Father Of Mine

Father's Day has always given me mixed emotions.  In the last four years, the day has taken on a much brighter tone than it used to, now that I'm a father myself.  Otherwise, it has always been sort of a "What's the point?" kind of holiday.

My father (and his father before him) were of the "sperm donor that never went away" variety.  I have no real memories of my dad, other than seeing him, night after night, lounging in the living room:  His beer belly hanging over cheap gym shorts.  His only interaction or interest in me was to discipline me.  The only thing he taught me in life was to NOT be like him with my children.

So, this song is for you, pop.  Go fuck yourself....

Sunday Confessional: My First Job - The One I've Never Talked About

Note:  I've never been a believer of "The names have been changed to protect the innocent".  Fuck the innocent. If they were so innocent, I wouldn't be writing about them.

When I talk to people about my first job, I tell them that I worked at a men's clothing store in the mall.  I sold suits and dress shirts for $5.75 an hour, starting the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school.

The truth is, I had another job earlier that summer.  I went to work for a business that was owned by one of my Jehovah's Witness "brothers".  He made working conditions so unbelievably horrific, I was forced to quit after three days.

I was talking to an old friend a couple of weeks ago, and she brought up Bill Sturgis.  Immediately, my shoulders tensed up and tears started to fill my eyes.

2009 Awake! Says 'No One Should Force You To Choose Between Religion And Family'

In what can only be described as the ultimate in hypocritical advice, the July 2009, 'Awake!' magazine tells their potential converts that no one should bully them into their beliefs.  Take a look at this paragraph.  Image courtesy of Saved From The Watchtower:

"No one should be forced to worship in a way that he finds unacceptable or be made to choose between his beliefs and his family."

Evidently, what's good for the goose is not good for the gander, in this case.  Of course, no one should force you to worship as any religion  other than Jehovah's Witnesses.  But as one of Jehovah's Witnesses it's perfectly acceptable for the organization to intimidate and threaten their followers to continue to worship as they believe.

If you are a Witness, and later decide that you no longer believe their doctrine, or that being a Jehovah's Witness just isn't for you anymore, your friends and family members have no choice but to shun you.  If they don't, they're threatened with the possibility of being kicked out of the church themselves.

Speaking for myself, I haven't seen most of my immediate family in almost six years.  My father has never seen his granddaughter.  My mother has only seen her once, when she was 8 months old.  My little girl turned three in May.  I have found out about relatives of mine that have died, only from reading obituaries online.  I probably won't even get a phone call when my parents die.

Oh, but don't make us choose between our religion and our family.  That's not fair.  What bullshit.

My Brain Won't Let Me Forget Him

I had a really bad flashback a few days ago. Probably the roughest one I've had yet. I have been having nightmares pretty regularly, but flashbacks have been few and far between. When one comes up, it almost takes the air out of my lungs. It wholly catches me off guard. This one really shook me up.

I was getting dressed a few mornings back and I grabbed my belt. I grabbed it by it's ends, with the buckle and the holes touching. It dropped down by my side. Suddenly, I was in a room getting beat by my father. It was so clear, it was as if I was 9 or 10 years old all over again. My thighs felt the pressure of being pressed up against the end of my bed. I saw him. Standing there with his belt, held in the way mine was seconds earlier. His fat, sweaty face looking down at mine. Hell, it was so real, I could even smell his breath.

The entire episode lasted all of 15 to 20 seconds, but it felt like an hour. When I realized I was standing in my bedroom, an adult, and completely safe, I started shaking. I haven't seen my father in five years, and, since having these nightmares and flashbacks, I don't think the time will ever come where I will want to again.

I think I have said some of this before, I don't know. My dad's weapon of choice was his belt. He reminded me of a baseball player in a lot of ways. My mom would use whatever was handy. A wooden spoon, a switch, a ping pong paddle. My dad's belt was like his favorite bat. He was faithful to it.

When I was younger, I would get "whipped" while clothed, and, if I was lucky, with pants on instead of shorts. As time went on, my dad realized that the clothing cushioned the blow, so to speak. I was also able to tense up my ass muscles without him noticing. That made the spanking hurt less. As a consequence, all spankings were done bare assed from that point on.

My ass became his field of dreams, and let's just say he swung for the fences. He had a way of swinging the belt much like the way a ball player would swing at a pitch. He used two hands, one holding the belt together at the buckle, the other stretching it out straight at the end. He would then take a step forward and swing. The fucker actually would swing at me like he had a baseball bat in his hands. Occasionally, he would get a little too close and I would get part of a belt buckle or a fist across my backside. If I tried to stop him, or if I tensed up, or put my hands behind my ass to block the whacks, I would get more. So, I took the buckle and fist hits.

I got beat this way until I was 14 or 15, until my ass was hairier than my dad's and it became embarrassing for him to whip me bare assed. My dad was 5'10". By then I was well over 6' tall. At that point, it came to shoving matches and threats of punches. I think he punched me once, but I punched him back. By that time, the whole "Honor your father and mother" stuff had long gone out the window.

I don't know what caused my parents, but mostly my dad, to whip us like he did. I know he was beaten by his dad. Believe me, I'm not trying to make excuses for him. He had always felt that we thought we were better than he was. He dropped out of school shortly after the sixth grade and wasn't an educated man by any means. He had provided for us simply because he was a hard worker. In a way, he was right. All my life, I had never respected him, and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't beat the respect into me. Now, no matter how hard I try, my brain won't let me forget that fat ignorant fucker. So, I guess he got the last laugh after all.

Flashback Of A Tic

All along I have been telling people that the first tics I experienced was in August of 2006. I didn't have any recollection of any tics before then. My wife says that I have always sniffed, but she never thought anything of it. Other than that, I have never had any memory of a tic, until today.

This afternoon, I was in the car and had a flashback of my childhood. I must have been only seven or eight years old at the time. I was in church. My right arm started to move in a jagged up and down motion at my shoulder. I remember the feeling internally as if my shoulder joint was rubbing up against my rib cage. It was a very strange feeling. It almost tickled. I remembered liking it. I didn't know what was going on, but, because of that feeling, I wasn't scared.

I couldn't stop moving my arm, of course. After a couple of tics, both of my parents had noticed what was going on. They both started telling me to "cut it out". I tried, in vain, to tell them that I couldn't. I continued ticking throughout most of the church service.

When I got home, both of my parents sat me down on the steps leading up to my bedroom. They asked me what I was doing during church. I told them I didn't know what was going on, but I told them what it felt like and that I wanted to stop doing it but couldn't. They wanted me to show them what I was doing. Of course, I couldn't do it on command. They thought I was trying to break dance. LOL......I WAS BREAK DANCING IN CHURCH!!!

I got the shit beat out of me by my father that night. By 1980's religious whack job parent standards, I was spanked. By 2009 Child Protective Services standards, I was beaten. My dad had a method of spanking me that I will never forget. I was usually bare-assed and his weapon of choice was his leather belt. He would take a step back and take a full swing at me, leading off with his right foot, like he was swinging for the fences. And God help you if you put your hands back behind you or tensed your ass up. You got double then.

Needless to say, that was the last time I ever ticked like that. I remember actually trying to recreate the movements a couple of years later, but couldn't. I didn't recall that night until today. Wow. Heavy shit to absorb. I've had TS for 25 years or more and I'm just now figuring it out. Heavy shit.