(Just so you know, I have been a very busy boy and as I said, I would have hope to have kept up with this blog thing and now I see I failed for the most part, but my memories are still there and I will do my best to not wait a year and half before my next entry… You’ll catch up with all this CRAP – eventually…. lol)
SO where was I, oh my memories at our first little shack in Kentucky. Well, aside from the fact that my Dad was a mechanic and the town bootlegger, my Mom was the paper lady. She drove our Volkswagon Bug delivering papers every day. And in the summer she would make me go along with her because I was too little to stay home with Bruce and Linda (or else she would find me dead someday from those two). My Mom had to get up really early to go to the “paper making place” stand in a line with all her fellow paper delivering people and wait for papers to be printed, come off the press and then slide those annoying ad inserts into her papers – then load them into the car – then take them to her route which was in Nancy and Fabush, KY – drive while sitting in the middle of the volkswagon (BEST SHE COULD – shift gears and slide those papers into these little green boxes called that said “Commonwealth Journal”. )
I remember her coming home everyday and her fingers were black from the ink. I remember her being all sweaty and tired from driving all day, I remember she hated that job and I remember how close this little job made me too my Mom.
So back to what I was saying, she took me on the paper route – at first I just sat in the back seat and watched what she was doing, she was rolling up the papers – pulling up to the paper box and sliding it in. IT seemed to be very hard for her to shift whiling leaning so far over to get that paper to go into that little green box, watch for other on coming cars, pull out – go to the next house and do it all over again. I remember feeling sorry for my Mom because towards the end of the first little section she would grunt as if it were painful to do that and if she missed, she didn’t have time to get out and get the paper that dropped on the ground – she would just roll up another one and slide it in the box instead. A couple of houses that date got multiple papers, but they at least had one in their box. Anyway, after we stopped for lunch at some store that made sandwiches for my Mom everyday I asked her if I could help. Could I sit in the front seat and stick the papers in the box? She wasn’t sure if I could hold that stack of papers on my lap and be able to reach the paper box. BUT she said we’d give it a try. I remember being very serious about this, I know I was all of 6 years old but this was a big deal, my Mom needed me and I wanted to help. It made sense that sence I was going to be with her most of the summer that I help out – I saw the first box coming up and I watched my Mom roll the paper up in my lap – hand it to me and then I jumped up and slammed it in the box and off we went. THIS WENT ALOT FASTER than when Mom was doing it all by herself and she wasn’t grunting or really tired at all. I was helping! And it was fun. I made a game of it and I made my Mom happy. I remember it was a long day but Mom said we got done earlier than she normally gets done, so that was great! That summer and a few summers following that I was Mom’s summer help, as I grew I got to be faster and serious about the job, I rolled my own papers and Mom just had to drive and simply fill up the paper boxes along that route. We were fast! We were a team and this little adventure made me and Mom closer. I loved my Mom. Even at 6, 7 and 8 years old as a kid you realize that your Mom is your world. Even if thinks don’t always go as you as you hoped, even if she wasn’t June Cleaver or Carol Brady and we didn’t have the white picket fence in front of our house, even if she still rubbed my face in my pee stained mattress ever morning. She was my Mom. She did love me the best she could with everything in her power and with in and out of “normal’ness” that I had seen on TV – we by far weren’t the Bradys or the Cleavers and I remember wishing that my Dad was Ward or Mike all the time. BUT never once did I wish that my Mom was June or Carol. She was my world, she was all that I had and she was mine. I love her so much and as an adult I can look back at my life and appreciate her so much more than I did. Mom’s are the world to their children and when (in this day and age) you see the Casey Anthony’s of the world you realize that even though my Mother had it rough with 3 rotten kids and a terrible verbal and physical husband – she held it together. NEVER ONCE did I ever feel that my life was going to be taken or that I was going be too hurt from her hands. Believe me, she jacked our jaws with that open hand and she could handle a switch pretty good but thank the lord I knew she would never take my life or go out of control. I watch these crazy parents on TV these days (2011) and what they do to their children and then I look back at my Mom and everything that she has had to go thru with our fucked up family and I see a woman that survived, a woman that was amazingly a hard worker, a woman that loved her kids – no matter what and a woman that if there was ever a right for a woman to go off and kill their children – my Mom had reasons to do so, but she didn’t. NOT EVEN CLOSE! She still doesn’t get the respect from us children that she should but she perserveres and she is my bestfriend, she always will be. And no matter what she could whip the shit out of Carol Brady and June Cleaver together at one time!