Chapter 18

Dad and Mom church directory photo.

Mom would absolutely hate the thought of you seeing this picture.

“Lesson on a life”

    I’ve made no secret of the fact that a lot of times I was scared of Dad. You may have picked up on that. So much of my fear was uncalled for, unnecessary and all around stupid. If I had it to do over I’d try to get so much closer to him. At the time, that was not gonna happen. That’s pretty much the way it is when you’re a dumb kid with no confidence or self esteem. 

    I may not have mentioned it, but I got three spankings from Dad. I can only remember details of one of ‘em, but my mind’s pretty made up about there being two others.

    The one I remember caught me all unawares. Set me to pondering a bunch about it afterwards, too. They’re the worst kind.

We were living on Camille Street and I was, oh, probably 11. Dennis, Jill and I were in the backyard with the Edgertons -- David, Diane, Debbie, Denise and Darrel. There was a pattern with their names that I never picked up on at the time. (See dumb kid reference above.)

Oh, and now that I remember, you can forget about Darrel being in on this. He was likely standing over by the chain-link gate, preoccupied. Daryl was a slightly plump 3-year-old who wore nothing but underwear…. all four seasons. Didn’t matter. The kid would prowl around with one hand down the front of his dirtied briefs and the other up to his mouth close enough for him to insert a thumb. And, I don’t really think he kept track of which hand he was putting where. All but two days of his life he had a runny nose. I don’t remember him ever saying anything. Maybe I wasn’t listening.

Regardless, I can’t blame Daryl for what happened that afternoon in the backyard. What happened was a massive wrestling match. We didn’t even choose up teams. It was just a major free-for-all. Ever had one of those? It’s been at least three years since my last one. On Camile Street our free-for-alls were relatively harmless. There was seldom any gouging or biting, but you’d see some serious arm and leg twistings, tossings and an occasional pinch. Denise. The kid was ruthless.

    It’s probably germane to the story that I had a crush on Diane Edgerton. Slightly germane. Just as sweet a girl as I ever met… next to Barbara in the first grade. Barbara was an angel. Blond  hair, shy, cute voice… She moved off right after Christmas. I came back from the holidays and she was gone. It took me the rest of the—Uh, I’m sorry.  Where was I?

    Oh, Diane. A crush I had. The crush was reciprocal, too. Not sure that’s proper terminology, but it sounds good. My infatuation with Diane lasted up to the time we decided to kiss over by the backside of her house. We touched lips for about a nanosecond and then it was over. For me. The crush that is. I don’t know why, but the kiss destroyed everything. I don’t know if it was a stupid sense of shame on my part or the thought that any girl who would give herself away that easily was not crush material. I don’t know. I just know I was a stupid kid. I actually hurt Diane’s feelings, too. The memory of the experience did much to build on my sense of self-loathing.

    All right, enough of that. We’re returning to the backyard where there was a massive tangle of bodies. Again, no gouging, but tossing and a few headbutts. Not like today. Back then you’d headbutt a butt or shoulder or back. If you ever butted a head, it hurt like everything, and you’d cry. Not like today. Nowadays, it apparently only hurts the headbuttee. The headbutter can do it all day without feeling a thing. Evolution.

    At some point during the melee, Mom yelled for Dennis and me to stop. I had no idea why she singled us out. Jill is in the middle of all this getting pounded. But, Mom tells Dennis and me to quit. So, we stopped for a couple of minutes. Maybe one. Then we were back at it. Dennis would keep shoving me down till I managed to trip him. I was a great tripper. Gifted.

Then I’d toss David over my shoulder. Jill would headbutt me in the back. Debbie would move in close and start squeezing and bending my arm, leg, neck… it didn’t matter. Debbie was the antithesis of her older sister, Diane. Debbie was a stocky, freckled, tomboy. I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could spit, and I was a poor spitter. Still am. That girl could fight. We even came up with saying related to her prowess as a fighter. After a tough day of play, if you looked really beat up somebody might say, “Wow! You look like you’ve been “Debbied.” (I just made that last part up.)

    We weren’t five minutes into Round Two of Wrestlemania when Mom let loose once more. “Dismark! I’m not telling you again! You kids quit that fighting!” (Back then Moms saved a lot time by running names together.) At that point I did something really stupid. Seemed perfectly normal at the time, and I’m sure I would’ve gotten away with it had Dad not stopped his tinkering in the garage long enough to see what was going on. Dad was watching. Oh, my word.

What I did was instantly let loose of Debbie’s hair and release my leg-hold on David’s neck. Then, I said, “Mother, I’m not fighting!”

    Get it? At that very moment I was not fighting. I had been fighting when she yelled, but not at the very moment I answered her yell. Apparently, Dad didn’t understand, nor was I brave enough to explain to him the intricacies of the lie dodge. Next thing I knew, everyone on the block heard my name. Dad was standing in the back doorway of the garage and yelled, “Mark!”

    It is so bizarre how a moment of frivolity can immediately give way to sheer terror. At that moment I would’ve given everything I had or could steal not to be named Mark. But, I was the only Mark in the backyard. Oh, there was little kid across the street named Mark, but Dad wasn’t calling him. I’m not saying the L’il Mark didn’t wake up from whatever he was doing when he heard his name. But, I assure you, he experience nothing like the bigger Mark on the other side of the street from him.

    By the way, the fighting stopped. You might’ve already guessed that. As I made my way to the garage, the Edgertons made their way out of the backyard. Jill and Dennis ran to the very back fence. In the corner. Guilt by association was a concern for us kids. I don’t believe there was a living soul that was happy about the situation. Oh, maybe Darrel. He’d been yelled at and spanked so much by his mom, that he probably enjoyed the thought of someone else getting some negative attention. No, I don’t believe that for a minute.

    Dad led me to his and Mom’s bedroom. I hated that. I would’ve much rather been spanked in my own room. That way I could just stay there when it was all over. I did my best crying in the closet. Dad didn’t say anything until he grabbed his belt off the peg in the closet. I’m not sure his pants would’ve stayed up had he taken off the one he was wearing. It’d be a real hoot if, while spanking your kid, your pants fell down. It’d just kind of ruin the whole moment.

    Dad doubled up the belt and then spoke his first words since yelling my name. He said, “I don’t ever want to hear you lie to your mother again.” Then he reared back and I instantly turned and jumped face down on the bed. He didn’t tell me to get in any special position, but I just thought it best to face the punishment by not facing Dad.

    He didn’t hit me all that many times. Maybe five. But, they were hard hits. I remember more from Dad’s the sound. Oddly, I don’t remember feeling them all that much. I believe I was in shock more than anything.

Dad never mentioned the spanking hurting him more than it did me. He just started swatting. And, I started bawling. Well, in truth, I was bawling from the minute I heard him call my name. One of those having-trouble-catching-my-breath cries. I was too scared to be embarrassed about Diane seeing me cry.

During the whipping, I didn’t think Dad was trying to teach me a lesson or lead me on the path everlasting. I don’t think a person as mad as he was could have any positive thought about “me.” I was fully convinced that at that moment my daddy didn’t like me anymore. He was embarrassed to even have me as a son. I was such a disappointment that he wanted to hit me. I don’t believe that now, but at the time no one could persuade me different. 

Who can tell what goes through a parent’s mind when he’s mad enough to hit one of his kids with a belt. I think it would be really hard for someone to do that out of a sense of teaching a kid something. I think it would have to be more out of anger than anything else. Had he taken time to think about it, maybe he wouldn’t have done it. But, it’s hard to think when you’re really mad.

This I do know: if Dad had been as out of control as I thought he was, I would still bear the marks of that spanking. The man could’ve easily broken me in two had he not maintained a bunch of control.

The crazy thing is, Dad never had to lay a belt on me. I believe I mentioned it before that all he had to discipline me, or any of his other kids, was to say that we had disappointed him. Didn’t have to show it with a spanking. Added nothing to my shame. Added greatly to my fear, though. 

    If Dad ever went to bed angry at me, he never showed it. At some point he always came close to apologizing. After my spanking, I went to my room, shut the door and sobbed. In the closet of awhile, but eventually on the bed. At some point I stopped sobbing, but couldn’t lose the little quick gasps that come from a big cry.

    Right before bedtime, Daddy opened the door and came over to the bed. “Are you okay?” he said. I looked up and tried my best to smile. I don’t think I managed it, but I did manage a calm, “Yes, sir.” Dad didn’t manage a smile either, but he did tell me that he didn’t enjoy spanking me, and he didn’t want to have to do it again. Before leaving the room he said, “Uh, it’s important that you don’t ever lie.”

    I lied and assured him I wouldn’t. I didn’t realize I was lying at the time, but I should’ve guessed it. The important thing was that I knew I would never lie to Mom when Dad was at home. I was certain of that.

    Having Dad just take a minute to talk to me, made me feel so much better. I could see that he didn’t really hate me, and, though he didn’t apologize, he was sorry he handled things the way he did. I believed that more out of wanting to believe it.

    I thought a bunch about that experience over the years. And, I’ve come to see the whole thing in a different light. I imagine you may have also. I have since realized that it was the whole wrestling-with-girls thing that upset Dad the most. Dennis was a teenager and I was only three years younger. The entire spectacle had the appearance of unacceptability. While I wasn’t placing any sexual significance to the melee, I do realize I enjoyed tumbling around with Diane. I didn’t wrestle with her all that much, ‘cause she was not that good a wrestler and I didn’t want to hurt her. But, I did enjoy being around her.

    I think Dad, knowing what he knew about once being a youngman, in a sense was just stewing over the thought that Dennis and I might have had illicit thoughts during the free-for-all. I can’t speak for Dennis, because I was too busy holding my own. That Debbie was a big scratcher. And, Denise was a real pincher. Did I mention that?

    Anyway, I believe that, before he spanked me, Dad really wanted to say, “Mark, you’re too old to be wrestling around with girls. And, not only were you wrestling with girls, but you lied about wrestling with girls! That’s the worse lie of all!”

    I’m convinced that if you shuck down the corn, that’s what you’re gonna find. Dad would’ve likely spanked me for just the lie, but it wouldn’t have gotten out of hand had the sex angle not been in the equation.

Sex. I was pretty sure it was the worst thing in the world. You get a whipping for the mere hint of it, and when you die the thought alone was enough to burn you forever. Do you now how long forever is? I don’t either. It’s so weird, the whole sex and eternity thing. I don’t get it. Never have. I’m pretty sure Dad never fully came to grips with the spiritual ramifications of the human urge. Hey, who has?

    Me? I quit trying to make sense of it. I just wish like all get out that Dad would’ve, at some point in my young life, taken me aside and said something like, “Son, you’re probably having some weird thoughts, and some odd sensations happening to you in the nethers. I don’t understand ‘em any more than you do. Wish I did. I just want you to know that you’re not the only one on the planet or even in this house who is experiencing it. Truth is, God is a wonderment. If He wasn’t, He wouldn’t be God.”

    Something like that would’ve made me feel almost normal. Of course, Dad would’ve had to have pointed to my “nethers” when he mentioned it, or I would’ve never picked up on what he was saying. It’s all moot now. Besides I don’t think Dad ever used the word “nethers” in his life. Why would he?

    And, that kind of down-to-earth, self assuring conversation with parents never took place in my neighborhood. Maybe in my world. Certainly not during my life with Dad.