A Rough Start

I was born in Miami, Florida on February 2, 1959 It was Groundhog Day. My birth was uncomplicated and went smoothly according to my mother. Unfortunately for me though, my life from that point on was not so simple and easy.

My father was in Korea with the military when I was born. We didn't get to connect until I was about six months old. He did get real nauseous and went out behind the barracks to throw up at the same time I was born though. By the way, that was without being notified of my pending birth first! I grew up in the shadow of a combination John Wayne and G.I. Joe. A career firefighter who was always rescuing someone from some thing. I tried for most of my life to emulate him, but found that I just couldn't do it.

By the time I was four years old, my family and I had already moved several times and had traveled well over 15,000 miles. By the time I was six and about to enter kindergarten, I was already taller and larger than most of the kids my age, it made me stick out like a sore thumb. It didn't help either that I talked with a serious lisp, was extremely pigeon-toed, and wore big thick glasses. I was also hypoglycemic, which made me very prone to experiencing cold sweats, the shakes, and blurry vision at a moments notice.

Standing out like I did, was basically the same thing as painting a very large bulls-eye on my forehead. For every bully in every school that I attended (around 20 or so) must have each felt personally responsible for trying to beat the crap out of me, and as often as possible. I got into a lot of fights while growing up. Sometimes I won, sometimes I lost, sometimes I didn't even bother to fight back. I never started one fight in my entire life though. In 6th grade alone, I received over 13 whacks with a big wooden paddle, all for defending myself.

By the time I was nine years old, we had moved another several times, traveled another 15,000 miles or so, and my father was once again headed to Southeast Asia for a remote tour. It was then that I the unfortunate experience of watching my mother suffer her first nervous breakdown and begin her slow and horrible slide into mental illness. It was around that same time that we were living with my grandparents, while my father was overseas, that my grandfather suffered a massive heart-attack and died.

A few years later, just as I had determined that life was starting to smooth out and take on a somewhat more normal form, my father was once again ordered back to Southeast Asia. I was caught totally off guard that time. At that point in my life, I was closer to my father than at any other point before then. Suddenly though, he was gone - again. I never told anyone, especially my parents, just how upset I was when he left.

I was even more upset that he moved us away from the small west Texas town in which we were living at the time. I loved that little town. Even though we were a military family and were considered outsiders, we had been lovingly accepted into that community. To make matters worse, I finally, after most of my life without one, had a best friend. That only lasted about 18 months though.

There were some consolations at that time though. For one, after some intense speech therapy lessons, I was freed from my lisp! Another, I found that with lots of focus and concentration over a year or so, I was finally able to walk without my toes being turned in. And finally, my parents were eventually able to afford to purchase for me, a modern day and stylish pair of eye-glasses. I was forever free from looking like an absolute dork wearing black military frame glasses.

My father, before leaving for overseas, moved us to Goldsboro, NC. He did so because his sister Gale, who's husband was already overseas, was living there. She had three kids around the same ages as myself and my siblings. My widowed grandmother was also living with my Aunt Gale at the time. My father's thinking was that my aunt and grandmother could assist my mother in taking care of us kids. His motives were sincere and good. Unfortunately for me though, Goldsboro turned out to be Hell.

Back in the early seventies, in towns all over the country, forced busing was a very big issue. It was somehow determined that the best thing for all students, was to make sure that there was a good mixture of black and white students at every school. Unfortunately, the truth of the matter was, when it was initiated, forced busing did far more harm to the kids involved (both black and white) and it really did nothing but drive up the number of kids attending private schools.

Because of forced busing, I was required to ride the bus for over an hour and half to get to school every morning and afternoon. I and my fellow classmates from my neighborhood, were bused out of our far flung suburb and taken to an old rundown smelly and very dirty school in downtown Goldsboro. There was no A/C, the water fountains seldom worked. The black kids at the school were so happy to see us, that every morning as our bus arrived, they would pelt the bus with rocks and empty soda bottles. As each of us got off the bus, we were forced to hand over either our bag lunches or our lunch money. If we would have refused to give in, we would have been given the privilege of leaving school in an ambulance.

The rest of the day wasn't any better. If you were white, you could forget using the restroom for the entire day. Whenever a white kid attempted to use the restroom, he'd come out of there with a broken nose or arm, if he was lucky that is. P.E. class was a real joke. What it really was, was a way for the black guys to pick on and beat up the whites without any fear of getting into trouble. That was the truth, plain and simple. Walking the hallways of school each day was like running the gauntlet.

By the end of the day, upon arriving home from school, I was absolutely mentally and physically exhausted. It did no good to fight back when confronted at school. One black kid would start a fight, the white kid would be stupid enough to try and fight back, and then he'd find another 5 or 6 black kids on his back. I never once saw a fair fight at that school. On the home front, my mother was in terrible mental shape. Her attitudes and actions were very hard on us kids, affecting each of us in different ways. Toward the end of our time in Goldsboro, we also had to deal with possible criminal activity - directed toward us twice. I'll write about them in a separate posting some other time.

Fortunately for me, I was only in Goldsboro for about a year and half. It felt more like 20 years to me at the time though. I remember when my father called from overseas to tell us that he had received orders for Florida, and that we would be moving there in a couple of months. I was so absolutely ecstatic that I ran around the entire neighborhood for the remainder of the day, telling anyone and everyone my good news. The next day I could hardly walk because my muscles were so sore.

When we reached Florida, I was in the last half of 9th grade. From that point on, life for me greatly improved. Although my mother still had serious issues and episodes, and we still moved a few more times, I was at least able to catch my breath for a little while before reaching adulthood.