Chapter 1, Part 3
Have You Ever Been Locked In A Closet & Only Fed Crackers?
So, back to the 500 square foot, 1 bedroom apartment…
I was 5 or 6…my aunt had adopted me as a last wish to my slowly decaying father.
We lived in Fort Campbell, KY. If you can’t tell, she was in the Army. I say ‘WAS’ because I later got her kicked out and discharged because of so many problems with my behavior and her having to leave base so often.
MY TATTOO ‘KICKED OUT OF THE ARMY’ WHICH IS WHAT I DID TO MY AUNT FROM MY BEHAVIOR ISSUES.
Ok! Now back to the story! ADHD! Weeeeee 😀
My Last Visit From My Dad
I was 6 years old right after I was adopted. My father was close to dying from the brain tumors, and I remember he visited us…my grandpa drove him down from Chicago and dropped him off for a week or so in order for him to see me and my aunt Susie.
I can’t remember if he could speak…I think he was already at a point where I had to know sign language to talk to him. He could read lips but I couldn’t understand anything he said. The brain tumor had left him deaf. The reason I can remember this piece of my life so vividly is that this little story is one of the worst memories I have.
It may not seem like much to you.
My father came to see his son – the only time I remember ever seeing him in my entire memory.
All I remember is Aunt Susie left for a bit to go somewhere, maybe the grocery store or work or something, and I wouldn’t listen to a single thing my dad said. I remember he was hungry and he was trying to cook a frozen dinner or something, I took all the food he was trying to cook and just ran around the apartment jumping on top of furniture like haha you’re in a wheelchair you can’t catch me.
I know it may not seem too shitty to you, but to me, it’s like I ruined what could have been an incredible memory with my father. Now, I’m simply left with a few memories and that being one of them. One that I have cried over too many times because it’s one of the first things I think about every time I think of my dad as I search my brain for good thoughts to smile about.
After that memory, the only other one I can muster up is seeing my dad lying in a hospital bed; me to his left, my aunt Susie to his right, my mom at the end of the bed. I see it as if there is a camera shooting it behind my back; a still frame that doesn’t move. Then, I wait for the next part of that memory…but there isn’t one. He died shortly after that.
But let’s jump back now. Let’s go back to like…. 4 or 5 years old. This was when I was with my mom still. My little brother was born, and we were living in Lock Port, IL.
My stepdad grounded me because I couldn’t figure out how to connect a zipper bottom with the top half.
He kept implying that I was stupid, but then when he had to do it, he barely could. Turned out that it was a cheap ass jacket zipper. But before he tried to act so smart by zipping it himself, I was grounded until I called him, “Dad”. What a stupid punishment?!
Same time frame…not long after that story and also in the same house, I got in trouble for something (I don’t remember what) and as punishment, I was locked inside the pitch-black closet of my own bedroom – not allowed to come out for anything.
The only light I saw was some that peaked through under the door and when I was fed. I was only given non-salted crackers as full meals for days. Honestly, I do not remember how I went to the bathroom? I’m not registering any memory of it.
My mom wasn’t allowed to give me anything else…but she snuck me salted crackers. Oh…thanks, Mom. Salt!!!!!!!
Chances are they just forgot non-salted when they went shopping for me but bought salted for themselves, then realized the mistake when it was my dinner time.
This is how controlled my mother was by my step-father. May I remind you, I was 4 or 5 years old here. Whatever I did, surely I didn’t deserve something I can recall like this. I’m not complaining, just stating it.
I was REALLY bad.
Maybe I deserved all of this though. Idk.
Maybe they were trying new methods of punishment. Looking back, that kind of makes sense. Nothing else was working.
Anywho with the piddy poo.
I remember the house we lived in was HUGE! I mean freakin’ huge (to a 5-year-old). It was more than obvious to me that my mom married him for financial freedom. She was one of those pretty girls that had that ability.
I was told my whole life that my father formally introduced my step-dad to my mother knowing he could financially support both of us. My father was that kind of a person I guess – on his death bed, giving away the two people he loves so they could potentially be happy.
What really weirds me out though, honestly, is that my aunt Susie…who later adopts me around 6 years old, was actually with my step-dad for a few years…Then my mom got married to him.
What the fuck? Excuse my slight outburst…I just realized all the flaws I never noticed before. What the fuck?…uhm. WTF?
Either way (excuse my ADHD really quick) but my aunt would tell me the same story for YEARS of how my step-father would attack her with knives and throw them at her. I only have her side of the story though lol. Maybe he was just throwing them back? 😀
Anyway, the house was HUGE! This was back when my stepdad HAD money. He was a grade-A scam artist/hustler. Top of the line. Chicago-bred. Hustler-minded. I’m not even dissing him, his mentality is impressive. I wish I knew everything that he knew. Not to be a scam artist, but just to know how he thinks.
My whole life, even ’til this moment, I remember that his father was heavily Mob affiliated. I assume still…that’s where the hustle mentality, Italian dark skin, 300 lbs. at 6′ 2″, and Lincolns and Cadillac mindset came from.
I’m going to tell this part because I’m not holding anything back…this is my life story. I’m not ashamed of who I was to become who I became. Plus, I was a kid – I had a good excuse for all of my mistakes.
I used to piss the bed, A LOT, around 4-5. I recall later, we blamed all the medications, but I don’t recall if I was on medication at that age yet. So my excuse is the age.
I used to do it so much that they wouldn’t let me have anything to drink after 6 PM. I mean NOTHING. It got so bad, I would wake up in the middle of the night insanely thirsty. I would sneak to the bathroom to get something to drink. My mom and Bill’s room was right next to the bathroom, so I couldn’t run the upstairs bathroom faucet at 2 AM, or they would wake up! And I was scared shit-less of Bill. You never knew what kind of punishment would come from getting caught doing something wrong. So instead of turning on that faucet, I would drink out of the toilet since it made no noise.
I wouldn’t go downstairs to get water because the house was so big and dark, my imagination scared the shit out of me just making up the things that could be down there. This was probably because my stepdad used to shove my face into the TV screen right when the Crypt Keeper hopped out of his casket during Tales From The Crypt, and he also bought a Good Guy Chucky Doll and would move it to random places and say he didn’t put it there all the time. Not funny.
Hey man, don’t judge me! Your ass would drink toilet water too if you had nothing to drink every night after 6 PM. I was 5 and thirsty as fuck!
It is actually weird how cool the water was in my memory. It was like the best water, I was probably just THAT thirsty. But I can remember drinking it, every night.
When I told my mom about this yesterday, she said “Robert! Omg gross! We never knew how you kept pissing the bed.”
I’m smiling way too hard right now because I can remember them being completely confused as to how it was happening with no liquid in my body back then!!! They’d argue about “You gave him something to drink! How else is he pissing the bed!” and my mom would be like, “I’m not giving him anything!” Haha!