I don’t like to write about my life, or what happened, but I feel like I had a radically different and hellish experience in my early life than most people had and so it is important to get it out for people to think about.
I used to listen to my parents arguing and screaming at each other at the top of their lungs, keeping me and my brother and sister up or waking us up, almost every night of my early life. They would swear at each other mostly during the arguments, or accuse each other of not wanting to fuck the other anymore or yell about something about money or the kids or you are a fucking liar. I never called it swearing I called it cussing when they said like fuck or shit head or ass hole or piece of shit, I think my mom said peace of mind a lot and I thought it meant piece of mind, pieces of mind, piece of the pie, maybe it did sometimes too, like: I’m going to give you a piece of my mind..
May dad used to beat up my mom, or attempt to while she fought back every once in a while.
“Don’t lie about me in front of my children!!!” was a big thing that seemed to be associated with that kind of violence.
“I’ll fight you tooth and nail”, my mom said. I still don’t know where she came from with these expressions she would use when she was really reacting..?
I remember somebody talking about my how dad punched my mom in the stomach while she was pregnant with my brother or kicked her. Or maybe that was my cousin and her dad while her mom was pregnant with her little sister? They would argue to a whole different tune of fucked up.
My parents cared so much about us kids. Everything was for us kids. And even though we didn’t have money we ate every day and my mom was proud of that, and when she ever mentions that fact she always seems like she is really amazed it worked out like that.
I lived off food stamps with my mom for a while, so anybody that’s got a problem with food stamps or welfare can suck my dick, cause if we didn’t have that, I would have been figuring out how to rob you instead of writing this blog.
We were lucky to have grandparents on my mom’s side that had to help us out full time eventually and let me and my sister and brother stay with them and live with them when things got really fucked up or before and after school.
Of course, it makes me feel kinda privileged in a messed up way and guilty up that probably the only reason they had money, considering how fucked up everybody was, was because of the systemic segregation that they believed in and promoted.
They were really into capitalism and always told me to work as hard as I can and don’t care about anybody else because that was the way to achieve success and the best way or maybe the only way the world was bound to work and I was bound to survive and that it was somehow dignifying to obtain and compete and beat out others.
I remember my aunt crying about how when my grandpa died he was so heart broken when one of his few friends, a mutual friend of him and my grandmas, this holocaust survivor, totally ignored him when he tried to say hi to her after my grandma died. He was a severe racist and she probably knew it and thought he was a creep.
Although I loved him and really loved being with him for many reasons, my grandpa was pretty creepy in alot of ways. Despite being racist which was a mostly conscious accomplishment of his life, he was severely manic depressive and had trouble controlling his temper. We all just kind of knew not to push any of grandpa’s buttons, and all understood he was a little weird, which was cool and fine in itself and kinda cute in ways like taking care of old people typically is.
I only saw him flip a couple of times and never all the way. I heard about it when he apparently threw my cousin out on the front lawn flt on her stomach after she refused to wash her hands before dinner. Somebody at my school actually saw it and apparently the school was a little concerned. Like, he couldn’t handle certain things, like movies about war particularly and any swearing on tv for some reason, although he swore alot himself and said bitch and nigger all the time and jesus christ god damn son of a bitches cheap shit female drivers.
My grandparents used to tell me my dad was a worthless bum.
They apparently hated him and he knew it and I didn’t really know how it all came about and they knew he beat up my mom and she kept getting back together with him over and over again.
He was a great father in a lot of ways and really inspirational and a great teacher and he loved his children.
Does that seem like a strange thing if you were to hear your grandparents saying something like that about your dad or would that seem somehow out of the ordinary to you? Not really to me at that age, but I sometimes wondered what it was like to not have that, and it made me feel a little funny sometimes and pissed and like something was wrong or out of the ordinary when my grandparents were making fun of him.
My great grandmother made me lock out my best friend when I was little, when me and some other friends came in to get a drink of water. “I don’t want that god damn nigger in my house!” she said to me vividly as she kind of trembled in fear, like how a cat does at some ridiculous harmless shit it is afraid of. “Why?” “Because he’ll steal something”
I was so mad right then but I got him a glass of water and stood there with him with a few minutes and then I had to go back inside to get everybody and left him out there.
There are not many things I’ve ever felt so tormented about after growing up. I can’t imagine how he must have felt when that happened, having to stay out there ALONE. He looked a little pissed off at my grandma, but we never really talked about it, like neither of us cared and just figured my grandparents were dicks like that. I think it was mostly confusing for both of us because I didn’t understand what this racist shit my grandparents were saying even meant or why they would think he would want to steal our stuff at that age and he probably didn’t really get what was going on at all because my grandma like ducked me inside the door where he couldn’t hear to tell me not to let him inside.
I wonder how that guy grew up, I used to move alot and haven’t talked to him since. I bet after he grew up he thought about that weird memory and figured out that he had been a victim of racism and is maybe even pissed or enraged about it, maybe he even thinks I am a racist or that I was intent on the act of victimizing him. Actually I moved away from there not too long after that happened maybe within a year so I didn’t really ever get the opportunity to reflect on that with him or any other friends.
That’s another thing, I used to move around alot. My dad couldn’t keep a job because he would always get pissed and start fights at work. He would even fist fight at work sometimes, he was so passionate about everything.
It was really amazing to be around that in a lot of ways, like he was wild and courageous and smart and vocal. I think that was why my mom stayed so attracted to him.
He went up to these old ladies once randomly in a grocery store talking about shark attacks and said how there was a greater probability that you would die by getting stung by a bee than getting attacked by a shark.
He was a lifestyle surfer and the shark conversation definitely struck a chord with him.
That was when him and my mom were separated for the last time and he lived in Cocoa beach, I think. I was hanging out with him and checking out his humble digs in like this shack thing he had behind some older Ronald Reagan looking dude in the Co. beach suburb.
He had an orange tree in his back yard and that was the first time I ever saw that in my whole life of being down in Florida. I’m pretty sure I remember we were not allowed to pick them.
He shot himself in the head, actually in his neck, in that house, probably in his bedroom. I don’t understand how he got his neck or what he was doing with the gun there, like, why he would think of the neck and not the head..? How the fuck was he holding his gun? There were two bullet wounds below his jaw on the side of his neck, there was tape on them and, like, painted over with bluish rosy tan pale skin colored paint at the funeral. The attempted fakeness looked mostly disgusting.
I knew everything that had happened already from hearing him over the phone. “Do you love him!?!?” “Yes!” pew “Oh my god Matthew!! Oh my god Matthew no …”
I could imagine what happened and had a picture in my mind of what he looked like that was really different from what he actually looked like after he died and the actual position of the wounds really threw me off.
I always wondered what that was like for my sister, when it actually happened, because she was literally sleeping next to my mother that night or trying to lay down with her and then definitely awake holding on to her and hearing everything as it happened, I actually haven’t thought about the fact that she was right there for a long time till it just came to me now, it made me really emotional to try to remember what she said, I think she even called out to him like “Daddy no” a few times right before he shot himself, or as he shot himself. I can’t believe how anybody could have been subjected to an experience like that, it makes me really question as I am writing about it now whether I should have gotten up and implored him to stop too or if I even was awake enough to, I remember thinking like it was just another fucked up night he was threatening something drastic and severe. I’ve never questioned that before. I know she had definitely said “Daddy no” a few of the worst really drastic times when violent episodes happened between our parents, it was definitely something she would have said in that situation. I’m somewhat ashamed that I can’t remember that now even though I definitely used to be able to remember what happened that night.
I remember getting up in the morning and high fiving my brother about getting three days off from school.
I felt really guilty about that around the time I got out of college and this girl I knew real well and kind of looked up to told me I would never fall in love, and I believed that she knew what she was saying and mind fucked myself for a while.
I know I was trying to keep my brother from feeling bad, I don’t remember if he was awake or asleep during the whole thing, but I also remember being sincerely relieved about not going to school and not wanting to bother with the whole situation and just saying fuck it and be over with it and just peacefully sit and play video games with my brother.