Peacekeeper - 1969

The small waste can bounced off of my brother’s head and he slammed into the picture frame, shattering the glass and cutting his wrist as he fell to the ground. The old man stood over him, yelling, “That’s your mother- she’s MY girlfriend and that’s who I care about!”

He was about to strike another blow, he was like that, given to seemingly out of control rages, though I had often suspected he was, at all times, by virtue of his outbursts, in perfect control. My slender, but firm, hand reached out to stay his arm as he arched it backwards. “That’s enough!” I yelled. “He’s bleeding!”

The old man stood back and surveyed the damage he had done. His eyes took in the form of his crumpled older boy on the floor, weeping; and the broken frame and glass which sprinkled the black and white tiles of the foyer, the blood on the wall, and he stared in disbelief.

I began to clean up the mess as the two former combatants, who had only moments before been so bold and loud toward one another, slunk away, as if by doing so they could undo what had just happened.

The glass was cleaned up, and the frame removed to some long forgotten corner of a closet. The old man finished cleaning and dressing my brother's wound, and then we all went to the hospital to see Mom.

It was Valentine’s Day 1969. My brother was 16 that day and wanted to see his girlfriend, whom he would later marry. My father wanted to have a little birthday/Valentine’s Day party in the day room at the hospital for my Mom. I just wanted to see her. And she just wanted to see us.

Why am I writing this story now, after so many years? What point am I trying to make? Only that the simplest of emotions, and the best of intentions, can sometimes both backfire and blow up in your face. There is no explanation for our emotions, sometimes there is only damage control.

Note: The photograph was taken in July of 1969 on a trip to Florida. The flag, at St. Augustine, is flying at half staff. I have always remembered this as being in honor of Senator Everett Dirksen, who had just passed away. Evidently my memory fails me, as Senator Dirksen did not pass away until September.

It's Only Me- Chapter 13- A Little Background

It has occurred to me that I have left out an integral portion of my life prior to leaving home. My Mom's illness was undoubtedly a very large portion of some of my problems - from drug abuse to the lack of any relationship with my brother. This is all an important part of my narrative. No excuses are being offerred here. Anything I did do was of my own choosing. But the background is a very necessary part of understanding who I was and even who I am.

My Mom developed ulcers around the time that my parents had that "chart/demerit" thing going which caused conflict between my brother and I. Each week, as I've said- the one with the least demerits got to go to the store and pick out a prize while the other watched and sometimes wept. That someone was usually me.

Looking back I realize that this was all the result of my Mom's nerves. She simply couldn't handle 2 small boys and developed ulcers. The blame somehow got shifted to me and I paid quite a price emotionally while growing up. Even today I carry the big "G" for guilt; and it is one heavy fucking cross to bear.

When my Mom became sicker with collitis and cancer we were told repeatedly that "this was the end" and Mom wasn't going to make it. Imagine going to school while wondering if Mom is dead or alive. You don't learn much under those conditions.

My brother and I fought viciously, to the point of the neighbors calling the cops. Our fights even encompassed knives at times, taken from the kitchen. This was all a product of my Mom's illness.

Make no mistake, I bear her no ill will in any of this. She was a victim as well. But I found that each time I was told that she wasn't going to make it- I found myself wishing that she wouldn't. Then I wouldn't be living under that dark, depressing cloud of uncertainty. That's where the "Big G" comes from.

The only good part is that I spoke with my Mom extensively concerning these feelings in the days leading up to her death. I would call her from phone booths all over the world while sailing. The last calls were from Norfolk and she told me, "You know you will never be able to live until I die." Not a question- a statement. And my reply? "I know, Mom, I know." And she responded with, "And that's okay." And it is.

I just needed to add this and one other thing- the trips we took as a family.
From 1963 through 1970 we went by car to Mystic Seaport, Fire Island, Montauk Point, Philadelphia (when the bell was sitting outside and you could touch it)Florida, Washington DC twice, Virginia, Dairy Farms in New Jersey and Coal Mines in the Appalachians.

My hat is forever off to my parents for the efforts they went to and the expense of money we did not have to take us on these trips. The memories are truly priceless.
So at 21 I was an enigma. On the one hand I loved these people who rejected me. And on the other hand I hated them for the rejection.

With that said- I can now move on back to the story at hand.

Now let's see, where was I?

The Origins of Guilt - More Bad Poetry

I've been writing this one since I was a little kid and my Mom was sick. She passed away in 1984 after decades of illness. As a child it must have taken a toll on me; though it was years until I could admit it. And even then, dealing with it was another matter entirely. Today I have nothing but the fondest memories of my Mom; which is as it should be. 

The Origins of Guilt

When Mom was sick the world was gray

There was no light from the sun.

I spent my time willing time away;

Avoiding what should never come.

So, I willed it on as I ate the pain;

learning how to live without her;

and when she was home – tho’ I wasn’t alone-

I’d wish she was gone again.

To hide from the guilt I built a wall,

Which only locked it all in.

And when I finally knocked that wall down

I was left to face up to my sin.

That cycle went on forever

And became a race I could only lose;

Unless I learned to eat the pain

Of the sin I didn’t get to choose.

Mooresville, NC 5-28-15