Ever since I can remember, there were 4 people in my life that made
basic training look, taste and feel like paradise. And you can stop here
if you really don't want to know what the 50s, 60s and 70s were like
living with drill instructor parents, an older sister who wanted you
dead and a younger brother hell bent on making your life miserable.
Spoiler alert. Writing is my way of telling the truth.
Let's start with this:
See
anything wrong here? According to this, my supposed grandmother was
Clara Fralinger, yet her daughter made us believe her real mother was
Mary Fralinger. Furthermore, since the three female Fralingers who were
sisters and daughters to Mary Fralinger, they also weren't my Aunts,
they were my great aunts.
Sounds trivial? Not until, in 1973, you get a phone call that your grandmother, Mary Fralinger had passed away. If she was really 80 at the time of the 1940 census, she would have been 112 years old when she passed away.
When supposedly, my real grandmother passed away, her obituary reads like this:
Subtract 1940 from 1985 and you get 45. I'm betting that the 1940 census was correct.
The main focus of all of this is the fact that the man who got Aunt Clara pregnant, never really did marry a holding and that the rape which caused Aunt Clara pregnant needed to be covered up. So they put the name Holding.
And in doing so, in the mind of my mother caused her to hate men. So you have a WWII veteran who hates kids, loves sex and marries a woman who hates men and wants only girl children. How do I know this. Take a look at her school record.
And if I could bring mine up mine it would read C-, 65, 66, 67, 68, President of the Flying Club 66, 67, 68. What it wouldn't tell you is that I worked every night and when possible two shifts on Saturday and Sunday so I could make $20 per day, 365 days every year.
It wouldn't tell you that my PAST scores had me in the top 3% of the country. It wouldn't tell you how my top graduating class members -- the same ones who went to Our Lady Of Good Counsel -- couldn't touch me with a ten foot pole when it came to science in 7th grade.
It also will not say that I worked those 4 years and, had I been able to save the money during those years instead of "supporting the family", I would have been able to buy a house, pay for my college degree and never seen a day in the military.
The 3 years at $20 per day comes out to $21,900. Why would a family need that much money if my mother was working and my dad was a merchant marine and held the position as a Chief Cook?
Because I had an older sister who was 4 years older than me living just like my mother on a 100 acre farm in Bridgeton, NJ who, at year 1965 had a college degree and was now working on her Masters and all she had to do was go to school.
How convenient.
And by the way, the year after High School graduation, I made $8,343. Which, had it gone into a bank account with the $21,900 would have been $30,243.
Yes, I was dyslexic, no, I wasn't stupid. And the reason for the reflected lack of performing well in high school? I'd rather work my butt off then listen to my mother tell me how lazy and stupid I was.
What did she do, learn through osmosis? Seriously!
One time, when I heard her humming to herself -- the only time I did, by the way -- I made an uplifting remark to her about it, her remark as so swift and brutal, she may as well as thrown knifes at me.
The one thing you learn about people who have IQ's of a snail. They compensate by being cunning. The word con artists comes quickly to mind. As long as you're paying their bills and they can do anything they dam well please, these psychopaths don't care.
But then, I suppose these social outcast are too stupid to figure out on their own that when the bull rides the cow the result is a calf. While the cost to feed and nurture it doesn't slap them in the face like it does with humans, the fact is, it isn't just the food we real humans need and thirst for, its the kindness, the compassion and the sense of belonging.
For us, there was no kindness, no compassion or sense of belonging. Instead, my parents were the poster children for the antichrist of parenting and had no reason to have children save that of being a tax write off and female chauvinism.
So, then, of all the children in my family of 3 to 4, we never did see much of my sister who now owns that 100 acre farm in Bridgeton, NJ and raises Alaskan Huskies, why of the three boys was I am to survive both mentally and physically and raise 5 wonderful, spoiled rotten children and stay married to the same woman for 47 years?
I was genetically gifted with a keen sense of what was right and what was wrong coupled with a brain that reasoned things out without anyone else's help.
In-other-words, I had a way with words and a above average sense for thinking things through and studying the nature of man. Overly sensitive, quick tempered and willing to admit I'm human, I learned to balance my own understanding what life was and is about and swore that when I did have children, they would not be brought up feeling cold, lonely and without my support for them to grow stronger.
The problem is, the chances of one of them becoming just like you does happen and when it does you get an aggressive, pretty, smart female who questions your sexual orientation. And sometimes, I'm willing to admit that in order to survive childhood, that was exactly what I was.
Think about it for a moment. Sure guys can be focused on having a loving relationship with a woman but that's based on his relationship with his mother. A girl does the opposite but with her father. But her reasoning skills and her instinctual desires to create comfortable environment where she can raise her children with or without a husband around to support the family is her way of feeling secure and happy.
A guy, on the other hand is not capable of nurturing, soft cuddling, breast feeding or feminine sweet talk. My wife can come into our living room, look at my cat, talk warm cuddly words to him and he responds with loud purring and rubbing his face against her legs.
I sneeze and the cat is running for cover.
We put parents on pedestals and assume they have you best interest at heart. After all what parent in his or her right mind would want to make life worse a living hell for a child.
But what does best interest really mean?
What the parent thinks the child should be? Or what the child feels comfortable with becoming?
Communications is a two way street. So, why is it so hard for a parent to want to talk to the child in an individual way? And don't make the fatal assumption that you know what the child is thinking, feeling or reflecting on. Your child is seeing a world much different than you did. You might just learn a thing or two along the way. Children are that amazing.
Once someone asked me which one of my children I thought was the one I thought would go places and they were all in the same car at the time. In truth, I felt they were all pretty amazing putting up with the likes of me and my wife.
But one does stand out. She has always stood out. Not because she's the prettiest -- she is -- but because she did something that at 2 weeks old impressed the heck out of me.
She was in her little crib crying. Wet and hungry at the same time, I warned up her bottle, grabbed the sanity clean whippes, the white anti-diaper rash cream, and headed her way with a fresh diaper. It takes three hands to hold a bottle up at the right angle so that the baby sucks milk and not air, and two to hold the squirmy bottom down so that the safety pins -- which I think is an oxymoron -- don't pop open, scratch or penetrate the skin.
No matter what I did, 2 seconds into the diaper change, the bottle would slip out of her mouth and every time I would get an earful of frustration. The third time I tried to prop the bottle two eyes stared at me like she does still today and two hands came over to the bottle and held it in the proper position. I've changed diapers on 5 children and none at 2 weeks old had ever done that.
That child at 16 said she was going to become an engineer. That child went into the Air Force, got out and graduated with a degree in Material Sciences from Washington State University. That child worked on the Boeing Dreamliner. That child shares a patent with Boeing.
So, yes, she impressed me. Because I could see a lot of myself in her. My oldest has two BA degrees. One in art. The second oldest has three children. One, Esha, whom which appears to get prettier and prettier and starting talking like an adult at year 1, Demi Lovato remarked looked like her has also got the pipes to become a singer and movie star.
So, what does matter here is how I reacted to both physical, mental and sexual abuse and stopped the pass the buck card forward.
That is my legacy.
Now, we can move on. To what is really important.
Spoiler alert. Writing is my way of telling the truth.
Let's start with this:
Sounds trivial? Not until, in 1973, you get a phone call that your grandmother, Mary Fralinger had passed away. If she was really 80 at the time of the 1940 census, she would have been 112 years old when she passed away.
When supposedly, my real grandmother passed away, her obituary reads like this:
Subtract 1940 from 1985 and you get 45. I'm betting that the 1940 census was correct.
The main focus of all of this is the fact that the man who got Aunt Clara pregnant, never really did marry a holding and that the rape which caused Aunt Clara pregnant needed to be covered up. So they put the name Holding.
And in doing so, in the mind of my mother caused her to hate men. So you have a WWII veteran who hates kids, loves sex and marries a woman who hates men and wants only girl children. How do I know this. Take a look at her school record.
And if I could bring mine up mine it would read C-, 65, 66, 67, 68, President of the Flying Club 66, 67, 68. What it wouldn't tell you is that I worked every night and when possible two shifts on Saturday and Sunday so I could make $20 per day, 365 days every year.
It wouldn't tell you that my PAST scores had me in the top 3% of the country. It wouldn't tell you how my top graduating class members -- the same ones who went to Our Lady Of Good Counsel -- couldn't touch me with a ten foot pole when it came to science in 7th grade.
It also will not say that I worked those 4 years and, had I been able to save the money during those years instead of "supporting the family", I would have been able to buy a house, pay for my college degree and never seen a day in the military.
The 3 years at $20 per day comes out to $21,900. Why would a family need that much money if my mother was working and my dad was a merchant marine and held the position as a Chief Cook?
Because I had an older sister who was 4 years older than me living just like my mother on a 100 acre farm in Bridgeton, NJ who, at year 1965 had a college degree and was now working on her Masters and all she had to do was go to school.
How convenient.
And by the way, the year after High School graduation, I made $8,343. Which, had it gone into a bank account with the $21,900 would have been $30,243.
Yes, I was dyslexic, no, I wasn't stupid. And the reason for the reflected lack of performing well in high school? I'd rather work my butt off then listen to my mother tell me how lazy and stupid I was.
What did she do, learn through osmosis? Seriously!
One time, when I heard her humming to herself -- the only time I did, by the way -- I made an uplifting remark to her about it, her remark as so swift and brutal, she may as well as thrown knifes at me.
The one thing you learn about people who have IQ's of a snail. They compensate by being cunning. The word con artists comes quickly to mind. As long as you're paying their bills and they can do anything they dam well please, these psychopaths don't care.
But then, I suppose these social outcast are too stupid to figure out on their own that when the bull rides the cow the result is a calf. While the cost to feed and nurture it doesn't slap them in the face like it does with humans, the fact is, it isn't just the food we real humans need and thirst for, its the kindness, the compassion and the sense of belonging.
For us, there was no kindness, no compassion or sense of belonging. Instead, my parents were the poster children for the antichrist of parenting and had no reason to have children save that of being a tax write off and female chauvinism.
So, then, of all the children in my family of 3 to 4, we never did see much of my sister who now owns that 100 acre farm in Bridgeton, NJ and raises Alaskan Huskies, why of the three boys was I am to survive both mentally and physically and raise 5 wonderful, spoiled rotten children and stay married to the same woman for 47 years?
I was genetically gifted with a keen sense of what was right and what was wrong coupled with a brain that reasoned things out without anyone else's help.
In-other-words, I had a way with words and a above average sense for thinking things through and studying the nature of man. Overly sensitive, quick tempered and willing to admit I'm human, I learned to balance my own understanding what life was and is about and swore that when I did have children, they would not be brought up feeling cold, lonely and without my support for them to grow stronger.
The problem is, the chances of one of them becoming just like you does happen and when it does you get an aggressive, pretty, smart female who questions your sexual orientation. And sometimes, I'm willing to admit that in order to survive childhood, that was exactly what I was.
Think about it for a moment. Sure guys can be focused on having a loving relationship with a woman but that's based on his relationship with his mother. A girl does the opposite but with her father. But her reasoning skills and her instinctual desires to create comfortable environment where she can raise her children with or without a husband around to support the family is her way of feeling secure and happy.
A guy, on the other hand is not capable of nurturing, soft cuddling, breast feeding or feminine sweet talk. My wife can come into our living room, look at my cat, talk warm cuddly words to him and he responds with loud purring and rubbing his face against her legs.
I sneeze and the cat is running for cover.
We put parents on pedestals and assume they have you best interest at heart. After all what parent in his or her right mind would want to make life worse a living hell for a child.
But what does best interest really mean?
What the parent thinks the child should be? Or what the child feels comfortable with becoming?
Communications is a two way street. So, why is it so hard for a parent to want to talk to the child in an individual way? And don't make the fatal assumption that you know what the child is thinking, feeling or reflecting on. Your child is seeing a world much different than you did. You might just learn a thing or two along the way. Children are that amazing.
Once someone asked me which one of my children I thought was the one I thought would go places and they were all in the same car at the time. In truth, I felt they were all pretty amazing putting up with the likes of me and my wife.
But one does stand out. She has always stood out. Not because she's the prettiest -- she is -- but because she did something that at 2 weeks old impressed the heck out of me.
She was in her little crib crying. Wet and hungry at the same time, I warned up her bottle, grabbed the sanity clean whippes, the white anti-diaper rash cream, and headed her way with a fresh diaper. It takes three hands to hold a bottle up at the right angle so that the baby sucks milk and not air, and two to hold the squirmy bottom down so that the safety pins -- which I think is an oxymoron -- don't pop open, scratch or penetrate the skin.
No matter what I did, 2 seconds into the diaper change, the bottle would slip out of her mouth and every time I would get an earful of frustration. The third time I tried to prop the bottle two eyes stared at me like she does still today and two hands came over to the bottle and held it in the proper position. I've changed diapers on 5 children and none at 2 weeks old had ever done that.
That child at 16 said she was going to become an engineer. That child went into the Air Force, got out and graduated with a degree in Material Sciences from Washington State University. That child worked on the Boeing Dreamliner. That child shares a patent with Boeing.
So, yes, she impressed me. Because I could see a lot of myself in her. My oldest has two BA degrees. One in art. The second oldest has three children. One, Esha, whom which appears to get prettier and prettier and starting talking like an adult at year 1, Demi Lovato remarked looked like her has also got the pipes to become a singer and movie star.
So, what does matter here is how I reacted to both physical, mental and sexual abuse and stopped the pass the buck card forward.
That is my legacy.
Now, we can move on. To what is really important.
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