My earliest memories of my childhood, take me back to when I was about 7 years old. I can remember, sitting in the living room and my family is watching television. What's on? The Dallas Cowboys. My whole family use to root together, as we watched the game on Sundays.
When I was 7 years old, it was a troubling time in my life, because I didn't fit in and I was much smaller than other kids my age. I was one of those kids who didn't like to fight and to this day, I appall violence. But, when I remember my past, I can see where I got my strength and determination from.
And, I'm saddened to tell you, I didn't get it from my father. He decided, when I was 7 years old, that he was leaving my mother, they were getting a divorce. My mother sat my sister and I down for a talk, it was about them splitting up.
My father realized my mother was unfaithful and it ended their marriage of 9 years. My sister and I, had to accept the fact, our father wouldn't be living with us anymore and it would be just her and me, and our mother.
There were many questions in my head and I didn't know where to turn. My mother was very hush, hush about it and really didn't want to explain. She just said, your father won't be living with us anymore and that the marriage was over. It wasn't until much later did I find out, what really happened.
The day my father left our house, was the day we sold the house and moved into an apartment, just my sister, mother and myself. It was very odd at first, but after a while. I liked the place. My father would have visitation rights and pick us up on the weekends. One summer, I remember seeing Star Wars, something like 6 times. I didn't care, I just wanted to spend time with my dad.
This went on for a few years, over that course of time, I managed to move twice and change schools twice. And, somehow, lost my father in the midst. It seemed like he no longer cared to visit, because we had not heard from him, since the first move, nevermind, the second move. We lived in each place about 1 year, so he was missing for 2 years.
I was about 11 years old, when I realized, that my father had given up on us(family). It taught me a very vivid lesson, very early in life. It showed me, how much my father really didn't know. My father was an experienced uneducated person. His wisdom passes moral values. Day after day, I would be wondering where he is or what he might be doing?
During his time missing, I managed to complete my first communion, as a catholic. I managed to maintain an A+ average, up till I entered 9th grade. My grades were failing, because of other influences. Plus, it was a new school again. I got my first "F" on my report card, for one marking term, which devastated my mother, which you can bet.....there was no TV, no games, no outside playing.....I was to study and stay in my room.
My mother began dating, while my father was missing and I wasn't cool with it, but I was forced to deal with the situation, for which, was out of my control. My mother found a man, who was legally separated from his wife and two boys. He was arrogant, pushy, a liar and a very heavy handed person.
By this I mean, as my mother's relationship grew with him, he became more forceful about my sister and me, as in listening to him. My mother agreed to give him permission, if necessary, to discipline the two of us. His name was Ronald, nickname "Ronnie" or Ron, for short. When I was younger(and sometimes today still) I always had a problem swallowing pills. I always felt like I was going to choke on them.
There was one day, I just out right refused to take my daily vitamin. Ron grabbed the back of my neck and forced me to stand in front of the sink. In fear, I tried to take them and honestly couldn't do it. And, the next thing I know, I am flying across the kitchen floor, all sprawled out, because he back-handed for not taking my vitamin and claimed I was doing it, because I didn't want to listen to him.
For me, there were no happy times, during the 4 year relationship. There was one day, my sister and I were confined to our rooms, because we were fighting. When Ron sent us to our rooms, we were also told to clean them and he would be checking them.
Well, Ron did check out our rooms. He entered my sister's room and found things to be the way he wanted. The door to my room was closed. I was getting changed, because I worked up a sweat cleaning my room(yes my room was that dirty) and I had a t-shirt, I'd not had a chance to put in my hamper, on the bed.
He walked over to the t-shirt, picked it up and asked "What is this?", I said a t-shirt I was about to put in the hamper. He dropped it back on the bed. I walked over to pick up the t-shirt and when I straightened up, he backhanded me and I went flying across my bed. I hit the wall that was on the other side of the bed and fell down on the floor between the bed and the wall.
He was ranting about how HE wanted my room spotless and if I wasn't going to listen, then he was going to make me listen. I was so scared, literally frightened, because I didn't know what he was going to do. I stood up, between the wall and my bed, and backed myself into the corner. He moved my bed with one hand, so as to have more room. He stepped up on me and grabbed me by my forehead and slammed my head into the corners of two walls.
The day came when my mother, asked my sister and I, if we had a problem with her marrying Ron. My sister calmly said- "Mom, Yes." and I said "Yes!" And, then my mother's next question is "Why not?"
My sister told her that Ron abuses me. The shocked look on my mother's face, said it all. Then, she asked me, if it was true and I said, "Yes". This ultimately changed the entire outlook for that relationship, which ended shortly after she came to us. Which, I was very happy.
However, that didn't help with the feelings I had for him. And, Yes, these feelings are not the kind you want to share with others. It use to be purely unadulterated hatred for the man and I knew there would come a day, when him and I would meet on the street, and only one of us was going to be walking away.
At age 13, I began going to high school, and it seemed like it was not much different, than my other schools. The same clicks, groupies and other people, just trying to learn what they can and get out. To some students, classes were boring and knowledge wasn't worth the effort.
There were some great teachers in my school and I honored them by learning whatever I could, while taking their class. I was never the type to be disruptive in class, because I wanted to learn. I guess, I learned at a slower pace than others. However, I did absorb or learn more knowledge than most kids in my classes and whenever someone came to me for help, I would help explain things they didn't understand.
In 1983, which is the year, I started High School, I found my love for computers. It began a couple of years earlier, but I definitely found my groove in High School. I managed to keep up my grades, until my senior year, when things got harder.
In the early part of 1983, my mother decided that it was important to find out what happened to my father. So, she contacted other family members across the country, to see if they had heard from him. She talked it over with my father's sister(my aunt) and together, they paid for a private investigator to search for him or track him down.
To a very wonderful surprise, the investigator was able to find him. He was living in a motel in the same city we were living. Why hadn't he come to visit? Because, he went to live in San Diego, CA. and had been working for some small restaurant. He wanted a fresh beginning, as far as, employment opportunities. But, was only recently back in Mass.
My mother gave him the opportunity to come, and be a father/male figure to his children, but under one condition- he was to help out around the house and seek out, at least a part-time job.
I thought, at the beginning, there would be a possibility of my parents reconciling their differences and getting back together, but that was shot down by both of them. They seem to be alright as friends and living together, than when married to one another.
I was filled with an abundance of joy, when he accepted her offer to live with us. He would at least be no longer a missing part of my life and we could talk, and do things together. Which, we did. When I was younger, in 6th grade, I learned how to play Chess and Checkers, and enjoyed playing Chess more than Checkers. I use to play against the computer(on the computer I owned at the time) and win a lot.
So, I taught my father how to play. It gave us something to do together, not to mention, we would also be able to talk about whatever came to mind. These times I enjoyed so much.
My father stayed with us, for a number of years. He even helped out with baby-sitting, younger cousins, so his sister could go to work. Over the years, my father developed a problem with his stomach, which when seen by a doctor, was misdiagnosed. It wasn't until a few years later, did we learn more about it.
On one evening, my mother and father, were walking around the street, to go to my aunt's house. As they were walking along the sidewalk, my father fell down to his knees, in pain. He was getting sicker and the medicine the doctor gave him, seemed to be not working as lead to believe.