MY FATHERS

MY FATHERS

First off, I know some of these stories are not laugh out loud funny. I just wanted to go another way for a while. Not that I had you rolling on the ground with my last posts. Just know, the whole time I’m writing these stories, about every five to ten minutes I itch my asshole and smell it. Now, that’s said, lets get into it.
I have had four foster fathers, two step fathers and one real father. So, let’s start with my so called, real dad. I don’t know too much about him now, because we don’t talk. But, I will tell you what I know about him.
My fathers name is Steve.  He met my mother when she was fifteen and knocked her up with my sister. So you know they weren’t in love. They probably were drinking Schlitz and banged in some bush at a park. Ya, that’s right my mother was banging at fifteen. My mother came from an Irish Catholic family, so they had to get married. He was a good looking guy and from what I can tell, pretty smooth with the ladies. One of the reasons, I never got to know my father was because he was over in Vietnam when I was born. There is something about having a Vietnam vet as your dad.  I guess buy the time he got home my mother was finished with him. The way my father tells the story is he got home from Nam and my mother was fucking around on him.  I guess he tried to kill her or something, so they got a divorce.  I mean, can you blame him. You were just in a fox hole killing little dark haired charlies for two years.   You come home, your country hates you, and your wife is getting duked in the cheese by some comi fuckhead.  Like all vets he came home with a little thing called a drug addiction. From what he told me, he liked to drive around with a case of cough medicine in the seat next to him. So, from the time I was born, I never knew him.  My mother went back to my grandmother’s.   I grew up there. That was the only family I knew. I will get back to my real dad, or as my mother likes to call him, the sperm donator.
Ok, here I am, happy, living with my five uncles, two aunts, grandmother, grandfather, mother and sister, in one small house. It was like eight is enough. All of a sudden there was this guy hanging around. His name was Billy Manchington. He was six/ four, black hair that parted to the side and he had a mustache. I remember he would come by and we would go to these cool places that my mother never took me. Places like Bensons Animal Farm, Canobe Lake Park, and the beach. I didn’t understand it.   I was in kindergarten. When your that young, your like a dog, you like everyone.  Especially, people who give you treats.  This guy would give us a lot of treats. It happened so fast, one day I was living with my family, and the next we were moving into this strange apartment on the other side of town with this tall guy.  I remember the first day we moved in.  They took me to my room.  Holy shit my room.  I have never had my own room. My sister, mother and me shared a room, with my uncle my whole life.  But, now I had my own room with a door.  I was in heaven.  I remember opening the door to my room.  There was a brand new bed, a brand new desk, and a brand new toy box with all brand new toys. It was like fucking Christmas.  I have never felt that much joy in my life.  It was like a drug.  I didn’t know what to say.  Everything was fucking amazing.  This new tall dark guy was the shit. I think I even started calling him Dad.  Hey you, buy me enough shit, now I will call you daddy.  But, all this joy and excitement was replaced with fear, loneliness and hate.
In my room, I had this little alcove that had a little tv in it.  I would sit in there on my bean bag and watch TV for hours.  One night, I was in there, and the sun was going down.   Everything was still great, and that’s when I heard a noise coming from the kitchen.  I woke up and walked out to the kitchen, and that’s the day my life changed forever.  Up until this point in my life I had never experience violence or abuse.  I had never even seen it on tv. I just didn’t know people could treat other people like that. I just knew love.  I was fucking kid for Christ sakes.
As I open the door to my room to go into the kitchen, I was about to experience all that  bullshit for the first time and not the last.
My sister was on the floor with the phone cord wrapped around her body, crying like I have never seen someone cry before.  My mother was hunched over on the floor next to her, holding her stomach, trying to hold back her tears but loosing.  I stood there in shock for a second, not knowing what the fuck I was looking at.  The two people I loved the most in the world had been hurt bad and I didn’t know what to do. Then I saw him passing back and forth like a caged panther waiting to strike again.  My mother saw me and grabbed us, and took us both into my sister’s room.  They were both crying hysterically.  I just shut the door and locked it.  All of a sudden, he was there at the door like a horror movie.  Banging on the door, yelling at us to open the fucking door or he will smash it in.  I just stood against it, trying to hold him back from my sister and mother.  With every bang, I twitched. I knew I couldn’t let that thing get to them.  I had to hold the door and protect them.   I tried, but I could hold him back.  He smashed the door open with his foot.  I went flying back against the wall. The door smashed me in the face, and I hit the floor dizzy.  My sister screamed like a real monster was coming. I don’t remember what he said.  He just yelled something and left.  We all just sat there in shock, holding each other crying.
This went on for five years. This big bully took advantage of us.   Abused my sister, mother and me.  But, over the years, my tears turned to hate, my fear turned to rage. Getting thrown down a flight of stairs because your five minutes late.  Getting punched in the face because you don’t do what you’re told.  Getting wacked in the back of the head every time you say something stupid; will do that to you.  Humans are made to survive.  Over the years, I learned that the only way to fight this asshole is to be as violent as him. The day it all changed, is when I tried to stab him.  I don’t know what the fight was about.  He was fucking with me, and we got into it.  He started yelling at me. I was done taking it.  I was done being a little kid, and no one helping me.  I snapped, and got a nice fat steak knife out of the drawer and went after him.  To my surprise, he ran.  I was chasing this big asshole around the house, with a knife, and it was great.  It was the first time I felt empowered.  I could beat this guy.  My mother came running downstairs and grabbed me.  I was flipping out.  I was in rage.  All my anger, all my hate was coming out at this guy.   I had a knife in my hand and he knew I wasn’t fucking around.  While my mother was holding me back, he called me a punk.  He stuck his hand out and said “go ahead, stab me, you punk”.  I didn’t even hesitate.  I swung the knife down as fast as I could to stab his hand.  He pulled away, in horror.  He didn’t think I was going to do it. But, I would have plunged that knife into this cunt, until they pulled me off him.  I did it. I won.  He was finally scared of me, instead of me being scared of him.  I beat this fucking monster.  Later that afternoon, we were out in the backyard, trying to get a stump out of the ground.  It was uncomfortable for both.  I mean, I was just trying to stab this asshole and now were doing yard work.  There was a hatchet I was using to get this stump out.  I raised it over my head and this fagot jumped back like a little bitch. I had this six foot fag, gun shy of me killing him.  I just laughed.  The sad part of this whole thing was that I was in the fifth grade.  I was a kid and I had enough rage and hate in me that I would do anything not to get hurt again.   

 Not only did I have to deal with basic kid shit for those five years.  I had to deal with this psycho at home.  I just wanted to hide in a box and never come out.  He would fuck with my head, as well as, give me a nice whack, in my cute Cuban dome.  If he was in a fight with my sister, he would buy me a nice toy and get me on his side.  Same with my mother.  He would buy us both a toy.  I mean, we were kids.  If the monster you are afraid of is treating you nice, you take it.  Plus, I like toys, as some of my fans know.  You could by me a pineapple and lee press on nails and I’m happy.
My mom finally told this asshole to fuck off, and she wanted a divorce. But it was too late for me.  I was already fucked. So, we moved out of our house and moved into this shitty, two bedroom apartment around two blocks away.  It was like going from a mansion, to the projects.  My mom gave my sister and me our own rooms, and she took the living room.  Even though it was two blocks away, it was very different.  My mother had to work almost everyday to keep us afloat.  Me and my sister were not getting along.  So, I was alone everyday and it sucked.  So, I did what any good kid would do.  I went into a nice depression.  I just wanted to sleep everyday all day.  I couldn’t face the fucking day.  I was in sixth grade.  In the last five years, I went from being a happy fun loving kid to this rage filled, lonely, depressed ass; with no friends.  I would get up in the morning, kiss my mother goodbye like I was going to school.  I would head out the front door and go around to the back into the basement; where I had a corner with a pillow, a 13 inch TV and a blanket.   I would sleep all day.  I just couldn’t face the world.  I just shut down.  The only thing that I could do was sleep the whole day away.  I did this for like, two weeks, until I got caught.  I think it was a Wednesday, around one in the afternoon.  I woke up from my coma.  I was hungry but, I had already eaten my lunch.  So, I was just going to run to the store real quick and get some snacks.  I had to be quick because if anyone saw me, like a neighbor, I was fucked.  So, I opened the hatch to my depression chamber and ran full out with my head down, to the store to get a Susie Q.  I was flying down the street, not looking where I was going, and I bumped into someone.  I said sorry, and tried to go on my way.  That wasn’t going to happen.   As I went to leave, I looked up and it was my mother.  She was shocked, what are you doing home.  I told her I had a half a day, and she bought it.  I was so happy.  I went and bought my Susie Q’s.  I was on my way back to hang with my mom, with a big creamy smile on my face.  I walked in the door about to offer my mom one of my pastries, as I heard her yell my name.  As a kid, you get to know your mother’s tone.  There is the Bobby, that means:  come here dinner’s ready.  Then there is the bobby.  Which is: left a mess in the kitchen, or you ate something you were not suppose to.  Then there is ROBERT PATRICK KELLY!  Which means:  your fucked.   Her tone was the third, so I knew I was fucked.  I guess my teacher called to see how sick I was because I hadn’t showed up for school, the last two weeks.  I was in sixth grade.  I didn’t know how to tell my mother I was in a depression because of the last shitty five years of my life and I resented her for it.  I just took my punishment, swallowed all the pain and shut down.  I got good at swallowing pain and shutting down.  That’s when I found my new friend that would be there for me and help me meet other friends.  He took away all my pain and loneliness.  Made me feel like superman.  That friend was drugs and alcohol. It would be my only real friend, for the next few years.  This is also when my second stepfather came into my life.  His name is Larry Borsetti.  He was an old fashioned Italian guy.  He liked cooking, singing and listening to oldies.  One of the nicest guys on the planet.  If he was my dad from the beginning, I would have been a different kid.  But, he wasn’t.  He came into my life a couple of years too late.  You see, I had been alone for too long and now I had a new buddy that made me feel great. I'm working on the rest of this story now. It will be finished in the next couple of days.