The Early Years - II

Continued from Part I

It was Easter. I was still six and suffering a toothache from Uncle Arthur's candy. Ma had me in the tub and was washing the day's mud out of my hair when Dad stumbled through the door. He was leaning on Uncle Arthur's shoulder and singing a song I couldn't make out. Telling Uncle Arthur to leave, he eventually came into the bathroom and I smelled him. He'd been drinking "booze." I didn't think anything of it until he suddenly gritted his teeth and began screeching at my mother. For the first time, I saw fear in her face and I quickly accepted my share of it. Through my childish pleas to stop, he suddenly lifted his big hand and struck my mother hard across the face. She fell to the floor. Besides the crying and screaming, everything else went black. I think he must have drunk for a while after that.

I had to be nine years old when my mind began recording memories again. Dad joined Buddy and me in a game of catch. Buddy kept throwing the ball over my head on purpose and laughed when Dad wasn't looking. Fed up, I went after him. My father broke it up, then gave a speech that would become famous, "He's your brother. You shouldn't fight with him. Someday you'll realize how much you mean to each other." I doubted it. Then along came Paul Audette. He threatened to pulverize Buddy in the schoolyard. I couldn't stand for it. Buddy was my brother and if it was anyone's job to beat on him, it was mine. In front of the whole school, although I feared the fight, I punched Paul square in the nose. He bled and cried. Inside, I chuckled with pride. I was a man now.

I wasn't even done with my punishment when I arrived home from school to find both my parents waiting. How unusual. Something in my gut told me it wasn't good. Dad explained, "Jed passed away."

I looked at Buddy. He was just as confused.

"The dog got hit by a car," Ma whispered with more compassion.

"Oh God, No!" I screamed. It couldn't be. I'd been with Jed my whole life. How unfair! "Why love something when it will only die?" I finally asked no one.

To my surprise, my mother answered. "Because life wouldn't be worth living if we didn't love." I knew it would take years to understand that one. Dad threw us in his work truck and took Buddy and me out for hot dogs. He didn't say anything, but by the time we got home, I felt better. Dad understood my loss and for whatever reason, that made it easier.

Mom and Dad began playing cards with Aunt Phyllis and Uncle Arthur every Saturday night. Uncle Skinny sat in the corner, on the other hand, content to be alone with his beer. Buddy and I would choke on the smoke that filled the room, but stay just the same, in search for pennies that fell from the table onto the floor. Most times, we would just stay under there and listen. The same thing always happened. The adults would eventually forget we were even there and begin speaking about things that only adults speak about. I learned that Grandpa was a real bastard in his day, but nothing compared to the murderer that raised him, that Santa Claus was a bigger hoax than the politicians Dad insulted and that Aunt Phyllis' niece had turned into a real slut. And then I learned why. I learned almost anything I'd ever need to know beneath the table of some heated Tripoly Games.

When I was ten, Dad got promoted from driver to warehouse foreman at work. It was a special occasion, which was rare, so he decided to treat the family to a sit-down dinner at a fancy restaurant. We'd never stepped foot in a place like it before, so for Buddy and me it was beyond exciting.

"You boys can order anything you want," he promised.

"Anything?" we responded in synch. With a smile, Dad nodded.

I tried to start at the dessert side of the menu, but Ma wouldn't have it. Outside of holidays and Uncle Arthur's covert passes, Buddy and I were forbidden to eat candy or drink soda. "It'll rot out your teeth," Dad would rumble. So, as the waitress came over to take the order, she ran down the list of beverages available: Water, milk, tonic, coffee and tea. "No soda?" I thought, as if I'd been jilted. Settling for the usual glass of cold milk, Dad and Ma ordered tonic. The waitress arrived at the table with two tall glasses of milk and two bubbly glasses of soda. "But…" I started. "Tonic is just another word for soda," Dad announced, as if he were a man of the world. It was amazing we ever got through that dinner. Buddy and I sulked, while Ma and Dad nearly laughed themselves to death.

I had just blown out twelve candles on the chocolate cake Grandma baked. Life was good. The whole family was there and we'd even made it the entire day without Buddy breaking one of my new toys. Exhausted, I began dozing off when I heard my mother scream for her life. Leaping from the couch, I rushed to the kitchen to discover her kneeling on the linoleum floor, blood gushing from her swollen mouth. Dad stood over her. I remembered that he'd started drinking early at the party. Evidently, he never quit. Preparing to strike her again, I ran to her rescue. Instead of pounding her, I felt every knuckle of my father's massive fist slam into my head. There were stars and reality seemed to slow to a creep until everything turned into a pin of light and then disappeared. Once again, everything went black.

Though I'm sure I awoke shortly thereafter, I don't recall much of anything that happened in my miserable life afterward. In fact, it seems that my memory was returned to me after I got deep into high school, perhaps even months from graduation. From there, it was time to court my love, Emma, and head off to army boot camp. I suppose, in the lapse, Dad did his fair share of drinking.