Grow Up Boy You Are Seven Years Old
When I was seven years old my parents were in the throws of their ultimate destruction that lasted for the next three years. Life went from being somewhat normal where my father worked 60 hours a week driving a semi and my mother stayed home with me, to this bizarre family war zone. Strangely the only participants in the war were my mother and father. They worked together like fire and water in their dance toward oblivion. I basically stood on the sidelines and pleaded with them for peace.
My mother drank almost constantly at this point. This is also the time she started naked drinking, which was a real treat. She would get drunk and call whomever she could think of and just start yammering about whatever drunk, pathetic people yammer about to people who dutifully listen on the other end of the phone line. I witnessed many conversations. I remember her talking about my father with reckless abandon and no regard for me. Sometimes she would literally go on a rant about the horrible things he did for 10 minutes while I stood right next to her listening. Then she’d realize I was there and yell at me to go to bed.
I was lost behind in this tumult of unreasonable emotions and ineptitude. My father avoided us and banged chicks. I inhaled late 70s asthma medications along with my mom’s cigarette smoke. She smoked her face off and drank. My dog skulked around, with his tail between his legs, in our small 40’ by 20’ modular home. I paint this pretty picture because that’s what I saw through the eyes of a child.
One particular night always strikes me as I recollect these times of my life. It was late and I had gone to bed when I was awakened by a loud argument from the living room. Since the living room was only 25’ from my bed this wasn’t difficult and my parents accomplished waking me in this manner frequently. This night, however, was different.
Generally my father would get all bent out of shape about my mother and take off to some unknown destination. I have thoughts now as to where he went but I’ve never asked and I’m pretty sure if I ever did my father would look me straight in the eyes and lie. My father still averts his eyes when I ask him hard questions from my childhood. Now he faces a man with man size anger and disrespect. As I said, my father was the one who took off and left my drunken mother with me while I “slept”. Of course I didn’t sleep but that was part of the ruse we played.
This night was different. My mother started to yell at my father in the garage louder than normal. I got up a few minutes earlier when I heard my parents go outside and I was terrified they were going to both leave me there alone. I pressed my ear to the wall of the living room to make out what they were saying. All I could hear were hushed tones from my father and my mother yelling at the top of her lungs.
“No, it’s my turn,” she bellowed over and over while my father tried to hush her up. I knew what she was talking about. At seven years old the situation was not lost on me and I knew my mother felt like it was her turn to take off from the home scene. I knew she was even more blasted than usual and also knew that driving drunk was a very bad thing. I was horrified my mother would suggest such a ridiculous transgression. At seven, even with my idiot parents, I knew the potential consequences of getting behind the wheel of a 2-ton projectile when the navigator can barely walk.
Their argument continued for a few minutes until I heard a car door slam. My mother screamed. My stomach turned then I heard the garage door open and I saw our car leave from the front window. I ran into the hall and hid out of sight of the front door until I heard someone come in. A moment later I heard the sounds of my mother sobbing. Slowly I crept back down the hall to my bedroom and closed the door.
I don’t remember what happened after that. I’m sure my dog waited for me in my bed and I probably just went to bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. Perhaps I cried. I wish I could tell you but I’m just not sure.
What’s the point of this story? I think the point is that to a large extent we make our own reality and as adults we get to largely choose the path of our lives. As children we are passengers on someone else’s train. This creates a situation where adults actually have a responsibility to their children not just for themselves.
As always thanks for reading to the end.
My mother drank almost constantly at this point. This is also the time she started naked drinking, which was a real treat. She would get drunk and call whomever she could think of and just start yammering about whatever drunk, pathetic people yammer about to people who dutifully listen on the other end of the phone line. I witnessed many conversations. I remember her talking about my father with reckless abandon and no regard for me. Sometimes she would literally go on a rant about the horrible things he did for 10 minutes while I stood right next to her listening. Then she’d realize I was there and yell at me to go to bed.
I was lost behind in this tumult of unreasonable emotions and ineptitude. My father avoided us and banged chicks. I inhaled late 70s asthma medications along with my mom’s cigarette smoke. She smoked her face off and drank. My dog skulked around, with his tail between his legs, in our small 40’ by 20’ modular home. I paint this pretty picture because that’s what I saw through the eyes of a child.
One particular night always strikes me as I recollect these times of my life. It was late and I had gone to bed when I was awakened by a loud argument from the living room. Since the living room was only 25’ from my bed this wasn’t difficult and my parents accomplished waking me in this manner frequently. This night, however, was different.
Generally my father would get all bent out of shape about my mother and take off to some unknown destination. I have thoughts now as to where he went but I’ve never asked and I’m pretty sure if I ever did my father would look me straight in the eyes and lie. My father still averts his eyes when I ask him hard questions from my childhood. Now he faces a man with man size anger and disrespect. As I said, my father was the one who took off and left my drunken mother with me while I “slept”. Of course I didn’t sleep but that was part of the ruse we played.
This night was different. My mother started to yell at my father in the garage louder than normal. I got up a few minutes earlier when I heard my parents go outside and I was terrified they were going to both leave me there alone. I pressed my ear to the wall of the living room to make out what they were saying. All I could hear were hushed tones from my father and my mother yelling at the top of her lungs.
“No, it’s my turn,” she bellowed over and over while my father tried to hush her up. I knew what she was talking about. At seven years old the situation was not lost on me and I knew my mother felt like it was her turn to take off from the home scene. I knew she was even more blasted than usual and also knew that driving drunk was a very bad thing. I was horrified my mother would suggest such a ridiculous transgression. At seven, even with my idiot parents, I knew the potential consequences of getting behind the wheel of a 2-ton projectile when the navigator can barely walk.
Their argument continued for a few minutes until I heard a car door slam. My mother screamed. My stomach turned then I heard the garage door open and I saw our car leave from the front window. I ran into the hall and hid out of sight of the front door until I heard someone come in. A moment later I heard the sounds of my mother sobbing. Slowly I crept back down the hall to my bedroom and closed the door.
I don’t remember what happened after that. I’m sure my dog waited for me in my bed and I probably just went to bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. Perhaps I cried. I wish I could tell you but I’m just not sure.
What’s the point of this story? I think the point is that to a large extent we make our own reality and as adults we get to largely choose the path of our lives. As children we are passengers on someone else’s train. This creates a situation where adults actually have a responsibility to their children not just for themselves.
As always thanks for reading to the end.
posted by morrisson66 at 12:49 PM
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