33. That Year, 1977

Christmas ’76 would turnout to be the beginning of a year of drastic change. Grandma and Grandpa spent Christmas with Uncle Wayne’s family this year…or so I assumed. They had to rotate among our many aunts and uncles so we only got them at Christmas once in awhile. This also meant that we would be taking a trip to see them over the Christmas break. It seemed like a very long drive, the other side of the country, when in fact it was only a few hours away. About half way there Harley informed us that we were going to Hays before Palco, where our grandparents lived. Grandma was in the hospital. My heart stopped…but then he reassured us that she was only there for “old” people test. When we got to her room, She was as she had always been but it bothers me to see her this way. The word “old” kept rolling thru my mind. I never thought of her as old but I am looking forward to the coming summer we will spend together. We gave our little homemade gifts, spent the afternoon with her and then drove onto to see grandpa.

Back in Whitewater that spring I was nearing the end of confirmation classes with my youth group. For a year we had met at our pastors home each Wednesday evening, preparing to be baptized and becoming members of the church. We studied the bible. Actually, we studied a translation of the bible called The Way. Reverend Ken was a young minister just out of seminary school. Long hair and a beard. He looked like the image of Jesus we had been seeing all our lives. He was “cool”. We would be baptized around Easter and confirmed into the church.

Mom worked weekends so rarely got to go to church. Harley was on the road and never went to church. Most of my brothers and sister and I went every Sunday for Sunday school but never stayed for the full service. On this Sunday I would be staying as I was to be baptized in front of the whole congregation. No sprinkling of water. There was a pool built into the alter that I had never known was there. We wore robes with our swim suits underneath. The water was freezing. I remember the feeling as I was risen up out of the water. Things would be better. I was on the winning team. I belonged and everyone in the sanctuary was there to support me even if none of my family was able or willing to attend. I walked home with a strange feeling of being safe.

This would not last long.

Harley was home this weekend. He had come in late the prior evening and was still asleep when I left for church. As soon as I walked thru the door, he slapped me to the ground.

Sidebar: Harley is 6’4″ and weighs around 300lbs. He once tried out as a linebacker for the Minnesota Vikings. I am 5’4″ and weigh around 140 lbs. wet. I am tossed about like a rag doll any time he unleashes on me. By this time I have learned how to take a punch, go limp when thrown and except each time that this may be the end. He might accidently or purposefully kill me. He came close numerous times.

“Where the hell you been boy?” This is such a crazy situation. If I don’t answer, there will be a blow for not answering. If I start to answer, it will be “Don’t talk back to me you little son of a bitch” and then a blow. I say nothing and take the beating which lasts until his arm is worn-out from swinging the belt. By the end I am curled up on the floor whimpering like a wounded animal. If any of my brothers or sisters tried to comfort me they know they could get the same. I am sent to my room because he doesn’t want to hear it. Mom comes home later and explains to him where I had been.

And it is over. never to be spoken of again…but it will happen again and again and again….

That night as I lay bruised and broken I talk to God. I wanted… needed him so much. There is no answer. No comfort. I beseech Jesus for protection, and rescue. None ever arrives. I am as alone as I have ever been. I am forsaken and will move on thru life alone. Its my own fault. I am bad. I am defective. I had hoped this would cure me from being “different”. It did not.

I am done. I have no use for God or its religion. Fuck you, God! We would not speak again for a number of years and if I did speak “at” God it was just to say “Fuck you”. I would never again expect God to rescue me or solve my problems. This would set the foundation of my spiritual quest that to this day I continue on. It turns out that “Fuck you” is a pretty genuine place to start building a relationship with God. At least it was for me… eventually.

And life goes on… As soon as school was out, the end of our eighth grade year, the summer of 77′, Reverend Ken took our group to St. Louis Missouri. It was where he was from and where he went to seminary school. We would be sleeping in our sleeping bags at a church and spend evenings for meals and showers with members of the church. I remember how shocked I was to see how other people lived. No screaming, no father to fear, there was enough of everything. I was very uncomfortable and remember thinking this must all be an act they are putting on for us.

We went to the “bad ” part of town to visit the first church Ken had preached in. None of us had ever seen an inner city. We went up in the Arch and to the zoo. We were in St Louis for about a week. It was wonderful trip. It was away from Harley but I missed mom and my brothers and sisters. Looking back, It was a significant experience for me. I saw a contrast to the life I was living.

Sidebar: Remember me talking about how the people in this small town looked out for each other and never wanted anyone to feel “poor”. The cost for this trip was around $50 each. It might as well been $500 as we could not afford it. The mortician in town, Mr. Lamb, contacted mom and asked if he could pay my way. I had never actually met him, only seeing him in church and around town. Mom said yes as long as I could work it off. So I was sent to see him..at the mortuary. I was terrified. I had all kinds of TV fueled ideas as to what kind of person would be in this profession. Would he ask me to handle a body? Would I see a body? NO, LOL! He had me sweep the driveway where the hearses were parked. I felt different about the profession after that. I felt different about him. Different about death. Thank you, Mr. Lamb.

When we got back we all had one thing on our minds. Drivers license! Back in the day, in Kansas, you got your drivers license when you were 14. The school provided driving lessons and classes. Most of us had already driven farm vehicles so had experience. By the end of June we all had our first license.

We are going to see our grandparents at the end of June and I get.. have to drive. It is nerve racking as Harley is a truck driver and continually criticizes everything I do. But, I will say this, because of of him, I am a pretty good and considerate driver especially to trucks.

Once again, on the way there, we are informed that grandma is now in a hospital just a few miles from where they live. This is good news as she is getting closer to home. I guess we will be going to spend the summer as soon as she gets home. We are all so excited to see her. I may have felt like God had abandoned me but grandma, with her wrinkled hands, her warm embrace, her lite touch that could make any pain, physical or emotional better would always be there. She is safe and consistent. I love my grandma!