Queen of Rambles

People have asked me when I’m going to tell the story of my dad’s childhood, so I guess tonight is the night. I haven’t done it before because there’s nothing funny about it. There’s simply not a way to turn a clever phrase and elicit a laugh. The story is horrifying and maddening. It explains much about the man he grew into, though it doesn’t excuse him.

He was born a twin, the youngest of 10 or so children (if you count the sister who was two months older than the oldest brother). The mother and twin died shortly after childbirth, leaving a manic-depressive alcoholic with 9 children to raise, including a newborn. This was unacceptable, so the man remarried within a few months of his wife’s death, introducing a couple of more kids into the mix.

The father was brutal, liking to beat his children for any real or imagined infraction. This is not something my dad has ever said. One of my grandma’s friend’s lived next door and witnessed his whole childhood. Several different people tried to adopt him all through his childhood, but my family had pride and wasn’t about to let a boy-child go to strangers (though girl-children were farmed out and given a better life).

Eventually the manic-depressive father killed himself, leaving my seven-year-old father adrift in the world. He thought his step-mother and step-siblings were his family, but his step-mother took off without him, taking only the children that were her own even though she’d raised my dad since he was practically a newborn. Can you imagine what that would do to a young child’s soul?

Unfortunately for my father, his older brother was 18 years old and granted full custody of this gaggle of rag-a-muffin children. He quickly married and the girl didn’t want anything to do with this big family. His oldest brother made all the boys (the girls were all gone at this point) bail hay all summer and would severely beat them if they didn’t work hard enough. His wife hated the kids and wouldn’t feed them well. My dad was under fed and overworked, subsisting on Twinkies and pop.

The brothers all moved out the moment they turned 18, but little Don was too young. He had to live with his wicked step-mother and horrible brother-father because there was no place for him. Again and again one of the neighbor ladies (a school teacher) made a plea for his life, but again and again his brother refused out of misguided pride. I think that’s the biggest tragedy in all of this. He had a chance for a better life but pure stubborn foolish pride stood in the way.

When my dad turned 13 he’d finally had enough. He packed his very few belongings, hopped on his second-hand bike, called his dog and rode off into the night. He was missing for several hours, but no one even knew it. Strangely enough, he ran into one of his older brothers even though that was not his intention. They just met on the street and the brother was concerned. He had just married a slightly older woman with two kids of her own and was sick and tired of seeing his little brother being abused and neglected. He took my dad home and his new wife welcomed him with open arms.

I cry when I hear my aunt talk about this time period. My dad was so afraid of his new sister-in-law that he would only eat if she was out of the room. He’d wait until the family was done, then skulk into the kitchen and take any left-overs he could find. My aunt was confused until she realized he wasn’t allowed to eat with his former family. It took her a long time to gain my dad’s trust, but eventually her and her family where able to give him a better life.

My dad’s teen years were much better than his childhood, though they were marked with tragedy. One sister died of diabetes, two brothers were killed in fatal car accidents, and the brother he lived with killed himself (mental illness runs in the family). All the deaths led him to believe he’d be dead by the time he was 30 so he never had any motivation for taking care of himself.

There were good things about his teen years, but he doesn’t seem to remember them. He was the star football player and a state champion wrestler. He was even invited to the Olympic training camp for wrestling, but was too afraid to get on the airplane. Another opportunity lost.

When the brother he lived with killed himself, my dad sort of became the man of the house (but not in a pervo way, just the oldest male). His brother left behind a new baby girl and my dad was almost like a surrogate father in some ways. Then, of course, he met my mom and she and her family took him under her wing.

So though his first 13 years were completely hellish, he ended up living in a more normal situation without abuse and such. It’s just too bad he was already so damaged that he couldn’t make a normal life for himself. He did always go to work and support his family financially, but he did not understand the emotional obligations that went with being a husband and father.

So there’s that story. Hopefully I’ll think of something happier to write about tomorrow.

Also, I don’t think I ever mentioned that my hubby boy has started his own LJ. If you want to see my life from a completely different perspective you should check him out.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 25th, 2004 at 6:49 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.