Other life contributions from my "father"

Got to thinking and I realized that I have never gone swimming since the
summer my father ripped off my t-shirt when we were trying to go
swimming at Charles Mill Lake near Mansfield, OH. This was around 1982.

His reasoning was that I was "indulging in assholeness." (but he wrote
the book on that!) His 2nd wife Kathy yelled at him, understanding why I
would want to wear a t-shirt while swimming (if it was allowed at all),
about hasn't he ever felt embarassed about his body in public?

So, yay, thanks, "Dad." Just came over to me, grabbed ahold of the
t-shirt I had on, and just ripped it off. I was distraught. Why would a
parent do this to their kid? If it's "tough love," this was a perverted
way of showing it. I immediately left the water, changed out of what I
was trying to swim in, and sat in the car the rest of the time there
that day. His complaint afterwards was about my appearance in living
with women (my mom and sisters). Well, gee, "Dad," if you hadn't been
alcoholic, abusive, and unfaithful, my mother wouldn't have divorced you
back in 1971, while setting a pile of your porno mags on fire as we left
the house in Mount Jackson. I don't even know if that house is still
there. It might be. If I knew were it was on Google Earth.

But then getting away from you was the best thing mom did for us, for we
actually thrived. And in spite of my older sister throwing away toys and
things she thought we didn't need anymore or didn't want us to have, we
actually had stuff that wasn't broken all the time.

For some reason, I used to enjoy swimming in spite of everything. There
was the one time I got an infection of sorts from one pond I was
stupidly doing rotating flips with an innertube in and out of the water.
I still don't know how I did that. And then the one indoor swimming pool
that I did the "Nestea Plunge" as the commercials on TV at the time
showed, prompting one lifeguard (?) to ask me what the hell was I doing
and I shouldn't be doing it for some reason. I guess I didn't enjoy
pools much. Some jerk at the pool in Salem called me "88" because of the
t-shirt I had on. He had an issue with a kid my age in the kiddie wading
pool - he felt I should have to pay or something as he felt I was too
old to be in the kiddie wading pool which was free. So either pay and go
in the big pool (which I didn't want to do nor did I have the money - I
also hated the changing areas at pools) or leave, which I felt was
unfair. I mean, who the hell was he telling me what to do? I didn't know
who he was or where he came from. He was butting in someone else's
business for all I cared. (And as it turned out a lot of the crap I've
had to put up with is due to Someone Else Butting In My Business.) Could
he force the issue and remove me? Was he going to do it? In anger, I
left. Maybe I shouldn't have, I dunno.

And to think I was the same kid that on a summer afternoon with a
friend, we would wade in the creek through our small town from one end
to the other and then walk back home after the adventure of the day. I
don't do that anymore at least not without shoes on. Got a bit of a
shell fragment in one toe that eventually did come out, after a big
blister of sorts helped it out. Not fun.

Of course, the visitations weren't always pleasant. There were good
moments, some of which were on cassette tapes that my older sister
somehow filched out of my collection and made them disappear. Those in
some way were a bit treasured, but she had no right in doing things like
that to stuff that wasn't hers, an activity she still does and I wish
she would wise up and stop it before she goes too far. Hell, those 5
slide trays of images... Still makes me mad.

Anywho, early on when he was still in one apartment near that big park
in Salem, they had a swingset of sorts. It wasn't fastened down so it
tipped over too easily. If I was able to tip it over and set it back up,
a feat a kid would think pretty darn cool, for as a kid there's few big
objects you can move around like a swing set, then what was the harm in
that? So anywho, for a short while I played like that. If I swung too
hard and it fell over, I just stopped and set it back up. No harm in
that, I thought.

I don't know at what point my "father" saw this going on, but there was
one point I saw him suddenly racing around the corner of the house and
slipping his belt off his pants to beat me with it. I have NO idea what
I had done to earn that abuse - I thought I had been playing with the
swing set all this time. Surely he saw me set it back up more than once?
I wasn't doing it on purpose - knocking it down just to set it back up.
What did I do wrong? I don't remember what he said as he hit me. He
might have explained what it was he saw and the reason for the
"discipline," but he could have at least opened a window, asked me what
I was doing, and either tell me to be careful or stop doing that. But
no.

I don't remember what happened after that beating, but I do know I
didn't play with the swingset after that. Hell, I don't even know if it
was theirs. I don't remember seeing anyone in the apartment below
theirs, in that green house as I remember it.

As I would say today - Dad, WTF?

He had problems with people laughing. There was one incident my mom
tells me that they were somewhere, either had friends over or something.
They were out on a patio. He goes in the house for something. While he
was gone, the husband of the other couple (might have been family or one
of my father's brothers and his wife - not sure unless I get mom to tell
me this again if she still remembers it) tells a joke, and they all
laugh at it. My dad happens to return during the laughing, smacks my
mom. The other wife, astonished at this abusive outburst retorts at him
with "Crail, I was laughing at that joke as well. Are you going to slap
me, too?"

As if they were laughing _at him_ while he was gone. He could have asked
what was so funny and have the joke re-told. He used to like jokes. He
told some himself. I guess laughing at jokes he told was OK as long as
he knew what people were laughing at. If he told a joke we understood,
that is.

Mom said while they were in Youngstown he came back from work one night
(or something - why does a married mad need to go to bars?) and rushes
in closing blinds and turning off lights, claiming the Mafia was after
him. In total disbelief and thinking that was crazy talk (which it was),
she opens a window and yells out "He's In Here!!" which unfortunately
earned a beating from him.

It's stuff like that over the years that just builds up. He's had mental
problems, and I've received some of the abuse because of that. And he
wonders why I don't talk to him much anymore.

Maybe later I'll include the story of the fan he pushed out a window for
no reason.