As parents, you never know what to expect. From the time when she was 3 and I caught her walking the dog on the roof wearing only what god had given her to the bathing of herself and all of her toys in vaseline she could always surprise me. She is articutate, smart and easy to be around. When it comes to self assurance, it exists in her. She never ceases to amaze me for what she was, what she is and what I know she can be. We have been known to exchange jokes (not just telling them to one another, but practical jokes ON each other). Playful bantor, regarding boys, school or anything that comes to mind. As an honor roll student she can manage quite an edge. This brings us to the call. The phone rang and I answered it. Jessica was on the other end. "Dad, you need to come to Kohl's, I have been arrested" I was sure this was one of those times. "No, you haven't, I'm busy don't play with me". I knew how stupid an idea this was. My daughter, the chosen one, driving around in her 2 seater sports car. Wearing her Abercrombie clothes and living the good life. How could she possibly be under arrest? "Do you want to speak to the officer?" now it was seeming a little more real. "Yes, put her on". It was then that I realized, this might be true.
I had seen Jessica a little earlier at Target. I did not recognize the brood that she was running with. Two nice girls, not in Jessica's regular crowd. Nice enough though. The fact that I let them borrow my car to go to Kohls should have expressed my comfort level. Like any good father, as I made my way to Kohl's, I convinced myself that the two evil girls had formulated an evil plot to corrupt my little princess into a life of crime. Somehow, they had forced her (no doubt with a threat to injur her hero father)to SHOPLIFT. Nevermind that my daughter was a free thinker and had never been "led" to anything. It didn't matter that she was a born leader. At that moment, someone corrupted my princess and there was going to be hell to pay.
When I entered the store, I was greeted by a security guard. Still convinced that my poor 16 year old had been bamboozled, I was not as sociable as I might normally have been. How can I put it so you understand. Ok, I got it. I came into the store as if I were liberating a freed hostage, held against her will in the most dire of conditions. Talk about the air being let out of my balloon....
The girls were sitting, hapless against the wall in the tiny loss prevention office. I had the pleasure of being the first parent on the scene. The two evil girls with my princess were crying. Jessica was sitting up, redfaced, flushed and obviously under some sort of strain. The piles of clothes were seperated into distinct piles. One for each of the perpitrators. As I reviewed the inventory, I could tell that there evidently was a shortage of undergarments in all the houses. If you can imagine, as the father of 3 teenage daughters, the thought of foraging through their panty and bra collection is frightful. As they become young ladies, against all the laws of life, these items become smaller and more (or less as the case may be)intimate. So now, envision 3 security personell and a local police officer holding up, one at a time, your teenage daughter's, the princesses choices of undergarments to steal. Including but not limited to, the leopard print bra, the panties with graphic writing on the bottom and the mathching set of candy apple, red lace, one size too small, should only be on an adult woman underwear, for everyone to peruse. Needless to say, I was embarrassed. Humiliated, and even though I was not showing it to her, convinced that she had been led astray by the evil doers she had taken up company with. Then the moment of revelation. The officer in charge told me that at some point, they were going to have to escort my daughter to the dressing room. It seems that of all the girls, she was the one with clothes still on her person. She put some of them on under her current clothes, and was still wearing them now. You can say what you want, but at that moment I knew. I knew that the evil girls might have dropped some items in the princesses bag. They could have knocked her down and forced her to shoplift some items. It was not conceivable to me, however, knowing the princess, that they could have taken her to the dressing room and forced her to wear stolen merchandise. My daughter was a theif. She made the decision on her own. She was not led into it. This was a thought process she had gone through and it was evident she was not coerced.
The rest of the day was not eventful. I was almost glad that it happened. Its not good to think your teenager is perfect. Thats where the problem comes in. If you don't allow them to be flawed then there is never a chance for education. Oh, don't get me wrong, there was hell to pay. If her mother had not been there to stop the wrath we might have seen the police again. But thankfully, she understood that this was one of THOSE events. One of those milestones of life. One where choices become consequences. Hopefully a learning experience.
I enjoyed spending the first month of summer with my oldest daughter. Her busy schedule had prohibited that. The opportunity for her to work in the yard, clean the house, my car, her moms car, her aunts car, the windows and all the bathrooms seems to have really caused us to bond. Not having to spend time talking through her cell phone, and having her in our car for short trips to the store or anywhere seems to have brought us closer together. The fact that none of her freinds were there to interfere with our exchanges was refreshing. Thats the lesson. More time with my princess, a little tarnished, but yes still my princess.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Sunday, August 3, 2008
We Lost A Star
Its a surprising call to get. At our age, it comes more and more frequently. Someone is suffering, someone is hurting. The elderly ones, although no less painful, are expected. The younger ones come as a shock. Nonetheless, we have to face it, our mortality. The frailty of human existence.
When the wind blew about my Aunt Shirley, I should have been caught off guard. She was a stalwart woman with a great disposition about life. Since the passing of my grandmother, her mother, she was not in the presence of mind she possessed in her youth. My days are filled with my family and my business, so my contact with her was not as regular as in the past. I would call to catch up on extended family gossip. To pass a few light hearted stories of my own. Aunt Shirley was always ready with a word of support, a quick joke of her own and always some wayward advice about my continuing relationship struggles with her brother, my father. These calls were as infrequent as you might think. They were the same communications as before the passing of my Grandmother but with a much different tone. The joy of life, the sparkle of existence had been replaced by the vacuum of death. The aching pain of missing a loved one who completed the knowledge of your very existence. I could hear in every whisp of her conversation that she missed my grandmother. In her eyes, she did not understand how to move forward, past this event. Exist she did, with the help of God and her family. She existed but not on a plane of joy, simply a plane of being. A shroud of sadness, with a speck of light.
As we grew up, she never met a stranger. The people around her were genuine about their enjoyment of her. To watch her interact with my father was timeless, lost in their youth. She had a laughter and a joy that many saw and admired. She was the soft edge to Don's rough one. She loved her children and grandchildren and showed it in every way. One of the things that I admired the most was the fact that she stayed put. No matter where I went or what I did, she was there. The spotty calls back would always result in a good conversation and a solid foundation from the past.
We weren't as close as we could have been. That was probably my fault. Busy lives, busy lives. The last time I saw her was during the funeral for my grandmother. I cant remember a sadder time. At the time, I felt so helpless for her sadness. What hit me directly was that we all move forward, generation by generation. I thought then, grandma was the last of hers, now it moves on to the next. Not a satisfying revelation. Like coins on the ledge of a carnival game, one layer falls, opening up the ultimate demise of the next and so on. Selfish as it sounds and as much as I will miss her, we are the next layer set to fall off. What does that mean for us.
Its a sad time, losing an Aunt, a mother, a grandmother, a wife and a friend. We can never fully recover from the formation of this hole. We can pay tribute to a life well lived. A life that had purpose and meaning. A life that touched so many. It forces us to take stock in our own life. Have we made a difference? 100 years from now, will anyone know we were here? What is our purpose?
Aunt Shirley made a difference. She will be missed.
When the wind blew about my Aunt Shirley, I should have been caught off guard. She was a stalwart woman with a great disposition about life. Since the passing of my grandmother, her mother, she was not in the presence of mind she possessed in her youth. My days are filled with my family and my business, so my contact with her was not as regular as in the past. I would call to catch up on extended family gossip. To pass a few light hearted stories of my own. Aunt Shirley was always ready with a word of support, a quick joke of her own and always some wayward advice about my continuing relationship struggles with her brother, my father. These calls were as infrequent as you might think. They were the same communications as before the passing of my Grandmother but with a much different tone. The joy of life, the sparkle of existence had been replaced by the vacuum of death. The aching pain of missing a loved one who completed the knowledge of your very existence. I could hear in every whisp of her conversation that she missed my grandmother. In her eyes, she did not understand how to move forward, past this event. Exist she did, with the help of God and her family. She existed but not on a plane of joy, simply a plane of being. A shroud of sadness, with a speck of light.
As we grew up, she never met a stranger. The people around her were genuine about their enjoyment of her. To watch her interact with my father was timeless, lost in their youth. She had a laughter and a joy that many saw and admired. She was the soft edge to Don's rough one. She loved her children and grandchildren and showed it in every way. One of the things that I admired the most was the fact that she stayed put. No matter where I went or what I did, she was there. The spotty calls back would always result in a good conversation and a solid foundation from the past.
We weren't as close as we could have been. That was probably my fault. Busy lives, busy lives. The last time I saw her was during the funeral for my grandmother. I cant remember a sadder time. At the time, I felt so helpless for her sadness. What hit me directly was that we all move forward, generation by generation. I thought then, grandma was the last of hers, now it moves on to the next. Not a satisfying revelation. Like coins on the ledge of a carnival game, one layer falls, opening up the ultimate demise of the next and so on. Selfish as it sounds and as much as I will miss her, we are the next layer set to fall off. What does that mean for us.
Its a sad time, losing an Aunt, a mother, a grandmother, a wife and a friend. We can never fully recover from the formation of this hole. We can pay tribute to a life well lived. A life that had purpose and meaning. A life that touched so many. It forces us to take stock in our own life. Have we made a difference? 100 years from now, will anyone know we were here? What is our purpose?
Aunt Shirley made a difference. She will be missed.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
We went for a drive
Anyone who has met us knows that we are not so different from anyone else. Some of our friends from our highschool days might disagree but I think we are not so different. I remember taking a weekend to go camping or some other family event. The weekend was grand. We enjoyed each others company and there was little bickering to be done. Dad had a few drinks (dad always had a few drinks) Not a problem for us, he seemed to tolerate it well and it made him a little easier to be around. Kind of took the edge off. Once the weekend was over, we headed towards the house. I think we were driving one of the Blazers that we owned while I was growing up. Dad had a temper and was always convinced that someone was tweaking him specifically. This was kind of a fatalist view that as we grew older we came to expect as normal. There were still times growing up when it burst into the forefront like water from a sun blister. The drive home turned into one of those occassions. Dad pulled up behind someone on the freeway riding close enough to burn his face on the guys exhaust pipe. Dad was an over the road driver so he had "mad" itimidation skills. After several minutes of putting pressure on this guy by flashing his lights, racing up to within a hair of his bumper and anything else he could think of, the man in front flipped my dad off in his side mirror. A war of half-wits had just begun. I think the man thought it was some kind of game. Dad took it as a straight insult. The race was on. We spent the next several miles racing down the freeway. Dad would swerve left, the truck in front would swerve right. The man in front would hit his brakes Dad would hit his brakes, then swerve then gas it up for another go. Mom and us kids, along with one of Kammys friends from school froze except for the action of our butts sucking up seat as we watched our lives pass by. The inside of the Blazer seemed to be in slow motion as my Dad took to the grassy median to pass the man in the truck. As we barrelled down the freeway with the sound of swooshing grass hitting the bottom of the Blazer, tears and fear mixed with the screams from the backseat, Dad hollered for mom to open the window. Dad screamed at the man in the truck "PULL OVER YOU SON OF A BITCH, SO I CAN KICK YOUR ASS" It was pretty obvious by the look of terror on the drivers face and pale bloodless tear filled face of the drivers wife that he had poked a stick in the cage of a wild animal that was my dad. As we pulled back on the pavement, the driver of the other vehicle moved over into the other lane. The whole time my dad was hollering obcenities out the passenger window, begging him to stop so he could show him who was boss. Dad was so busy trying to catch up and yelling out the window, he did not notice the upcoming exit. At the last minute from a speed of nearly 90 mph the driver of the other vehicle swerved off the exit. Dad missed the exit and the other driver faded off in the other direction. Dad, not wanting to be outdone, swerved into the median and made his way back to the exit determined to finish what he had started. Mom seemed barley audible to dad as his anger drowned out any reason. We made our way in the direction of the other vehicle. We never found him though we spent a lot of time looking. Later Dad made his way back to the freeway and eventually home. I often wondered if we did some good. Oh, I don't think dad learned anything but I am sure that when the other couple got home (and changed their soiled undergarments) they rethought their courtesy on the road. Ah, road rage, now thats a memory!
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Moving
We moved from 23rd street at some point. The conversation was surreal. As a family we sat down and discussed everything (not really but it sounds nice). The way things usually went, we discussed the plan, how things were going to work everyone put their ideas together then we did things the way dad wanted to. The move to the new house in Daleville was a big one. We would have a yard and a bigger house. Dad said it was going to be a tough move and we would all have to work together to make it happen. The new house payment was more than we had been paying ,I think it was going to be somewhere around $225 to $275 per month, so we all needed to conserve.
The move would happen. We would leave the city atmosphere of Muncie. Gone were the Hardins and their dog inky. Gone was the Gibson arena. Gone was Lillians grocery, Grissom elementary and the corner park filled with not so famous musicians. Our life was changing, although it was too early to have know but we were "movin on up" like the Jeffersons. The next few years were filled with new adventures, new folks to meet and a little more growing up. One thing for sure it wasn't boring.
The move would happen. We would leave the city atmosphere of Muncie. Gone were the Hardins and their dog inky. Gone was the Gibson arena. Gone was Lillians grocery, Grissom elementary and the corner park filled with not so famous musicians. Our life was changing, although it was too early to have know but we were "movin on up" like the Jeffersons. The next few years were filled with new adventures, new folks to meet and a little more growing up. One thing for sure it wasn't boring.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Young Love
You know. Everyone has a story to tell. As I push through memories of my childhood and early adulthood, I am reminded of that. Each of us remembers things a little different, from a different point of view. Some choose a more diluted version, some see a more cloudy version others choose not to see at all. It does not mean that they don't exist, just that they choose to forget.
My mind floats to some interactions between my mom and dad. One particular occassion must have been pretty bad. It is representative of what we would come to witness over the course of our parents marriage. I am always surprised at how much they could love and how hard they could fight. We saw them hold hands and cuddle. Dad would bring flowers, open doors and just leak love from all of his pores for mom. Mom was putty in his hands. On the flip side of that coin, dad was loud, argumentative and abraisive. This might have been a result of his work schedule or the primative pressures put while raising a large family on a limited budget. Whatever the reason it was sometimes tough to watch.
On one occassion, the screaming and yelling of obcenities started in the living room. Dad had come home and, as was typical of this time frame, found a common thread to pull. It seems that mom was not keeping the house clean, especially the kitchen. Mom did not agree (looking back we thought this argument was a ruse for another problem) She stood her ground and things got heated. Dad would cuss and throw something. Mom would bark back. The whole thing lasted for what seemed to be all day. As for us kids, we just stepped aside. We had learned early on that this was best. It was the only way to keep attention off of us. At some point dad decided to illistrate how much of an issue the unkept kitchen was for him. He bagged up all of the items in the kitchen. Each bag was then taken to the street for the garbage man to pick up. Mom decided to stand her ground. If he wanted to throw things away, she would let him. He was not going to push her around.
We all watched the stubborness invade our home. We all watched in disbelief as the garbage man picked the guts of our kitchen. Dad had proved his point. Mom had proved hers. When things finally settled down and they always settled down we knew. Dad would head off to bedroom and mom would follow suit for further discussions. There would be some more yelling from behind closed doors then the bed would squeak. That was our childhood signal that all was well. If the bed squeaked the argument was over.
The next day, we went shopping for new kitchenware. Mom was happy dad was happy and we had new kitchenware. What a great day!
My mind floats to some interactions between my mom and dad. One particular occassion must have been pretty bad. It is representative of what we would come to witness over the course of our parents marriage. I am always surprised at how much they could love and how hard they could fight. We saw them hold hands and cuddle. Dad would bring flowers, open doors and just leak love from all of his pores for mom. Mom was putty in his hands. On the flip side of that coin, dad was loud, argumentative and abraisive. This might have been a result of his work schedule or the primative pressures put while raising a large family on a limited budget. Whatever the reason it was sometimes tough to watch.
On one occassion, the screaming and yelling of obcenities started in the living room. Dad had come home and, as was typical of this time frame, found a common thread to pull. It seems that mom was not keeping the house clean, especially the kitchen. Mom did not agree (looking back we thought this argument was a ruse for another problem) She stood her ground and things got heated. Dad would cuss and throw something. Mom would bark back. The whole thing lasted for what seemed to be all day. As for us kids, we just stepped aside. We had learned early on that this was best. It was the only way to keep attention off of us. At some point dad decided to illistrate how much of an issue the unkept kitchen was for him. He bagged up all of the items in the kitchen. Each bag was then taken to the street for the garbage man to pick up. Mom decided to stand her ground. If he wanted to throw things away, she would let him. He was not going to push her around.
We all watched the stubborness invade our home. We all watched in disbelief as the garbage man picked the guts of our kitchen. Dad had proved his point. Mom had proved hers. When things finally settled down and they always settled down we knew. Dad would head off to bedroom and mom would follow suit for further discussions. There would be some more yelling from behind closed doors then the bed would squeak. That was our childhood signal that all was well. If the bed squeaked the argument was over.
The next day, we went shopping for new kitchenware. Mom was happy dad was happy and we had new kitchenware. What a great day!
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Punishment 101
Your parents are your role models. They are not perfect. I know now that perfection is not achievable. I am sure my own children will find fault with much of what I do. My only solice is in knowing when they reach my age and have their own children they will understand.
We were punished as we grew up. It was complete and at times harsh but obviously, we survived. Our folks believed in spanking. My Dad would use a belt. Mom would use a switch. We had a crabapple tree in the front yard of 23rd street. That was my moms switch of choice. As I write these words I can almost feel the sting of the branch across the back of my bare legs. We hated that tree and all it represented. A swat with the switch was doled out sparingly. No doubt, the thought of a crabapple welt was enough to keep us from getting really out of control. Mom didn't have a quick temper she had to be really upset to get started on you, but when she did, watch out. That little woman could wield a mean switch.
Dad liked the belt. He had a quick temper and believed in his principals. You didn't want to argue with Dad. If he spoke, he spoke with authority. These are great characteristics for a father. In a pinch, you want someone you can depend on. He was your greatest proponent when he was on your side. You knew when Dad was coming to your defense someone had hell to pay. Good when defending you, bad when targeting you. Dad was a little unorthodox. There were 4 of us kids. It must have been a lot of stress keeping up with us. When something happened ( it was usually something was broken or misplaced) he would call us all together and ask us what happened. We were not stupid kids. No one wanted to admit to the crime. We knew he was going to whip the one that did it. The story would always end the same. After an excruciating amount of blasting with no results (except for the 4 of us crying and hoping it would come to an end) he would send us to the other room with an instruction " you decide which one is lying and have them come clean or all 4 of you will get the whippin" Well of course, we would scamper into the other room and start the round-a-bout. "Was it you?" "Was it you? " The argument in the room would drag out. Dad was a genius. Pit the 4 young ones against each other till one of them broke. That was the hope. The result was a lot different. We had decided, even at that young age, that you couldn't win in this situation. Even if no one admited it, this could go on for hours. One thing you could say about our Dad, he had staying power. Not a quitter. So, once the door was closed the conversation went something like this. "Whose turn is it to take the blame?" With a few turns of conversation, the choice would be made. One of us would step out in the light and speak those fateful words. " I did it, I'm Sorry" and the punishment would be doled out.
We usually never found out who really did the crime. It didn't mattter. At some point, I guess everyone got a turn. It played out evenly. The best thing to do, was to keep a good balance and not do something that got things wound up. This kept things quiet and uneventful, just what we wanted.
We were punished as we grew up. It was complete and at times harsh but obviously, we survived. Our folks believed in spanking. My Dad would use a belt. Mom would use a switch. We had a crabapple tree in the front yard of 23rd street. That was my moms switch of choice. As I write these words I can almost feel the sting of the branch across the back of my bare legs. We hated that tree and all it represented. A swat with the switch was doled out sparingly. No doubt, the thought of a crabapple welt was enough to keep us from getting really out of control. Mom didn't have a quick temper she had to be really upset to get started on you, but when she did, watch out. That little woman could wield a mean switch.
Dad liked the belt. He had a quick temper and believed in his principals. You didn't want to argue with Dad. If he spoke, he spoke with authority. These are great characteristics for a father. In a pinch, you want someone you can depend on. He was your greatest proponent when he was on your side. You knew when Dad was coming to your defense someone had hell to pay. Good when defending you, bad when targeting you. Dad was a little unorthodox. There were 4 of us kids. It must have been a lot of stress keeping up with us. When something happened ( it was usually something was broken or misplaced) he would call us all together and ask us what happened. We were not stupid kids. No one wanted to admit to the crime. We knew he was going to whip the one that did it. The story would always end the same. After an excruciating amount of blasting with no results (except for the 4 of us crying and hoping it would come to an end) he would send us to the other room with an instruction " you decide which one is lying and have them come clean or all 4 of you will get the whippin" Well of course, we would scamper into the other room and start the round-a-bout. "Was it you?" "Was it you? " The argument in the room would drag out. Dad was a genius. Pit the 4 young ones against each other till one of them broke. That was the hope. The result was a lot different. We had decided, even at that young age, that you couldn't win in this situation. Even if no one admited it, this could go on for hours. One thing you could say about our Dad, he had staying power. Not a quitter. So, once the door was closed the conversation went something like this. "Whose turn is it to take the blame?" With a few turns of conversation, the choice would be made. One of us would step out in the light and speak those fateful words. " I did it, I'm Sorry" and the punishment would be doled out.
We usually never found out who really did the crime. It didn't mattter. At some point, I guess everyone got a turn. It played out evenly. The best thing to do, was to keep a good balance and not do something that got things wound up. This kept things quiet and uneventful, just what we wanted.
Watch and Learn
Lots of lessons can be learned and are taught by the art of simulation. Children learn how to speak by repeating what their parents say. We learn how to interact with others based on how well out peers interact. We take many lessons from our folks until one day we grow up, excercise our free will and decide which lessons to emulate and which ones to ignore. Then we start the whole process over so that our kids can formulate their own decisions as well.
Mom was a great driver, with only a few minor mishaps that I can recall. She was a thoughtful driver. When her 10 year old was getting sick out the back window of the car and a lady in another car screamed "oh my god" she managed to pay no attention to her, even though her first instinct might have been to slap her into next week. When she backed out of a driveway while picking up kids and one of the kids fell out of the back door of the car, she did panic a bit because she thought she might have ran over them but luckily not a scratch was on them. Even when she freaked out and accelarated because someone passed her on the right side at a stop light, she only managed to take out a fence and a tree and a front porch. No harm, no foul. I can almost see people running through the yard as we speak. She was also a good gauge for our dads driving as well.
We had left an event, (in those days it could have been a wind blowing convention to provide a chance for liquid celebration). Dad had partaken of a little to much to drink and Mom was not comfortable with the way he was driving. The rest of us kids just sat and listened. We knew the minute mom spoke up, things were going to get ugly. Dad kept reassuring her things were ok. Mom kept reassuring him that he was a lunatic. One thing you didn't do was disagree with dad when he wasn't drinking and you definitly did not disagree with him when he was. The drink drained his reasoning and since he was dreadfully short of that anyway you could be sure that he would explode when confronted. Mom had seen this before. We all had. I think she just decided enough was enough. They fought as we drove down the road. Dads driving was eradic. He was a proffessional driver by this time, so I suspect some of the rodeo driving he was doing was to mess with mom. Things escalated to a boiling point. Somewhere in New Castle, Dad pulled over to use a restroom. Mom decided to take a stand. She locked all the doors and refused to let Dad in. Let me just say, wow. Mom decided enough was enough. The whole parking lot was witness to this act of defiance. So were the kids. Mom said no. Dad screamed while banging the windows for her to let him in. Mom stood her ground. I was sure that anyone within a mile could have heard dad scream "GOD DAMMIT BETTY JO LET ME IN" Mom remained steadfast. She was not going to give in. She had decided that this was a safety issue. I am not sure how long it lasted. I know that my Dad is persistant. I beleive he would have fought all night. That was his nature. At some point, Mom gave in. Dad got back in and drove us home and we made it safely. I believe that each time this type of thing happened Mom and Dad changed a little bit. We witnessed the changes. The days when they were holding hands and beaming like a young couple in love. We also witnessed the "hell days" when the stress of raising a young family and providing for them while balancing your own life became too much. Those days were tough on all of us. We watched and learned.
Mom was a great driver, with only a few minor mishaps that I can recall. She was a thoughtful driver. When her 10 year old was getting sick out the back window of the car and a lady in another car screamed "oh my god" she managed to pay no attention to her, even though her first instinct might have been to slap her into next week. When she backed out of a driveway while picking up kids and one of the kids fell out of the back door of the car, she did panic a bit because she thought she might have ran over them but luckily not a scratch was on them. Even when she freaked out and accelarated because someone passed her on the right side at a stop light, she only managed to take out a fence and a tree and a front porch. No harm, no foul. I can almost see people running through the yard as we speak. She was also a good gauge for our dads driving as well.
We had left an event, (in those days it could have been a wind blowing convention to provide a chance for liquid celebration). Dad had partaken of a little to much to drink and Mom was not comfortable with the way he was driving. The rest of us kids just sat and listened. We knew the minute mom spoke up, things were going to get ugly. Dad kept reassuring her things were ok. Mom kept reassuring him that he was a lunatic. One thing you didn't do was disagree with dad when he wasn't drinking and you definitly did not disagree with him when he was. The drink drained his reasoning and since he was dreadfully short of that anyway you could be sure that he would explode when confronted. Mom had seen this before. We all had. I think she just decided enough was enough. They fought as we drove down the road. Dads driving was eradic. He was a proffessional driver by this time, so I suspect some of the rodeo driving he was doing was to mess with mom. Things escalated to a boiling point. Somewhere in New Castle, Dad pulled over to use a restroom. Mom decided to take a stand. She locked all the doors and refused to let Dad in. Let me just say, wow. Mom decided enough was enough. The whole parking lot was witness to this act of defiance. So were the kids. Mom said no. Dad screamed while banging the windows for her to let him in. Mom stood her ground. I was sure that anyone within a mile could have heard dad scream "GOD DAMMIT BETTY JO LET ME IN" Mom remained steadfast. She was not going to give in. She had decided that this was a safety issue. I am not sure how long it lasted. I know that my Dad is persistant. I beleive he would have fought all night. That was his nature. At some point, Mom gave in. Dad got back in and drove us home and we made it safely. I believe that each time this type of thing happened Mom and Dad changed a little bit. We witnessed the changes. The days when they were holding hands and beaming like a young couple in love. We also witnessed the "hell days" when the stress of raising a young family and providing for them while balancing your own life became too much. Those days were tough on all of us. We watched and learned.
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