezer for a pop sicle. I had a stellar little afro, huge curls and shaped to perfection. A-mom took great pride in my hair. My a-mom was cooking supper. My father? He was sitting in the next room on the sofa, cleaning a shotgun.
A-mom yelled at me for standing with the freezer door open. I turned and looked at her. There was a huge *BANG* that rocked everyone's nerves...except mine. Purely by accident, the gun had gone off and sent a bullet blasting through the wall, where I stood on the other side. Not even an inch away from my head was the hole the bullet left behind. My a-mom was terrified and furious. I imagine my dad was served a healthy helping of cuss words.
Well before the age of ten, my family installed one of those enourmous above-ground pools. I had no idea how to swim, but my a-brother, Willie, was watching me as I kicked around on a small floatation device. For whatever reason, Willie left me for a few minutes. Of course, that was the moment I slipped off the "floaty" and sank like a rock. I thrashed around for a bit, starting to panic. I held my breath as long as I could, then just as I swallowed a bit of water, Willie returned and pulled me out.
Of course, all this time there was also the bastard that running lose that had threatened to kill me and my b-family. But as you've read, I didn't know anything about this.
There was the time I got covered in fire ants and went into shock. All I really recall of that moment was being rushed to the hospital where I was covered in ice-cold towels. I can't forget the time my house caught on fire while everyone was asleep, the time my first apartment in Tulsa caught fire, the numerous times I tried to commit suicide, the racist rednecks in my hometown that threatened to run me and my friends over, getting stranded in 100 degree weather out in the middle of nowhere...It just keeps going.
At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I've rarely felt like I belong here. When I was very young, I would catch bits of news or hear of something horrible and my heart would break. As I got older, I could not understand or accept how cruel people were to each other. I was just as baffled at how people took care of themselves. I worked so hard at trying to do the right things, caring about people...The real world did not function that way. Now, everyone can say that, I'm sure. However, I could not ignore or allow the wrongs of the world to become natural to me. I felt...alien.
This is all before Joe even came into my life. Still, I went about life with this outrageous sense of humor. I went through a few years of bullying kids that I thought were weaker than me. I was cruel to them. By seventh grade, my obnoxious, wild, funny side was reaching a peak. I tortured people with comments and actions that I hate to admit to.
Oddly, I remember the moment. I was sitting in science class, looking at a projected image of the human anatomy, which made me think of one of my teachers. Then, like Mike Tyson punching me in the chest, I was struck with this feeling of pain and depression. I stopped talking, stopped joking, stopped bullying. At the end of my junior year, I wrote several letters of apology and gave them to a few of the peers I had been most cruel to. I changed like a switch being flipped right there in class, staring at that projector screen.
Nothing had happened in my life at that point. I have no idea where that came from, but between all the near death experiences, my inability to cope with the awful things people do to each other without remorse, all the mistakes I have made, and the tragedies that have piled up in my life...I begin to think...I was not meant for this world. I am a mistake.
I've spent my entire life struggling with the values I placed on myself, values I expected and tried to force on others and on this never-ending fight to "perfect" the world as I thought it needed to be. I couldn't find a place that I belonged, so I tried to create the "perfect" world...but that will NEVER happen.
Why do I keep going? Why am I still here? Because of that AA prayer about having the strength to change what I need to, the ability to accept things I cannot change, and wisdom to know the difference. Maybe I don't belong here, but while I'm here I have found people and things that I can help. So, I keep trying different philosophies for living and recently adopted this one; Stop trying to fight the entire world. Stop trying to save the entire world. Just live in it and try to make it as good as possible for the people I love...for as long as we are all here. Cheesy, but true.
SITTERS
My purpose in this tell all blog, is so that after I give those that know me an inside look at me, I can get them to understand how I think. That way they will be just as lost as I am. Not really, I just want someone out there to hopefully see that maybe I can relate to some of the hardships that others have endured. Everyone has good and bad times in your life. Sometimes it's good to know that somebody can relate.
Being a single parent is hard…. I would imagine. So being a father and a single parent is impossible. As a kid you would never hear me say anything like that. Four kids later, it's a different story. Of course my dad had custody of me shortly before my mom was killed. So after her death, he was really stuck with me. I give honor to my father. He showed me the prime example of how to provide for a child. He worked long hours, and I imagine went without many nights just to make sure I had it. And I can tell you now that I always had a roof over my head. I never went without a meal. And I always had clean clothes on my back. Plus toys every Christmas. He did what he had to for his child. My mom, from what I was told, played me and even sold her body to provide the same things for us growing up. That's how I learned at a young age not to judge people. We are who we are.
At first my dad would leave me at home alone in this one bedroom apartment in north Dallas while he went to work. You see he drove the city bus, and worked there my whole life. He was the opposite of my mom. They were like night and day. He was always laid back, conservative, stable, and humble. She on the other hand was all the opposite. She could never stay still in one spot, wild, spontaneous. He was about having a family. She was about running the streets. He was black. She was white. How that relationship went past the first day was a miracle. But it did, and to make it worse, they had a kid together. So back to this 6 year old kid in this one bedroom apartment. It gave me a sense of independence. It would be a lie to sit and tell you that at that age I was not scared. I was, but not all the time. It was really not all that bad. I guess I was a normal kid. I talked to my toys, played school with my bears; Raggedy Ann was my second kiss. (And hunch). I mean I was far from lonely, so I was cool with it. And being that he drove the city bus, there was no way to check on me, plus back then cell phones were, well….. It was back in the day. Well from what I can remember, I must have started to venture outside a few times while he was at work, because the next thing I know I'm going to stay with this other lady and her kids. This lady had five kids, four stayed with her. One girl and three boys. I was in the second or third grade. One son was in about the fourth or fifth grade, one son was in junior high. And the other son and daughter were in high school. I stayed here throughout the school year, and my dad would come pick me up most weekends. It was a two bedroom apartment in the hood, what most people called a bad part of Oak Cliff. But black people living in the same situation, had more love for each other back then. So it was only bad to those who did not live there. This lady and her kids took me in, but not with love. Not even pity. Sometimes it was almost like I was entertainment. We all had chores to do. And these chores were to be done by the time the mom gets home from work. She drove the city bus also, must be where my dad met her. Well of course, me being the youngest. I was taken advantage of. So guess who was ordered to do everyone's chores? I remember times I refused. The two youngest boys would take neck ties and tie my arms and legs to the bunk bed and beat me with a belt. Or if for some reason they got in trouble for something, I knew the next day they would take their frustrations out on me the next day by tying me to the bunk bed. One day the youngest got in trouble at school and the night before his mom beat the hell out of him, I loved it. So the next day, I was always the first to make it home from school. By the time he got home I had already tied most of myself to the bed so we can get it over with. (Hell I was used to it by then, plus I had a lot of damn chores to do). The daughter knew, and she always acted concerned, but never made an attempt to stop any of them. Not like she was afraid or anything because she was a tom boy and rough as hell, she just did nothing, for whatever reason. Yea some pretty rough shit went on in that house. I remember one weekend my dad came to get me. When he brought me back we sat in the car in the parking lot, and I tried to tell him most of the things that was going on in that house. He just looked at me without saying a simple word, and walked me right upstairs to that same apartment. Yea must have been hard being a single parent. They had a grandmother that was mean as hell. For some reason I would always stare at her. And every time she sees me doing that, she would pop me in my damn mouth. Well it got so bad that if I even just glance at her, she would pop me in my mouth. Shit I got popped so damn much I couldn't even tell you what she looked like. My dad would leave a certain amount of money for my school lunch each week. The family and a few friends played a card game called tonk almost every night, and they played for money. Most times a quarter a hand. This is when I learned how to gamble. At first they made me learn the game by making me gamble my lunch money. Funny how fast you learn the game after you miss enough meals at school. Fuck you, after about a week or two I learned how to win. I ate good at school many of days.
I don't remember how or when or why I left. All I know is I went from that household to another lady's house, and she too had four kids. Ironic. But everything in my life is good and bad black and white, like those two poodles. The first family was the black poodle. This one was the white one. This lady was a Christian lady, never cursed. We went to church every Sunday. I remember I was in the 5th grade. She had a set of twins in the 6th grade, a boy and a girl. Then she had another daughter, she was about in the 8th or 9th grade. And a son who I think was a senior. Like I said, we went to church every Sunday, and prayed every morning before we went to school. I even got baptized. This was the perfect family, at least compared to where I came from. We had two dogs in the back yard. The boys slept in one room, and the girls slept in another room. We lived in an old fashioned neiborhood. You know, one where if you do something wrong, Mrs. Jackson up the street sees you, and whoops your ass. Then tells your mom so she can whoop your ass. The oldest son had a friend a couple of houses down that hardly ever used the front door; he would always come to our bedroom window. This is where I met my first love, Penny. Oh my god she was the most beautiful thing in the world…. At that time. (From what I hear now, she caught some STD that she can't get rid of). But back then, she was like a piece of heaven. Like I said my dad always provided. So I got $2 for my school lunch each day. But what I didn't tell my dad is that like the other kids that I lived in the house with, I qualified for free lunch. So I had an extra $2 to blow every day. Shit that's ballin in the 5th grade. Anyway, at that age, I had not yet learned the skill of being a Mack. So I had to come up with some idea to get this girl's attention. Back then the teacher would take the attendance and then she would walk it up to the front office. This would give me about 15 minutes to make my move. So for about 2 weeks straight. I would wait until the teacher would take the roll up to the front office. Then all the kids would go to the back of the class room and then I would through a quarter at a time in the air and the kids would fight over them until I threw my whole $2. I did this thinking that this would impress her. Wrong, every day for two weeks she and her best friend would just sit at the table, no moved at all by my stupidity. After that did not work. I got the cassette tape, Lionel Richie, and I played the song, "Penny Lover" over and over, until I could copy each word down on paper. Then I signed it, "from your secret admirer". And I placed it in her mail box…….Your waiting for the happy ending? Shit me too. Man I never said a word to her. Good thing I guess, I hate taking medicine. Anyway, I loved my life then. It was good, and simple. I went to school. I came home, did my homework then watched cartoons. I went outside and rode my bike with my friends. We ate dinner together. We talked and worked out our problems. Then in the middle of the night, the teenage girl comes and wakes me up, and tells me to come in the bathroom with her. Then she… well let's just say she taught me everything I needed to know. This went on for a long time. Sometimes in the middle of the night. Sometimes if the mom was gone and everyone else was outside. Just whenever we could get away with it. Then one night she wanted to do it in her room in the bed. And her mom walks in and catches us. Now this is a die hard, Christian woman, who sleeps with her Bible. That night she did everything but gave us an exorcism. She cried for days after that. From that point, everything changed. It all just felt different. Then one day during a cold winter, the oldest son went to the back yard to check on the two dogs that had been out in the snow. He came back and said that he found one of the dogs dead in the snow. The mom assumed that I had done it. Made a big deal out of it. I mean she never just flat out accused me; she just did it in a round-about-way. I guess she felt if I was mean enough to molest her daughter, then I'm mean enough to kill their dog. Hell after she caught us, we never sat down and talked about who was molesting who. She just swept it under the rug. I later realized that she in fact didn't sweep it under the rug. She just waited for the right opportunity to separate two bad ass kids from each other. Hard as hell being a single parent. But yet the best memories of my life happened at that house. You have good and bad no matter where you go. You just have to roll with the punches. Going through this, you have to ask yourself, how does one maintain his sanity? The worst thing you can do is let your emotions control you. It's your worst enemy. If you control your emotions then you keep your sanity. Something tragic happens in your life, your emotions cause you to get sad or angry, which leads to losing your sanity. From there you make stupid, irrational decisions. How can that help you? The same woman that gave birth to me gave up her life for me. How I see it, the worst thing that could ever possibly happen to me, did. So everything else that comes my way is manageable.
-Jboogie
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