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I remember reading, "It was the best of times. It was the worst times". That could pretty well sum things up for me. I guess everyone wishes that they could get anything they wanted whenever they wanted it. It was somewhat like that for me. I usually just had to say I needed or wanted something and I would soon have it. Christmas time was like a binge buying spree at Toys "R" Us.
Actually, that blanket statement is a bit of an exaggeration. There was one thing I had always wanted but was never able to get, my father's love. I don't think he actually withheld it from me and he probably honestly believed he was giving it to me with all those material things that he was giving me and my sisters after they were born.
But love is more than that. I think though he didn't really know what it was because he never got it from his parents and his desire for it had been beaten out of him a long time before I was born.
I did recieve a lot of things that I didn't want or ask for too. He never hit me though I know that he had been hit as a child. What he did pass on to me though was the emotional and verbal abuse that surrounded his childhood. I'd like to believe that there were internal forces that made him do it. Plus my father was of the generation that still accepted a child as a man's chattel. It also wasn't till my generation that the words "dysfunctional" and "therapy" came into every day usage.
The "you dumbass" and "you worthless shit, can't you do anything right" started early. So I retreated in a world of "myself" and lost myself in the world of reading, devouring books like bananna splits that were to become non-existent within the hour.
Worst than that though was the sharing that I could never obtain. My father was a hard worker and put in a number of overtime hours making sure those he supervised did an excellent and complete job. He was driven to perfection when it came to his job and how he thought I should be.
Being a hard worker, he was an even harder player. He spent many hours drinking and gambling (both being addictions of his). After work, when he wasn't drinking and shooting pool (for money usually), he was in the card clubs of Gardena (usually playing Low Ball at which he was not that good). As a result of his card playing and despite the good money he earned, my mother also worked full time.
So I ended up spending my childhood at home as a latchkey kid with plenty of alone time on my hands. That was good in having the time for my books, but it also allowed me time for developing my first addictions, smoking and drinking. I started both about the same time when I was eight years old. Soon I had a third.
One of the few people I could call a friend, Larry, had a brother that had just returned from a tour of duty as an "advisor" in Veitnam. Marijuana became my best friend. It made me cool before it was cool and it helped me forget those real world blues. I had found a perfect companion for my fantasy world excursions.
(To be continued)
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