War is a grave affair of state; it is a place of life and death, a road to survival and extinction, a matter to be pondered carefully... Sun Tzu the Art of War.
Life itself can be considered as a place to wage wars, or do battle, it is also a place to wage diplomacy, or to know when to retreat. The above verse from the art of war was used as an exert to set a tone for this chapter, and the chapter is the beginning of the walk. A walk that started on December of 1977.
I was born in the middle of winter, two days before a highly celebrated day in American calender months, Christmas. As many kids do and many adults for that matter, I have forgotten the early days, since they were based around crying for food, or changing, or just to be moody. As all kids are when being brought into the world.
I have done my share of child raising in my middle part of life, I can see some of Sun's words even in that young of an age. I was probably fighting to stay alive, using the only thing at my disposal, my screaming in agony. I say agony, but since I don't really remember the emotions, I suppose I could be exaggerating a little. New lungs, burning air going into them, seems to me it would hurt. Going from a dark area to a blinding new world with things much bigger than I am, I suppose I would be a little frightened. When I look at it this way, even as an adult putting myself in a child mindset seems a little intimidating and uncomfortable.
The early days that I remember was living with my grandmother. Such a religious person, we went to church on Sunday and Wednesday. We had to dress up in our best clothes. Like god really cares what we look like. He made us naked in the world, and we clothed ourselves. If anything looking at this now, seems to slap this being in the face.
My grandmother was a very kind woman, but believed in discipline too. We were allowed to pretty much do whatever outside after our homework was done. Until I was 12 this was the only parent I knew besides my grandfather. Everyone else had Mothers and Fathers, I had a grandmother and grandfather. I don't think it really bothered me though. It is not like I had a choice at the time, and it is not like I remembered my father or mother at that age.
I wanted to make them proud of me, and being strict about school, I put my all into my studies. Academics was actually a second nature to me. My two brothers had to study hard, and often to have good grades. The one thing I had to my edge was my lack of social skills. I did not have many friends, I played with other kids best I could, but it all seems so long ago, I often felt alone, even while playing with other children. I remember at one point I was more comfortable around my grandfather and his adult friends than people my own age.
I listened to the conversations of the elder man and his friends as much as possible, asking questions here and there, or joining the conversation. Many of my grandfather sung praises of his grandson's intelligence at such a young age. I say intelligence but the information I really received from them was wisdom of ages.
I supposed I learned things in reverse. Generally in life you learn intelligence and social skills at the same time and as you age you gain wisdom. Wisdom was the first thing I fell in love with I would say, which brought me to excel in the academics since they are at times similar.
My struggle and fight in my youth at the start was social skills. To this day I do not really feel I mastered it. I suppose this is my life long Nemesis. I remember one day I either said it out loud or in my own mind on the bus to school. This is why I prefer to be around adults, instead of kids my own age, I dislike them. I suppose that means when I said the words, it was either profound or the issue scarred my life in a way that I will not forget it.
I apologize for the side tracked thoughts, it is a common thing in my life, then I come back to the original thought, of course they are all intertwined. My grandfather was a silent man from what I remember, very cautious in his speech, and of course when we misbehaved the man was the first to discipline us. The man was a tall person too, and strong looking hands. I loved my grandfather so much, though not many people knew how much. I rarely showed love like others. I followed him around, sat on his lap, and wanted to help him do everything. He was my first hero, my first role model, and my friend. Struggles at times happened when disciplined, but still he was a good man.
We will come back to this man later. Let's move to the day that my father showed up. We lived in a trailer on a plot of land 2 acres long. A small dirt road leading up about 500 feet into a side area for vehicles to park. One day playing in the tree outside, a strange vehicle came to the house. It was loud and a person we did not normally see, was coming up the driveway. It was a motorcycle by the way. I was actually very afraid and ran and got my grandfather and grandmother. Turns out the man parked the motorcycle, and I was introduced to my father. Course I never told anyone this story and I am not sure why. Suppose I still try to hide from people.
The man as we found out was in the military all this time, and he just got released under an honorable discharge. Little did I know that this day would start the real struggles of my youth, and little did I know why until many years later.
My family has a lot of pride, something I would learn more about later in life. If I was to relate us to something it would be a honey badger, question or pride or hurt it and we would not stop to seek vindication like a honey badger in a nest of bees. We held grudges and stuff, simply because of pride or principles. Principles were a great deal for us to grow up in our house.
My brothers and I were like any other brothers, always fighting, and my father could not handle it. Little did I know why, not until he was passing did I ever ask that question and go searching for the answers. He was quick to anger, and even quicker to physically punish us until he was satisfied.
Usually the attack came quick, and hurt like hell, but disappeared after. A punch there, a knee there and then off to our rooms for the rest of the night. I remember a scarred part of my mind that never goes away. I was sitting on a bed waiting my turn to play with a Tandy TSR80. For those of you not familiar with old technology it was a computer, with no hard drive or anything, just a software. To do anything on it you would need a program cartridge or code in basic from a book.My two brothers were fighting about the time the other was taking and my father heard the bickering.
He barged in the door to the room, decimated my two brothers and then put a knee in my stomach. Why just because I was present and for the next time it happened. I may have laughed at my brothers too, I am not sure as it was so long ago, but either way there was no need to punish me with a knee.
To side track I think that TSR system is what got me addicted to numbers, and well money as well. At the age of twelve I remember the story they told me. I would save allowance, and do odd things for money and save it up. Well my grandmother borrowed money from me, and a week later she still had not paid the money back. They say I woke up in the middle of the night, sleep walking to the phone, saying money.... dollars... and when asked what I was doing I said I had to call someone about money. The next day my grandmother paid me back with interest and never asked to borrow again.
I remember good time though too, like learning work ethics. Since it was a rural area with farms, my first job was a farm hand in the hay fields. I remember when I wanted to go with my brothers and do hay. My oldest sibling looked at me and said can you lift 75 pounds. Course I said I could and it was easy. So when they took me to go they had me lift a bail of hay in the barn and throw it. 75 pounds was heavy for me, but I managed to do well enough to get the job.
It was hard work and a battle I am thankful for to this day. It taught me a lot of things, and gave me time to bond with my brothers. The hot sun beating down on you, tanning you and dehydrating you, your constant battle with thirst, and sweat not helping the hydration. The muscles tiring out and yet pushing through the pain to get the job done. At the end of the day of 12 hours at times, getting paid 75 dollars was well worth it as a kid. It was fun, it was difficult, and it is what made me enjoy the summers. As other kids my age played I was making money, getting a tan, and learning lessons in life. It is a very found memory.
Though I had friends in school, people I knew. I still felt alone. I felt I did not belong no matter what I did, or who I was around. Something was not right. Everything was socially off. I do not know where I would be or who I would be if other battles in life did not happen.
The next battle I wish to talk about is the end of my time at my grandmothers. This situation is very vivid and there will be a lot of details. Please understand the more detail given the more traumatic it is to a child.
My brothers had moved to Florida to live with my mother. I was alone separated from my brothers, I felt very alone, and most times very afraid. My grandfather had already passed away to cancer several years before, so my one salvation in my childhood that I found comfort in was gone. My father just got back from Florida seeing my brothers with long hair and the ear pierced, yes it was the late 80's it was in style.
I told my grandmother earlier that day I was going over to the neighbors and play some Nintendo. The original that is how long ago it was. He had better toys than I did, so I spent a lot of time over there. When my father got back he was in a foul mood, and called over and told me to "Get my ass home now". When I walked in he started yelling at me, like why didn't I tell anyone where I was going. My response was that I told my grandmother where I was. She remained quiet. She knew nothing said was going to stop what would happen.
It seems that day I broke, I formed a backbone to my father. I got tired of the yelling and snippy remarks and said "Leave me alone." In which the response was what did you say. I repeated it and that was the end.
I got punched in the head, trying to fight back enough to get away, I managed to get a couple of Inches, however my father used the environment to his advantage. By our door was a freezer, which he used me to push it a few inches. Pushing me violently into the freezer in the small of my back, I fell, to the ground. Where he continued to kick me. When I managed to go to my room, I did some serious things at the age 13.
I opened the phone book and started to look for Lawyers. When he came in to check on me he asked what I was doing. So I told him. Which he proceeded to tell me off and hit me again, then took the phone book.
I suppose as a young person learning the fights to take and which ones to leave is the hardest thing to learn. That next day, I remember was a Friday, I woke up and got ready for school. I waited for the bus, but when it came I hid in the woods by the road. I knew the bus would go down the road and turn around to come back through. Once it did, I jumped on the road and started walking down the long road. I stayed to the woods anytime traffic like a bus would pass. I did well for a 13 year old in skipping school for the first time. No one even knew until well into the day. By the time I was being pursued I had already walked down the 5-6 mile glasgow road, and then another 15 down state route 45. When My father caught up to me, I was in Hillcrest only 2 miles max from Wellsville.
He made the mistake though of being recognized and yelling my name. I darted directly to the woods. He started the chase, but realized about 10 feet into the woods I was gone. Being raised around woods, you tend to know the woods well, what paths to take, and what paths not to. Where in the woods you can run, and what parts need to be cautious with.
This made my trip even more difficult. Not only could I not go back to the road for easy travel, I also had to content with woods and mountains. I had it set in my mind I was leaving, I was going to my grandmother on my mothers side for help. So I continued through the woods. I made it maybe 1/2 mile in 20 minutes waiting for no traffic, crossed the road and walked up toward my aunts house which was on top of a mountainous road at the end. Half way down her road though was a sharp turn and more woods, that pointed in the direction I wanted to go.
We called it the Holler, so I went back to the woods to prevent detection. Boy Scouts worked wonders for me to be able to run away from my father. I knew I would need water so I stuck close to water sources when I could. I walked paths that were formed or in areas with not to much over growth. At some point I had to double back because I went from one mountain to another, I needed to be off the mountain, so I walked down the road for that section, until I was on state route 7. I walked closes to the mountain where the vegetation would conceal me. Cops passed me, cars passed me and I was undetected. At this point I was tired. I laid my pack down as a pillow and decided to take a nap. It was once of the best naps I took.
Not sure how long or how short the nap was, but I set off again. I made it to East Liverpool, where a nice college chick picked me up. I asked why did you pick me up, she states I hate to see people walk and it looked as though you were walking for quite a ways. She dropped me off close to the Pennsylvania border and wished me luck. I was appreciative and thanked her. I started walking and made it about a mile when my grandmother on my mothers side saw me and picked me up. Until that point the whole journey was roughly over 20 miles.
They agreed to move me to my mother's but after I finished out the year. I finished out the year and I don't think I told anyone I was moving, or why I was moving, or even where. Could you imagine how other people felt, did they even know you existed enough to question it? Did they feel let down that someone they called a friend, just disappeared after the end of school, not to show up the next. A battle that could have probably been handled differently.
But that battle lead me where I am, and I am not telling you my bad story as a pity, or for a comparison, or competition. I am telling you this in order to say. There are times when a bad thing seems so horrible you can not look at it, you block it from the memory, or become ashamed to talk about it.
The way I see it, my father did right by me, and I am grateful that it happened the way it did. I became who I am because of such things. I am a good person, at the core. I may have trust issues, and social oddities, but I am also the first person that will offer to help, just to help while expecting nothing in return.
If I remained at my Grandmother's I would have ended up going to college, and then not really having a decent job. Stuck in a town with barely a economic leg to stand on. I love my home town, I love the people though I don't feel connected to them as much anymore, but truth is the town is dead in the money arena.
Next Chapter-> Change Starts.
