Thursday, March 24, 2005
My Upbringin'
Am I who I am because of my childhood, or despite of my childhood?
I think the main reason I want to provide my kids with a loving father is because I did not have one myself. I’m not saying that my father didn’t love me, he just never let it show. The main reason is because he was a miserable alcoholic for most of his life. When my mother and father married they were just kids. My mother was 15, and my father 17. Of course they didn’t marry out of love for one another. They married because my mother was pregnant with me.
I don’t think either of my parents ever got over the bitterness of having their lives ‘changed’ at such an early age. I believe the strongest love is love that is ‘made’. Meaning, two people that learn to love one another before they let lust and desire determine their feelings. My parents never had this luxury. They could have paved an easier road for themselves if they had set their goals to it. But the bitterness prevented them from ever having a common goal.
Needless to say, my parents divorced shortly after my youngest brother ‘dropped out’ of school. I’m not an advocate of divorce, except under biblical authority, but I could see this coming from the time I was a small child. I remember my parents having knock-down-drag-out fights when I was very little. I think it must have been because they didn’t think I was old enough to remember, because it seemed to settle down, for the most part, as I got older. As I remember, the mostly yelled at one another, with a few incidents of violence, for the rest of their marriage. But, to be honest, they never had a chance.
Ironically, my parents divorced a few months after my father stopped drinking. It was one specific event that led up to their imminent demise. My mother had just gotten out of the hospital from having kidney surgery, when my father got drunk and tried to rape her. I remember my mother telling me about this. She said that my father was filled with an anger that she had never seen. It must have been a horrific event to cause my father to stop drinking and my mother to decide to divorce him.
For the most part I remember my father being more of an embarrassing drunk, rather than a violent one. My father would come to my sporting events either already inebriated or with a flask in his pocket. Usually both. And, believe me, everyone in the bleachers was aware of it. Once, while I was playing football in jr. high, my father didn’t get home in time to ride with my mom to the game. My guess is that he was at a bar. Since we lived just a few blocks from the football field my father decided to ride my dirt bike (motorcycle) to the game. I remember we were lined up in the end zone, stretching before the game, when I saw my father coming down the road. When he attempted to turn onto the road that ran beside the football field he didn’t make the turn and ran into the 8ft chain link fence that surrounded the stadium. Everyone either saw it happen, or heard it. My coaches and teammates all ran to see if my father was all right. Of course, he wasn’t injured. He was just so drunk he could hardly speak. Another time, when I was a freshman playing football on the JV, I asked the coach to take me out of the game. I had already scored two touchdowns and rushed for nearly 100 yards. I had turned my ankle and I didn’t think I could ‘cut’ on it. My father started yelling for me to ‘suck it up’ and ‘get my ass back out there’. The high school coaches aren’t as tolerant as the peewee and jr. high coaches, because one of them turned around yelled at my dad to ‘shut up’ or he was going to have him removed from the stands. Ah, the joys of childhood!
While my father hid behind the bottle, my mother had her own way of drowning in her misery. She would just shut out the entire world and refuse to do anything. My mother never cleaned house. She had to be the worst housekeeper I have ever seen. I remember living in a filthy house from the time I was a small child. I actually used to get mocked because I kept my room clean. My mom has always been a very angry, hard to get along with, person. She could never keep a friend for very long because they would do something to make her mad. When I would do something bad, and get in trouble, my mom would be there to defend me. Even though I needed to be in trouble, she would take up for me. As a teen I thought that was pretty cool. But as I look back I realize that what I needed was discipline, not mercy. I realize that the discipline is usually the father’s job. But remember, my father wasn’t able to discipline because he was usually intoxicated.
Where are they now? My father has lived with his girlfriend for the past few years. He hasn’t had a drink since before my mother left him. He has his own life that includes shooting pool every night of the week and hanging out with his car club on the weekend. He actually seems happier than he’s ever been. But he doesn’t seem aware of the fact that he has three grandchildren that live within 50 miles of him. I usually talk to him about once per month. Nothing of substance, just “Hello. How you been?”. If we let him know far enough ahead of time, he may make it to one of the kid’s sporting events each year. As for my mother, she remarried nearly 6 years ago. She disappeared for a couple of years, then showed up on our doorstep one day. She said that she felt guilt because of her failed marriage. The man she is married to is a real strange guy. He’s one of the biggest habitual liars I have ever seen. At first I thought he was making up these lies to try and impress me, so that I would accept him. Just for kicks…He’s a black belt, and trained with Bruce Lee. He raced motocross, professionally. He used to be a body builder, and got so big that he broke a bone in his neck stretching out his arms. He is an excellent marksman, and could light a match at 200yds with a .22 rifle. He used to be a private investigator. He has his commercial pilots license. These are all things he has told me. Then, a couple of years ago his 13 year-old daughter from another marriage accused him of molesting her. Of course, he and my mother said that he was being falsely accused. But I told my mother that I already knew that he wasn’t a truthful person that I could trust. And since my children are my most prized possessions I couldn’t allow him to ever be around them when I wasn’t there. That meant that they could no longer spend the night at her house. Since then, I’ve spoken to her three times and seen her once. She had a decision to make, and she made it.
So you see my kids are broke in the ‘grandparent’ department. Which is sad since both my wife and I were very close to our grandparents.
So, if you’ll please forgive me. Now you see why I am the way I am.
Passion Week: Friday
Early in the morning, the Sanhedrin, Pilate, Herod Antipas, and Pilate tried Jesus again (Matt. 27:1-30; Mark 15:1-19; Luke 22:66—Luke 23:25; John 18:28—John 19:16). Jesus was then led to the cross and crucified at 9: 00 a.m. and died at 3: 00 p.m. and was buried later that day (Matt. 27:31-60; Mark 15:20-46; Luke 23:26-54; John 19:16-42). Christ the Paschal Lamb (1 Cor. 5:7) died at the time when the Israelites were sacrificing their Passover lambs.
I think the main reason I want to provide my kids with a loving father is because I did not have one myself. I’m not saying that my father didn’t love me, he just never let it show. The main reason is because he was a miserable alcoholic for most of his life. When my mother and father married they were just kids. My mother was 15, and my father 17. Of course they didn’t marry out of love for one another. They married because my mother was pregnant with me.
I don’t think either of my parents ever got over the bitterness of having their lives ‘changed’ at such an early age. I believe the strongest love is love that is ‘made’. Meaning, two people that learn to love one another before they let lust and desire determine their feelings. My parents never had this luxury. They could have paved an easier road for themselves if they had set their goals to it. But the bitterness prevented them from ever having a common goal.
Needless to say, my parents divorced shortly after my youngest brother ‘dropped out’ of school. I’m not an advocate of divorce, except under biblical authority, but I could see this coming from the time I was a small child. I remember my parents having knock-down-drag-out fights when I was very little. I think it must have been because they didn’t think I was old enough to remember, because it seemed to settle down, for the most part, as I got older. As I remember, the mostly yelled at one another, with a few incidents of violence, for the rest of their marriage. But, to be honest, they never had a chance.
Ironically, my parents divorced a few months after my father stopped drinking. It was one specific event that led up to their imminent demise. My mother had just gotten out of the hospital from having kidney surgery, when my father got drunk and tried to rape her. I remember my mother telling me about this. She said that my father was filled with an anger that she had never seen. It must have been a horrific event to cause my father to stop drinking and my mother to decide to divorce him.
For the most part I remember my father being more of an embarrassing drunk, rather than a violent one. My father would come to my sporting events either already inebriated or with a flask in his pocket. Usually both. And, believe me, everyone in the bleachers was aware of it. Once, while I was playing football in jr. high, my father didn’t get home in time to ride with my mom to the game. My guess is that he was at a bar. Since we lived just a few blocks from the football field my father decided to ride my dirt bike (motorcycle) to the game. I remember we were lined up in the end zone, stretching before the game, when I saw my father coming down the road. When he attempted to turn onto the road that ran beside the football field he didn’t make the turn and ran into the 8ft chain link fence that surrounded the stadium. Everyone either saw it happen, or heard it. My coaches and teammates all ran to see if my father was all right. Of course, he wasn’t injured. He was just so drunk he could hardly speak. Another time, when I was a freshman playing football on the JV, I asked the coach to take me out of the game. I had already scored two touchdowns and rushed for nearly 100 yards. I had turned my ankle and I didn’t think I could ‘cut’ on it. My father started yelling for me to ‘suck it up’ and ‘get my ass back out there’. The high school coaches aren’t as tolerant as the peewee and jr. high coaches, because one of them turned around yelled at my dad to ‘shut up’ or he was going to have him removed from the stands. Ah, the joys of childhood!
While my father hid behind the bottle, my mother had her own way of drowning in her misery. She would just shut out the entire world and refuse to do anything. My mother never cleaned house. She had to be the worst housekeeper I have ever seen. I remember living in a filthy house from the time I was a small child. I actually used to get mocked because I kept my room clean. My mom has always been a very angry, hard to get along with, person. She could never keep a friend for very long because they would do something to make her mad. When I would do something bad, and get in trouble, my mom would be there to defend me. Even though I needed to be in trouble, she would take up for me. As a teen I thought that was pretty cool. But as I look back I realize that what I needed was discipline, not mercy. I realize that the discipline is usually the father’s job. But remember, my father wasn’t able to discipline because he was usually intoxicated.
Where are they now? My father has lived with his girlfriend for the past few years. He hasn’t had a drink since before my mother left him. He has his own life that includes shooting pool every night of the week and hanging out with his car club on the weekend. He actually seems happier than he’s ever been. But he doesn’t seem aware of the fact that he has three grandchildren that live within 50 miles of him. I usually talk to him about once per month. Nothing of substance, just “Hello. How you been?”. If we let him know far enough ahead of time, he may make it to one of the kid’s sporting events each year. As for my mother, she remarried nearly 6 years ago. She disappeared for a couple of years, then showed up on our doorstep one day. She said that she felt guilt because of her failed marriage. The man she is married to is a real strange guy. He’s one of the biggest habitual liars I have ever seen. At first I thought he was making up these lies to try and impress me, so that I would accept him. Just for kicks…He’s a black belt, and trained with Bruce Lee. He raced motocross, professionally. He used to be a body builder, and got so big that he broke a bone in his neck stretching out his arms. He is an excellent marksman, and could light a match at 200yds with a .22 rifle. He used to be a private investigator. He has his commercial pilots license. These are all things he has told me. Then, a couple of years ago his 13 year-old daughter from another marriage accused him of molesting her. Of course, he and my mother said that he was being falsely accused. But I told my mother that I already knew that he wasn’t a truthful person that I could trust. And since my children are my most prized possessions I couldn’t allow him to ever be around them when I wasn’t there. That meant that they could no longer spend the night at her house. Since then, I’ve spoken to her three times and seen her once. She had a decision to make, and she made it.
So you see my kids are broke in the ‘grandparent’ department. Which is sad since both my wife and I were very close to our grandparents.
So, if you’ll please forgive me. Now you see why I am the way I am.
Passion Week: Friday
Early in the morning, the Sanhedrin, Pilate, Herod Antipas, and Pilate tried Jesus again (Matt. 27:1-30; Mark 15:1-19; Luke 22:66—Luke 23:25; John 18:28—John 19:16). Jesus was then led to the cross and crucified at 9: 00 a.m. and died at 3: 00 p.m. and was buried later that day (Matt. 27:31-60; Mark 15:20-46; Luke 23:26-54; John 19:16-42). Christ the Paschal Lamb (1 Cor. 5:7) died at the time when the Israelites were sacrificing their Passover lambs.
