Ever wonder?

Since my move from L.A. in the late eighties. I've learned some very important things. Most of them have to do with my dad.

As a kid growing up the first few years were good. Everyone was happy and we had contact with the WHOLE family. Then when I turned 5 things changed. My happy home was gone. It started with my grandmother on my moms side being murdered in Mexico. Then My grandfather died. After that my mom developed breast cancer. Back then They just cut the whole thing off. They even took half a lung for good measure. It really screwed with her head.

But until recently I never thought about what my dad felt. Couple this with the house we lived in being somewhat haunted and I realized that my dads dream home was a curse. About this time I believe it was 1965 when the Watts riots occurred. Normally peaceful men that were fathers of my friend's and even my dad started carrying guns and taking turns patrolling the neighborhood. More than once while hunting I've thought about what it must've been like for a peaceful man like pop to carry a gun to protect his home. As kids we watched the fires and national guardsman from our garage roof.

My younger sister was born the next year. I thought about why and realized it happened probably for my mom who needed to feel like a whole woman. There were always fights between mom an pop. She constantly accused him of cheating. Two years later my mom died. Here is pop, a man who had to drop outta school at 13 to help support is mom, brother and sister. Now the woman he loved had made her last years with him miserable and and had left him with four children. One 2 years old.

When we needed pop the most to comfort us and reassure us, He dumped the youngest on his mom and went out every night to bars and strip joints. There were times when my older sister had to force me to eat creamed peas on toast because that's all we had for days at a time. My older brother ran the streets and ate at friends houses and left us to fend for ourselves. Now and then pops would come home with some slut or bar whore. But thank god it never lasted. When he did find one good woman he would come up with an excuse to dump her. I honestly believe he was trying to get my mom outta his head and heart. Not having much of a father figure himself (granddad was a drunk and a wife beater who died young) Dad had no idea what to do to be a good father.

He finally settled on Betty. For all that she was and was not. She made sure he had 3 squares a day and a clean house and clean clothes. Granted she worked us like slaves to make it that way and her kids (even though they were grown and married) got more than we did. The house was filled with constant yelling and tears from us. Pops never intervened. I guess he thought even a mean mother is better than no mother. This went on till 1972 when the family moved. All except my older brother. He was not invited. He was just 18. A year later my older sister ran away when she turned 17. I stayed another year and ran away at 14.

I spent a year bouncing from place to place till my brother told me to live with him and to finish school. We forged some names and I got into school. Later I was picked-up by the cops on weapons charges. When pop came to get me I made it clear that I would not live in the same house with that Bitch. The police were more than curious about why I didn't wanna go back. Pop just blew it off and took me to my bro's. When the youngest reached 16 she too left. He had now lost all his children because of her.

At times I wondered if he regretted everything that had happened or not. He never let on one way or the other. For the next few years it was upto me to keep the contact open with him. Ya know, holiday visits and just staying in touch. When I graduated from high school he genuinely seemed proud. Right after I asked him to sign the papers allowing me to join the Marines. I was seventeen. All he said was "are you sure?"

After I graduated from boot camp things seemed to be better between us. Pops honestly made an attempt at staying in touch. As time wore on I felt he wanted to be closer, but just didn't know how to go about it. But at least he was there whenever I needed him. Granted he didn't know how or what to say sometimes. But at least he tried. He even took the time to try an bail me outta jail at 3 a.m. and his car's electrical system burned in the police parking lot. And he still took my side in the whole affair. As for the years leading up to now. We've grown closer and I believe he misses the time we lost. But now we're 45o miles apart and our time is growing short.

I guess in his own way he helped make me stronger. Maybe it was intentional, maybe not. All I know is that thinking about him I'm able to recall all the good times, no matter how minor a lot easier than all the tears and anguish. Could it have turned out differently? If so, how?....................Makes me wonder.