When the fun stopped and reality came knocking

The rest of the story.. Now at age 10

Things started to go downhill, it was not uncommon for me to come downstairs in the morning and find things broken in the bar, like pool cues, dented napkin holders, beer bottles all because of fights the previous night.  One morning I found a wooden bar stool smashed to pieces in the middle of kitchen, no it wasn’t a fight… I found out later it was my dad’s doing, I guess he had a really bad night and took it out on the bar stool, which was nothing more than kindling now..   I can still see it scattered there in my mind 42 years later

I got to watch my parents drink all day while they worked behind the bar, seeing my dad taking shots of whiskey in the kitchen throughout the day.  None of this seemed to bother me at the time… or so I thought.  After all I could leave on my mini bike or horse in the morning and not return all day and no one cared.   

Then one day, while playing in the woods, I found my German Shepard…. London….he had been missing for 2 days; there he was tied to a tree with an extension cord… shot dead...  I found out later someone complained he had bitten them….. My dad took him out to the woods and shot him, never telling me about it.  What a thing for a 10 year old to find. 

I made a huge cross I mean this thing was huge… and buried London. Sure I had freedom, but at what cost… I had to grow up too fast

The first sign of trouble were my grades… They went from A’s to D’s… Along with the D’s came a lot of beatings from my mom, she would beat me with anything within reach.  Many years later, I found an old report card from the first year at the bar, and the note to my parents was “Eddie needs a lot more attention and it would be great if you could work with him this summer”.  Well there was no more attention, at least not the positive kind…   By this time my sister was long gone, a couple of days after she turned 18 she ran off and got married,  she married a guy who came into the bar all the time. 

Then came the moment as what I define as the night my life changed forever…. Or my big cause… one night when my parents came to bed in the large room we all shared in the winter, Of course they had been drinking all day and fighting.  My mom started to get me involved in whatever was going on and then got me to laugh at my dad.  A few days later… my dad attempted suicide by sticking a hose from the exhaust of the car into the back window.  If not for a stranger driving by and rescuing him he would have died that night.  A few months later he tried again and was again rescued by another stranger….  God was really looking out for him.  

This time he was admitted for psychiatric treatment where he remained for a few months and then released and for a while he lived in a horrible one room studio in Spokane.  I remember my brother and I used to go visit him he was very different. He never returned to the bar and it was sold and we moved to Spokane

While all this was going on…  I don’t remember anyone ever sitting us down and explaining to us what was going on.  We were just left to imagine…, what happened? I began to blame myself and feel the guilt for laughing at my dad.        

In Spokane we lived together in a small house on Bridge Street…  Then one night, very late, I was awakened to red lights flashing throughout the house and when I came downstairs I found several police officers and paramedics huddled around talking with my mom and dad.  It was really scary…. When I squeezed through and got closer, I could see my dad had his hunting rifle across his lap with the barrel pointed to his head.  His big toe was strumming the trigger.  I stood there for what seemed liked forever and no one seemed to notice me.  I felt invisible..  He finally gave up the rifle and they took him away… back for treatment.

A few months later he returned home and a short time later he began having seizures and spent most of two years in the hospital… and is where I spent most of my early teens… right by his side, wearing my welfare shoes.

My Dad was my best man at my wedding and was my best friend, he died 18 years ago.    One year and 13 days after my dad’s death my son was born.  I believe he was hand-picked by my Dad….  One day during my sons doctors visit where he got his first shots he began to cry..   Then I heard a song in my head which made me realize how big the effects were becoming.    The song was…. The Living Years and some of the lyric are

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gUdiQWxps5E

Every generation….  Blames the one before….  And all of their frustrations….  Come beating on your door 

I know that I'm a prisoner …… To all my Father held so dear ……. I know that I'm a hostage … To all his hopes and fears…

It goes on to say…. I think I caught his spirit…… Later that same year…. I'm sure I heard his echo In my baby's new born tears

I felt like my dad was speaking directly to me….   This song really affected me because for the first time I began to realize I was a lot like my dad… the good and the bad

I had the chance to tell my Dad in the living years… And he told me..  My Dad, with all his faults, was the smartest, hardest working man I ever met.  

This is my cause and effect.   This is why I have worked since I was 14… Put myself through college and even when I was married I was really a single parent while working my tail off.  I have had ups and downs.  I have been held accountable and I know what it did for me and I won’t let you off the hook.

So are you ready to talk now?