I remember there were a few good times

There were a few times with Bob that were ok. Some were actually fun. The activities were usually centered on his interests and on his friends. We went dirt bike riding in a few places. We would go riding with people and some of them had kids.I remember getting my Trisport. It was alot of fun to ride. Its that orange thing in the picture. I'm not sure who was on the back, but I'm sure he had fun. I took the orange thing of a small cliff once and it landed on all three wheels. If you tried to turn too fast, the thing would tip over. I tried riding a small motorcycle before I got the Trisport, but got yelled at for dumping it my first time on it. My dad got mad, I started crying and wouldn't try it again.

Another time, he dressed me up for Halloween as Casper's uncle Spooky. Just a sheet, a plastic hat and a tie. It was actually ok. I had a little trouble seeing. The eyeholes kept riding up, but I managed. Got a lot of candy. Who ever thought of a holiday centered around candy was a genius. We never thought about it being evil or anything. It was just a day to dress up and pretend to be someone or something else and then mooch candy for the neighborhood. One year, my aunt Eileen took me through Glendora where she grew up to go trick or treating. At one house, I got an apple. After going a couple of blocks over, she asked me if I got an apple and could she have it. I pulled it out of my candy bag as fast as I could and handed it to her. I really didn't want the apple. I mean I was after candy. Raisins, apples, carrots - who gives out stuff like that hippies? soccer mom? I wasn't interested in collecting health food. If I wanted an apple, I'd get one at home. Anyways, she throws the apple across the street and it breaks open. It looked like something shiny fell out of it. Maybe it was just something in the street, but I'm glad she did it. Who wants a stupid apple when you have all this candy?

I lived under the same roof as my dad, but it seemed like we were from different planets. One time, he thought it be funny to come up behind with a switchblade comb. I was sitting in a chair at the kitchen table and he reached around and push the button to make the knife open up. I jumped. He was "It's a comb! Did you really think I had a knife?" I told him I didn't know. Then he got mad because I didn't trust him. 

Music was another area that we were miles apart on. I remember in 4th grade, my dad bought me a Kiss tape. "Destroyer". He was proud of himself. I listened to it a few times, but never really got into it. Later, I had a hat that I wrote AC/DC on. I just heard the "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" album and thought it was the greatest thing. He went through the roof. I don't remember what he said, but he just went crazy. To him and a few others, AC/DC back then meant you were bisexual. I didnt know that. He didn't even try to explain why he was so mad. He just started yelling. Eileen was living with us and tried to calm him down explaining it was a band and not what he thought it was. He just got up and went the garage to smoke some pot and that was it. Years later, in my teens I was into metal. Ozzy Osbourne, Dio and Iron Maiden were my favorite bands. I wore out Iron Maiden's "Piece of Mind" album. Being the "cool" dad he was, I got both a Quiet Riot and a Twisted Sister cassette for Christmas that year. Not quite the same, but ok. Kind of like comparing Jimi Hendrix to Prince. Not quite the same, but nice try. I started playing guitar and wanted me to teach him. He had no patience and gave up after the first day. Actually after about 15 minutes. He thought I could having him playing songs that he liked. I didn't know any Beach Boy songs or anything else that he liked. I was playing songs like Iron Man, Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, Paranoid, and the other classic Black Sabbath tunes. I remember making him mad a few times when I used to turn up just the bass on my guitar and let it feedback. Not the high feedback that most people do. This was really low and bassy. It would sound like an approaching freight train and would shake the walls. 

He worked as a boat mechanic for a number of years. One of the perks was that he could use one of the rental boats and skis anytime he wanted. We went a few times. I got to drive the boat a few times. Tried skiing, but he couldn't keep a steady throttle. Fast, slow, fast,slow. Jerky. Start to get up and then he'd stall the boat. He didn't believe in sunscreen either. One time, we went to Lake Mead for a weekend. It was super hot. I remember it being like 110 at night. Roger and Eileen slept in the bed of the truck, My dad slept in the cab, and I slept on the bow of the boat. It was on a trailer when it wasnt in the water. I had to keep soaking a sheet in the faucet.I did this about every two hours. Everyone got burned to a crisp the very first day, but my dad drove all the way out here and we were going to have fun. To say everyone was miserable would be an understatement. 

One Christmas, I got a 10 speed. It was parked in front of the refrigerator. He asked me to get some egg nog for Sheelah out of the refrigerator. I said hey there's a bike in here. Sheelah asked me who I thought it belonged to. I said Mac. He was her brother and was there every Christmas.  She laughed and said "No its for you". I rolled it into the living room. It was a WAY too big for me. It had 26" tires and the seat was raised. I was used to riding my BMX bike with 20" tires. Even that had the seat down as low as it would go.  Needless to say, it went back to the store and was exchanged for one with 24" tires. I had to put my foot on the curb just to sit on the bike. 

Like I said there were some times that were good.

 

the world is bigger than your backyard

I know I keep saying it, but we really did move around a lot. This always meant new school and new neighbors. Being the new kid was hard, but there were times that were a bit easier. One way was riding my bike around the block and through the neighborhood. The world becomes a little bit smaller. I enjoyed the "exploring". I also enjoyed meeting people. A bike or a skateboard was a common link to the other kids. Gave me a chance to get to know them and for them to know me. Not all about me, but just enough. I met quite a few people when I was out. I would meet kids my own age and families. Families that seemed so different then mine. Families where people actually got along. People were actually very nice for the most part.

 I was still pretty young. Young enough where I hadn't learned the "dangers" of talking to people of other races. What I mean is that it was okay to know who your neighbors are, but keep a close eye on them. At least that's what I remember learning from my dad. He was a closet racist. He'd be nice to people who were non-white, but as soon as he was where he felt they couldn't hear him,  I'd hear about this group is always in gangs and will stab me and steal my bike. This other group was nothing but crooks and drug dealers. I overheard him and his friends telling racial jokes. It was okay to have them as co-workers, but never as bosses. Even worse than that was to have them as friends. This is how it was. I just went along with it. Living in Southern California, you can't escape the fact that there are people from many diverse backgrounds. Either you learn to get along or you have problems. I never really saw people as Black, Hispanic, Asian, or whatever. I mean I knew they weren't white, but they were friends and it didn't matter. 

The biggest change came along when  I was about 10. I spent the summer in Harper's Ferry, West Virginia with my grandma, Inez. As I mentioned before, I enjoyed reading and learning new things. I learned about the civil war. I also learned about John Brown. He was an abolitionist. I don't really remember how much of what he did was true or not, but something hit a nerve with me. Where was I in this? It really helped me see the world differently. Race was no longer an issue for me. I began to see other people as just people in this world. I began to develop friendships outside of my white circles. My little friends would say things like, "Hey you can't be friends with him! He's black!", "You can't talk to her! She's mexican!". Kids can be so dumb. But where do they learn this stuff? I remembered that John Brown didnt just talk about putting an end to slavery. He took action. I'm not sure how much of what he did was good, bad, or indifferent. I just knew that I had to make a choice. I was already used to rejection for being the new kid, so if I lost friends for being nice to non white kids, so what. I actually started making more friends. Started hanging out with different families and learning about their cultures. Not a lot, but just enough to want to learn more. I also felt more accepted by these people than my own family. Weird, but true. I was like the token white kid.  Out in public, people would wave to me and my dad would get nervous and ask who was waving and why. I'd say it someone from school. I couldn't bring myself to let him know that they were my friends. I figured what he didn't know would hurt him. Besides it would just be one more thing to make him mad.

I also remember people coming up to me on Saturdays when I was doing yard work. I started mowing the yard when I was pretty young . I can't tell you how many times an adult would come up to me and introduce themselves. After a short introduction, they would tell me that they were from a church and would invite me to go with them the next day. Sundays weren't a busy day. I might sleep in a little. I'd usually watch Super Chicken cartoons while eating cereal. Not really a whole lot going on. At first, I would ask my dad. He said he didn't care. He told me that if I wanted to waste my weekend that was my business. He just wanted to make sure I didn't get into any trouble with the law. I remembered the stories from Released Time and wanted to hear more. I was excited. I'd try to find some of my better school clothes to wear. I only remember getting picked up at my house a couple of times. Usually, I'd go over to their house and wait until it was time to go. I went to a lot of different churches. Heard a lot of the stories. Somebody gave me a Bible when I was in 5th grade. Sundays seemed like they took forever to come around. They also went by so fast. It was an escape. An escape from things that never seemed make any sense. Many times it was the only structure that I had in the week. People moved away. New people came to invite me. We moved away. Somewhere along the way, I stopped going to church. I had come to believe that there was something or someone who kept things going, but there was still a lot of unanswered questions.

Some people I just don't get

Have you ever wondered why people act the way they do? No, I'm not trying to sound like the late Andy Rooney from "Sixty Minutes". I know some people like to people watch, but this is something a little more involved. This has been something that has always fascinated me every since I can remember. It's easy to develop the wrong opinion of someone. It is even easier when you don't stop to investigate. When you want to get to know why someone is who they are, you have to ask questions, weigh evidence, ask eyewitnesses, and pay attention. Some people are pretty easy to get. You examine the life they have lived. You examine the influences and the conditions in their life. You learn what was important to them and how that affected them. For example, you can take a favorite actor, athlete, musician, author, etc. You can read up on them, listen to interviews, and all kinds of other things. If they're famous, there is probably more information than you really need. Now what about a regular person. If you want to know about them, you ask questions. Most of us have developed friendships and relationship by getting to know each other. It involves work. It also involves disclosure. There are some things that you don't share with someone the very first time you meet them. As you develop trust, you allow yourself to share things about yourself and hopefully the other person trusts you to do the same. I know I probably sound like a stalker. Relax, I'm not. Just look out your window right now and I'll gladly smile and wave right back. Just kidding, I'm at your neighbor's house instead. Don't worry. We're just talking about what you were doing last week.

Dave age 11

Some people I know that I'll never be able to figure out. One person is my dad. I remember people saying what a great guy he was and how he did such and such. The way they talked about him lead me to believe that he had a twin brother. Either that or he was a double agent. He was more of a chameleon. He would change with whatever was happening. Maybe he was bipolar, I really don't know. He had some weird ways of parenting though. I would really like to believe that it was some how related to his upbringing, but I'll never know. He just wouldn't let people to get to really know him. He put on a good front, but the charade couldn't last forever. He lived with some weird people too. Some were weird in a goofy, cool kind of way. Others were just bizarre. It seemed like between the time he left my mom and met Sheelah, we had many roommates. There was Ron and Rabbit and their kids that I talked about earlier. There was some dude named Phil who I found out years later was "Gay Phil". At least that's how Sheelah always would refer to him.  There were a few nameless others and we also lived with family members. My dad had some issues. He was always trying to impress people with his mechanical knowledge and expertise. He never really learn to just be himself. He also had control issues. When I was younger, the only real interaction I had with him was when I was either getting spanked with the belt or getting thumped on the chest. I'm not talking being punished for "the crime". He would just start right away. Temper full bore. Red faced. The works. The chest thumps were the worst. He'd pick me up and shove me against the wall and drive his index and middle fingers into my breastbone. I was about the size in the above picture. He was about 190lbs and very strong. He had weird punishment ideas too.When Robert was little, he liked to whine. Most kids whine. Sorry, but there are whiners. Robert would do things to get his way and I'd say "Baby Robert always gets his way." Well, Robert would cry and carry on. I'd get sent to my room. One day, my dad came up with one of his "brilliant" ideas. The next time I called Robert a baby, I'd have to wear a diaper. Well, it happened. I called Robert a baby and punishment was wearing a towel like a diaper. My dad took a Polaroid of it and set it up on the mantle. Whatever. He enjoyed belittling people or getting people to see his side of things. He was very good at both.  Growing up I was always the first person up and would have to wake up everyone else. I would have to wake up my dad. He had an alarm clock, but he always depended upon me to wake him up. I was told the exact time to wake him up and when the time came it was always the same. "mumble, mumble five more effing minutes!!!" I'd go back to getting myself ready for school and then when Robert went to school, helping him get ready. Five minutes came and went. Sometimes we just went for fifteen. I'd go back and check on him and tell him it was time to get up. He'd mumble some more. After doing the "five more minutes" thing a couple of times, I would finally tell him that he needed to get up. He'd ask what the time was and then he'd go crazy. "WHY THE $%&%^** DIDN'T YOU WAKE ME SOONER?!?!?!"

 Then he'd jump out of bed and storm around the house. He kept telling me that he was going get fired because I let him sleep too long and a bunch of other things that were my fault. Those were some great days! Made me feel like a real winner I tell you. In case you were wondering Sheelah was asleep. She usually worked double or splits at the hospital as a nurse. Some days, she'd get wake up with my dad carrying on. He'd then take credit for getting Robert ready for school and bragging on himself.  She knew the truth, but didn't say anything. 

Getting a ride to school with my dad was never a boring time. Maybe I should say a ride to a place close to the school.  He'd complain about how horrible his life was. Everything his marriage, his job, EVERYTHING was bad. Then  I committed the worst sin known to man. I asked for lunch money. He'd pull a dollar or two out of his wallet. Roll each one into a ball and throw it in my face, cuss me out and tell me that now he would just go without lunch. A few times I just left the money on the seat and slammed the door. That same night, he'd have me go with him to the store and he'd pull out out a big wad of cash. I remember thinking to myself, "no money, huh?". I'm not sure when the chest pokes and the violent spankings stopped. The last time it happened, I went crazy. I didn't even know why he was doing this again. He would just snap and take his aggression out on me. Something inside me snapped too. I started swinging with everything thing I had. I didn't care if he killed me. I just wanted this little "dance" to stop. I landed a hit or two to his jaw and on to his ears before he could push away and retreat. That was really the beginning of end. After this he'd challenge me from time to time. "You want to fight me? Are you man enough" He'd just laugh. There was no way I could take him. I tried to respect him for being my dad, but it was hard. As a young kid, I remember hating my dad so much that I thought about stabbing him in his sleep. The only thing that stopped me was fear of jail time. I have honestly tried reconciling the past with him on a few occasions, but he doesn't want it. Why would he? He never did anything wrong. When I bring it up, there is a change in subject.
A couple of times in my early twenties, we went out to dinner to have a man to man talk. Just me and him. One time he tried to share his wisdom with me. I told him that I was getting married. Rather than being happy for me, he suggested that I shouldn't rush into it. He recommended just living together for a while. His excuse was that he'd been married and divorced a couple of times. His dad had been married a couple of times and so had his grandfather. It was in the cards. Don't do it. Do make the same mistake that he had made. I looked him in the eye and said, "No. I'm not you. We're getting married". That was the end of dinner. I've been married for 26 years and its been great. Dad doesn't know best.

School Bored

I loved reading. I loved great stories. I didn't have a favorite author. Some authors I liked better than others. Some of the ones I really liked had a couple of books that weren't so great.  Books, in my humble opinion,  were always better than the movie or the TV adaptation. I enjoyed reading by myself. It was my escape from everything that was going on. Writing is an art and I appreciated it. Oral story telling never really got me too excited, but like everything else there are exceptions. One of these was a thing called "Released Time". In case you're wondering, I've never been incarcerated. The absolute closest thing was school detention or begin grounded. That's it. I've always paid every ticket I've received. Tickets have made me a more contentious driver, but that's all in the past.

I had trouble in school. I was one of those kids who finished before most of the class. Unlike those other kids, the ones who sat quietly and well mannered,  I needed something else to do. I couldn't sit still. In 4th grade, a friend, Damon, after he got his work done, he got to leave the room for about 30 minutes. This happened the same day and same time every week. To a 4th grader, 30 minutes a small eternity. I asked the teacher where Damon was going. He said it was "Released Time". I asked what it was. I was thinking that Damon and a few other lucky kids had full run of the playground. I didn't know what it was, but it might give me something to do. The teacher suggested that I ask Damon about it. I asked and Damon said he'd take me the next week. When the appointed day came, I was finished in record time. I was the first one done. I was so exited. When Damon got done, we ran out the door. I looked around and there wasn't anyone else on the playground. He said "Come on" and we ran towards the parking lot. Parked just outside of the front office was this trailer that said "Released Time" on the side. On the inside, it was set up like a classroom. Desks, chairs, windows, chalkboard, everything. There was an older man who brought the trailer and knew everybody at the school. I think his wife was a secretary or something. He came once a week and told us stories out of the Bible. This guy was amazing. He told the stories as if he was right there in the action as it was happening. He talked about the people in the Bible as if they were his neighbors. Went to Released Time for a few more times. Stopped going when we moved. Here we go again. New town, new school.

Just for the record, most of the detentions I received during my school career were for being disruptive in class. Things like talking out of turn, making jokes at the wrong times, you know things like that. I once "re-enacted" a Head & Shoulders commercial. Head & Shoulders is this shampoo for dandruff and if you use this product, your life will be perfect. The basic idea was this guy was checking out this girl. He says to himself, "I guess she wants me to ask her out". His head gets itchy and he starts to scratch and tiny little flakes fall on to his shoulder. Well, I was bored. I guess I was really bored. I took a sheet of notebook paper out of my Trapper Keeper and tore it tiny pieces. I'm talking about 1/4 of an inch pieces. I then proceeded to put the pile on top of my head. When I had everyone's attention, I said "I guess she wants me to ask her out". I scratched my head just like the guy in the commercial and the paper started raining down. Everybody roared with laughter. Everyone except the teacher. She got really mad and set me to the principal's office. I walked out the door and all the way to the principal's office, leaving my paper "dandruff" trail behind me. 

got siblings?

My brother Rob was born in 1974. I remember sitting by him in the back seat on the way home from the hospital. I couldn't stop staring. He looked so tiny and fragile. I don't remember all the details, but Sheelah had moved out and had gotten an apartment. Her sister, Eileen moved in with her and helped out with Rob. I remember being there to help out a little bit. I helped with feedings and diaper changes. It was nice to feel like I was doing something worthwhile. Later, I helped him with reading and math. Used to help get him ready for school too.
Eileen was a teenager when she came to live with us. She was more like an older sister to me than an aunt. We are only six years apart. I got to go places with her and her friends. Well, I got to go a few times. Boy did she drive Bob crazy!!. She just knew all the little things that would set him off. Bringing over her hippie friends. Removing her bedroom door and replacing it with a sheet and / or beads. Smoking pot and listening to all the bands my dad called ACID ROCK. He liked the Beach Boys, the Cowsills, etc. She liked Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, and all the other cool stuff. She actually let me borrow records and used to "kick some down to me".  Some time later, she and Bob had a huge falling out and she ran away to the carnival. No, really - the actual carnival.
My sister Erin was born in 1980. I was able to help out more with her. Feeding, diaper changes, babysitting (when Bob was supposed to be the one watching her), etc. I didn't mind it. Again it felt like I was doing something of importance. I moved out in 1985 and got married.
Another brother, Shawn was born shortly after Erin, but died at three months old. He was born premature and never made it home from the hospital. I saw him a few times and actually got to hold him on a couple of occasions. I don't know why, but I felt guilty about the baby dying. I felt like I caused him to be born too early. After Shawn's death, Bob and Sheelah started having some major problems. More problems than usual. I guess as a temporary solution, I went Maine to live with Bob's mother, Inez and her husband,Roy. 

Dillon Beach

Dave, Bonnie, Noel, and Christie

Bonnie and the little people

Now every day wasn't a bad day. Reading my last blog may have sounded that way. Sorry. It was a very hard time for me. I had an interesting childhood. I even had some good memories. I remember going to a place called Dillon Beach. If you are wondering where Dillon Beach is, It is about two hours west of Sacramento and just a little bit south of where the movie "The Birds" was filmed. Now you might be thinking, why would a kid would had such a scare like I did would be back at the beach? I actually liked the beach. The sandy part was okay. The water? Well, that was something entirely different. I had a great time with my mom, her husband and his daughters. Willie's grandmother owned a place and he could use it when ever he wanted to. It was the closest thing I remember to being a family vacation. 
We made sand castles. We walked around a lot. The time really flew by. It was great. I remember having my 7th Birthday here. 

Dave and Bonnie

I was afraid of the water. I couldn't even stand to get my feet wet. I remember the girls trying to pull me into the water with them and I screamed. My mom did not know that I had just previously drown. She tried to get me into the water and I went crazy. Crying, screaming, clinging to her. She told me later that she called my dad to find out what had happened to me. She knew that had liked the water before. Something was very wrong. I'm not really sure when she found out, but she did. With a lot of patience the help of a stray dog, she was finally able to get me back into the water. I heard that I jumped into a pool when I was younger to see if I could "float", but my aunt Vicki was there to pull me out. I guess I thought swimming was easier than it actually was. I eventually learned how to swim and from then on, it was very hard to keep me out of it.