but, I loved my dad no matter what. I don't think their have many uninfluenced instances where I was mad at my dad. Before I go forward any more...I swear if any of my parents (step included) ever read this....I may come up missing or tweeting someone broke my computer.
When I was born I was born into a family that was large and close. My mom and dad were sweethearts from way back. They were not married when I was born, I have been told I was planned. My mom was twenty and my dad was twenty-two.
As time went on we lived in a little house in the barrio near family. We had a dog she got ran over. Life was always a party, beer, the smell of marijuana and music. The carpet was shaggy and my dad was golden in my eyes. She wore great fedoras and pendelton shirts. He creases were always fine and his hair was sleek black. My dad was awesome.
My mom was thin and tan. Her hair was a dark brown straight and parted down the middle. She haad the perfect eyebrows that every chola wished they had. She was athletic and liked to make crafts with me out of wax paper and crayons. She would dress me matching from head to toe and have me pose for pictures. They were a beautiful couple. I often thought they were the envy of the Barrio.
We moved from one house in the barrio to another. I had my own room complete with a captains bed, little table and chairs and big jars of delicious smelling Play-Dough. Life seemed great. We had parties for Halloween at my Nina's. There was a swing set in my front yard and frequent visits with my grandma Chavie and grandpa Turk.
Dad would cruise us kids to see movies at the drive in. I would also cruise with him to see his lady friends. I would also cruise with my mom to see her man friend. I spent many hours sitting in living rooms watching television. I also spent many hours listening to adult conversations. What would I say anyhow, I was maybe three and four years old. My life was taking a turn out of the southside.
Mom got pregnant and had my brother. Play-Dough disappeared and parties were not very frequent. Tight lipped remarks were in the air. And then dad got someone else pregnant. I heard him tell my Nina at the fence once he didn't think she was his. My Nina shook her head and gave him that "yeah right" look.
We visited that woman and the baby girl in their apartment. She looked different from me. Her skin was light and so was her hair. The apartment looked fancy to me. She was my sister.
Mom and Dad split up. My life took me out of the Barrio. Sometimes the time line gets blurred as to where we went next. I remember living with my Nina in the back house. The big claw foot tub and faking sleeping when mom had her friend over. We lived in an apartment with her man friend who drove a Charger. He drank a lot of beer. But, so did my dad. But, he was not my dad.
The new man was towering tall six feet four inches. He had curly hair and a deep powerful voice. He would blast his music and it was noisy. I wanted my dad. I hated my mom. Why had she left my dad? Whenever I saw my dad he would say he loved my mom, and always would. I believed him and my mom lost all her glamour.
Once when we were being exchanged my dad and the new man got into a fight. Right in front of my moms sisters house, right across from my dads parents house. I know my dad was hurt, and probably would have fought more had I not been there. I was six, with big glasses and a goofy smile. Think a little Mexican version of Heather Matarazzo in "Welcome to The Dollhouse". My heart was breaking. I wanted my mom and dad in the same house again even, if they had friends.
My dad got together with the lady with his baby. My mom stayed with the towering German.
I still wanted my dad back.
Mom and her new man fought a lot. He would hit her, she would hit him. They drank a lot. Some mornings I would wake up to Coors cans all over.
I wanted my dad.
We saw my dad on weekends. He would cruise us in his impala Sometimes he was not with the lady with the baby, sometimes he was staying at his sisters house. His heroin addiction I believe was beginning to get bad.
Time went on. Mom and Dad married the new people. It seemed nobody wanted us, and mostly nobody wanted my brother. There were times my dad missed picking us up. My step-dad would trash talk him and so would my mom. "Junkie" "loser" The words sstabbed at my heart even more. Letters would come from jail, and I loved that my dad remembered me. Once he came at Christmas to get us, he had brought me a jewlery box that played music. I was about eight or nine and it had the picture "The Engagement" by Norman Rockwell on the front.
Once in a rage my step-dad threw it. It broke and stopped playing music. The hinges would not be fixed and the blue velour lining started to come undone.
My step-mom always seemed to want us out of her hair while she cleaned or whatever. She was jealous of my mom. I never understood why. She had my dad, she had kids with him....he was hers. He still is.
She was never our right mean to me. She seemed to genuinly try. But, we were differnt people in different worlds. She was outgoing and social. I was resevered and bookish. She wanted to talk with me about boys and I wanted to talk about music or "Revenge of the Nerds". She would idulge me. She bought my a nice record player for Christmas once. It was a great gift for a girl of 12 who had been listening to The Smiths and Depeche Mode on a tape recorder.
We had words at times because, my dad lacked communication. Also, I could be a smartass without even knowing. When I was 12 I went to live with them. My mom was mad, I have always thought it was because she had to clean the bathroom. I also thought it was because she hated my dad and step-mom. But, why would I stay in a house that was full of abuse and often I was the reason.
My step-mom sometimes was mean. I had my own room, was never allowed to share a bedroom with anyone for some reason. My walls had pictures of movie stars, singer and the like. Most of them were pictures of girls or women I wish I had the style of. My step-mom was mad at my dad once. She came in yelling telling me to turn of my music. She asked if I was a lesbian, I just looked at her. What did she want me to say? I had never even held a boys hand or kissed one or a girl for that matter. All my posters had to come down....even my beloved Corey Haim ones. Soon after my dad was arrested in front of me, yet again. I stayed with my dads parents for awhile. Then I had to beg to go back to my moms. Life was over.
Once dad was back home weekend visits resumed.
I lived with them again in high school. Only because my step-mom admitted she did not want to be the bad guy. That was fine with me. My clothes were often a topic of discussion and my lack of dating. It was not always good.
I have to say despite arguments over posters, books, music and clothes my step-mom did some great things for me.
- first stereo
- first beach cruiser
- first typewriter
- took me shopping for my senior prom dress
- let me get my first real job
- gave me freedom
- encouraged my dad to go to my events
We don't have the best relationship but, sometimes we are the only one, each other can talk to. My step-dad and mom divorced some years ago. I also forgave him for the abuse years before that.
Now I am a step-mom and wish my step-daugher had chosen us at one point.
I love my dad, and even though he only has uttered those words to me once....I know he loves me.
Love and Steps