So I decided I'm not finished tonight. That last post took an unexpected turn and I realized that I didn't write about what I had originally intended to. I should probably say forget it and go to bed and deal with this tomorrow, but I wanted to clear out my brain first. If I don't, my mind won't stop racing over the details and I won't be able to sleep.
When I first thought of writing tonight, one memory came through crystal clear. We lived in the Austin Homes housing projects and Mom worked a lot, leaving us alone with Dad on a regular basis. It's also the first time I remember Dad having his snakes. He had them for years, and he had all sorts. Western Hognose, pythons, rattlesnakes, garter snakes, you have it. I have a particular aversion to snakes...I don't even like remembering them. Dad's biggest snakes were the 8 and 9 foot boa constrictors, Arnold and Morticia. Dad always kept them in a wood and glass case made by my uncle, but I was terrified that they would escape and strangle me in my sleep. At this point my sister and I shared a room, my brothers shared a room, Mom and Dad had a room, and the snakes had their own room. For someone that never worked on a regular basis Dad sure spent a lot of money on unnecessary crap. There were countless snakes, the best stereo equipment money could buy, expensive train sets, keyboard and sound equipment....whatever Dad's latest fixation was, he would have. It still kills me that he never went without what he wanted. He had name brand soda. He had ice cream in the freezer and Hershey's Cocoa and Southern Comfort in the pantry. We got KoolAid and sometimes grocery store brand soda. Dad was the top of the list, we got whatever money was left. I will sy this for my mother-she worked endless hours for years to support the family. Dad would quit but Mom would make sure we had a place to stay and at least something to eat.
Because we saw how hard she worked we decided to help her out a little bit. We often waited up for Mom (who wouldn't get in until very late, but as long as you were quiet Dad never knew the difference). We spent an entire night cleaning the kitchen for her so it would be nice when she came home. We teamed up and did the dishes, we swept and mopped, and we also used all the strength we had to move the car axle that had been sitting on our bench that we ate on. Why there was a car axle at the kitchen table is still beyond me, but we moved it to the side so it was out of the way and cleaned up the grease left behind. It's such a small thing to do, cleaning a kitchen-I realize that now-but we were very young and very proud that we had helped Mom out. I can't even remember what her reaction was, but I'm fairly certain she was pleased.
It was around this same time that Dad would feed us army food. I don't even know what it's called but it's the stuff in the packets that you just add water to and cook. It was pretty gross, so since my little brother was a pretty good cook we would usually have him make our meals when Mom was gone and Dad was asleep. One particular time my brother was making us toast. He accidentally burnt a couple of pieces. They weren't just slightly crisp, they were charred black. He was making more when Dad discovered the bread in the trash. He was enraged that we had wasted food so thoughtlessly and decided to teach us a lesson. I watched as he forced my brother to eat the bread out of the trash. There was all sorts of gunk in that trash can; I remember the toast was coated in cigarette ashes. It was terrible, and afterwards I did what I could to comfort my brother.
I'm not sure why, but I always felt like I was to blame for not being able to protect my siblings. I was incredibly protective of them but was helpless against Dad and I beat myself up about it for years. Even now I find myself wondering-if I had kept my resolve when I talked to DCS instead of letting Mom con me, if I had come forward sooner, would it have been different for my siblings?
I do realize that I was just a child and shouldn't hold myself to blame for those kinds of things. I guess it's a byproduct of the environment I was raised in, but I have to let it go. I am not responsible for my father's actions, and nothing I did could have changed the way he treated us. I saw him beat the snot out of my brother for wetting the bed when he had a bad dream. He beat me so hard once that I went back to Minnie's with a belt buckle impression embedded in my skin-and that was the last time he ever left a mark. Minnie told him in no uncertain terms that she would report him to the authorities if he ever did it again.
I guess it isn't really going out of order too much to discuss a bit of Minnie's family history for a moment. I have a hard time understanding why Minnie was so against my father abusing his children but was perfectly okay with abuse in her own home. Minnie's parents divorced when she was young. Her mother remarried and had several children with a man we shall call George. George, Minnie's step-father, sexually abused Minnie as well as his own daughters. As they grew they actually fought for George's affections. When Minnie was old enough George left her mother and married Minnie. She then bore him 6 children, including my father. Thus my Dad's half-siblings were also his aunts and uncles. Weird doesn't even begin to describe it. Minnie then sent her own three daughters into George's bed-the way an aunt related it to me was "Get on in there, your daddy's waiting for you." According to my father she forced him to perform fellatio on strangers for money. Minnie earned money herself as well-per the family tales she owned a diner during this time. Truckers would come in and slip her money into the remains of her sandwich. Minnie would then use a crate to climb into their trucks and disappear for a while. I myself have heard her discuss the crate, so I do believe there is a strong element of truth to these stories.
I approached that part of the story in a very cut-and-dry manner because I did not experience any of it firsthand, but unless all 6 of Minnie's children are lying then it is true. It is crucial to understand a little bit of the family dynamic to get the full idea of what it was like growing up with these people. We were all severely damaged. Some allowed it to destroy them. I've always fancied that I took it, learned from it, and grew stronger. Whether or not that's actually true remains to be seen, but I certainly do the best I can.
And with that, I feel peaceful enough to go to bed. Goodnight dear reader, sweet dreams and much happiness to you.
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