I have been debating on doing this group of posts for a while now. It will be broke up into multiple chapters and I hope if you stick with me through all of it, you will understand the point from where things began to the point of today and hopefully it can give people inspiration and hope. As you all know by reading my blog, I have horrible grammar and punctuation, please try to bare with me.
Chapter One
My earliest memories of my life? I was raised by a single father who was a veteran of the Vietnam War. He and my mother divorced when I was about two years old. I don't ever remember having a mother. They divorced and she took my younger sister to live with her. I remember from a young age always feeling like she didn't want me. My dad? He was always a big guy. Rough and burly for sure. Always pushing 250 pounds, working in the oil fields. I never remember hugs and kisses and positive reinforcement. I do remember lots of yelling. I think now that I look back at my family and my life, that is how they honestly communicated. Always flying the "fuck" word. Lots of fighting between the family. Our family was made up of: My grandmother and grandfather (who hated each other), my one Aunt S who was their youngest daughter, my father, my other Aunt T, who was their middle daughter and my other Aunt S who was the oldest daughter. We all basically lived in the same town and right next to each other. I remember the adults sitting around the table gossiping about everyone and judging everyone while yelling at us kids to leave them alone. We were to seen but not heard. As a young child I thought my life was normal and everyone lived like this. I didn't realize that my family was extremely dysfunctional and they were just breeding to make more crazy fucking people just like them.
My grandmother was the leader:
I remember one day when I was about 8 or 9 and my sister was a year and a half younger then me. She had come to live with us when my dad took her from my mom ( I will get into that later). Anyways my grandmother and my aunt were not on speaking terms (which is common in our family). They hadn't spoke for a year or so. We were over visiting our grandmother and she sat my sister and I down at the table and explained to us how much she missed our aunt. She felt terrible they had no communication and wanted to call and apologize to her. We were told earlier not to give grandmother their phone number. My sister and I being so young and confused just wanted to help fix the problem so we gave her my aunts number in hopes they would work out their problems. Later that day we were over visiting our aunt when the phone rang. My uncle answer and it was my grandmother. She was screaming so loud and to this day I remember what she said: "HAHA you son of a bitch I have your number now! You can thank your nieces" My uncle totally lost it and pulled out the belt and beat our asses. She never wanted to make up with my aunt. This is the kind of woman who ran our family.
My father:
Where do I even start? I have posted in previous posts about the sexual abuse in our family along with the rapes etc. That is something I will leave as is because over the years I have come to accept this and want to move forward and past this part. Did I know my father was a monster when I grew up with him my entire life? The answer is no I didn't . I also guess that from a young age of 2 you see certain behaviors and assume it is normal because you don't know any different. I can tell you that the family has always told us he died in the war and another person came back. I am not sure I believe that. I think he was molded in the what he became because of his life and the things that happened to him. My father was a very angry person. He would fly off on the smallest thing. I piece of garbage could be on the floor and we would be beat because of it. When I say beat, I mean beat. I vividly remember being hit with hoses, boards, belts, switches, anything he could get his hands on at the time. One thing I learned was if I ran faster then him I had a chance. You never knew when the beatings would happen, you never knew what would set him off, but watch out when you did. Was I scared of my dad? At the time no because I thought this was the way things happened. He worked a lot to take care of my sister and I. He was gone a lot in the oil fields. We pretty well took care of ourselves. We cooked our own meals, cleaned the house at the age of 6 and 7. I mean clean the whole entire house. Even had to straighten out the fringes on the rugs. I remember one time it was around Easter time and my dad had hide all his drugs in my closet. Drugs were always around. The aunts and uncles would smoke pot etc. Anyway I loaded up all his drugs and took them over to my grandmother. I said " grandma I found grass in my closet" she responded to me " of course you did, it is Easter" well I dumped all the drugs out on the table and she lost it. Of course she called my dad and was screaming and cussing at him. Well lets say I paid severely for that one. I don't think I was able to sit down for days. I could sit here and fill up pages about the beatings my sister and I took through our life with him, but I think you get the point. Now after the beatings he felt so guilty he would buy us stuff. Four wheelers, mopeds, toys, clothes etc. It was like his way for making up for things. After the physical pain was over, it was so nice to be able to have a fun toy. This is the way I thought my father showed us love. He was the only parent I ever knew. This was the only family I ever knew.
TO BE CONTINUED:
