My first stepfather was mean. I’m not talking plain mean. I’m saying that this man won’t die regular – he’s just going to ‘nasty away’. He was twisted in more ways than I care to remember. But, I will say one thing – He was creative!
He had more than one trick up his sadistic sleeve for punishing deserving children, so Linda, Greg and myself, tending toward the deserving side, were no strangers to his little tortures.
When I was 10, he caught me playing with matches.
He had me strike matches for hours. Boxes and boxes of them, until my fingers were numb and black and smelled like sulfur.
I ran up the stairs.
He told me to keep running up and down them until he said stop. I started out mad and stomping, but ended up with my legs giving out, crying and gasping for air.
I was 8. Linda was 5. We were sitting on a hill in front of our townhouse. We were in a giggly mood and were calling everything broccoli. “There goes a broccoli car.” “There’s a broccoli lady carrying broccoli groceries.” “Look at those broccoli kids on broccoli bikes”
We were laughing so hard, tears rolled down our cheeks. Then, here comes the broccoli stepfather to spoil our fun. He made us go into the house and handed me, the broccoli dictionary. Out loud, I had to read over and over again, the definition of broccoli. To this day I know it is ‘a hardy type of cauliflower.’
I was 12. I don’t remember his question, but I remember that I gave him an answer he didn’t believe. To show how far fetched he felt my answer was, he said, “… and my ass hole sucks collar buttons.” Although I wasn’t quite sure what a ‘collar button’ was, I certainly knew what an ass hole was and I came within a hair of busting out laughing at the picture in my head of him squatted down while his ass sucked up buttons off of the floor, like some kind of vacuum cleaner. To keep from laughing, I looked down at my feet and bit my bottom lip so hard it bled.
I’d still like to know what collar buttons are and why he chose a particular kind of button. Why not just, my ass sucks buttons. Why collar ones?
I was eating oatmeal, leaning down too close to my bowl for his liking. He grabbed the back of my head and shoved my face into it, then held me there for a few seconds. I came up gasping and sputtering. That sure taught me to have some manners. Today I eat sitting on the floor in front of the TV with my plate and elbows on the coffee table.
He went to backhand my face. I saw it coming and threw up my hands to break the brunt of it. They did. He broke my little finger.
Don’t get me wrong. I was no angel. Far from it. Sometime I did deserve to be corrected:
It was the last day that Highs Ice-cream Store would have ice cream cones for 5 cents a scoop. The next day they were raising the price to an astronomical 10 cents! I decided I’d better get a couple of those scoops before the price raise, but I was broke. So, I tip toed down the hall to his bedroom and eased the door open. I poked my head inside.
He was asleep.
I slipped into the room and tiptoed to the dresser at the foot of the bed. He always kept his loose change on top of that dresser. I had no sooner grabbed a handful of that change, when I heard him stir. I crammed the money into my mouth and slowly turned to look.
His lay there, watching me with those flat, dark eyes.
“Good morning.” He said. “You looking for something?”
I shook my head.
I was sure he could hear my heart pounding. I could feel my cheeks bulging with coins, and I knew if I opened my lips the tiniest bit, coins would come tumbling out. Right there on top of his blanket covered feet.
I prayed he wouldn’t make me talk.
He stared at me for a few seconds, then waved a dismissive hand. “Well, run along then.”
I couldn’t believe my luck.
To make up for not speaking I waved at him and hurried out of the room.
When I got outside I spit the change into my hand then dried it off with my shirt and counted. It was mostly pennies, but I had plenty to buy ice cream with and I’d even have money left over!
I ran to Highs and got three huge scoops on a regular cone and a candy bar. I put the leftover money in my pocket for spending later.
I was a sly one.
I walked out of the store and slipped the chocolate bar into my back pocket and smiled up at the afternoon sun. What a beautiful summer day. I got to work on that ice-cream before the sun had it’s chance.
The alley next to the store, was a shortcut back home. I headed down it. I was no more than a few feet inside, when he appeared at the far end and he was coming toward me. Walking slow. With purpose.
I whipped the ice-cream cone behind my back and dropped it. Then, pasting a casual look on my face, I hurried to meet him. I wanted to put as much distance as possible, between me and the evidence.
Of course, in retrospect, it didn’t matter what I did. He’d known all along. He had just waited, like a spider, for the right time to play me. And the time had arrived.
I caught up to him.
“Hi.” I said with forced cheerfulness.
“What are you doing?” He asked not wasting time on niceties. He was out for blood.
“Walking.”
“And what is that back there?” He asked pointing.
I turned and looked back. It was too far away to see well, but still close enough to recognize. My ice-cream cone.
“What?” I said feigning innocence.
He grabbed my arm, held it with that practiced iron grip, and marched me back to the evidence.
“What’s that?” He repeated, jabbing his finger at the rapidly melting mess. The ice-cream had landed first and the cone stubbornly still clung to the top of it like a party hat. Maybe funny at another time, but definitely not now.
I shrugged. “Looks like ice cream.”
“And how do you think it got there?” He asked.
I shrugged again. “I don’t know.”
“That your ice-cream?” He demanded.
I shook my head.
“You sure that’s not yours?”
I nodded.
His ass sucked some collar buttons, and then he moved in for the kill.
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? Maybe we should go into Highs and see if that ice cream was yours. Maybe the cashier can tell me if you bought any ice-cream today.”
Trapped!
“You can either tell me the truth, or you can make it worse by forcing me to ask the cashier if you paid for ice-cream. And you know how much I hate to be forced into doing something I don’t want to do. And, if I find out you’re lying, you will be in a whole shit load of trouble. You understand me?”
I had to tell.
I got a whipping, right there in the alley, for stealing and lying.
The ice-cream melted on the road, and the candy bar got flattened, beyond eating, by the whipping.
I never did get another 5 cent scoop of ice-cream and I had to give the rest of the change back.
Today, it still amazes me, the things that really stick and hold in your head. I’ll forever remember that hardy cauliflower and those collar buttons.
People should think twice before they speak. They should keep in mind what effect their words will have on others. That casual word or act may make a bigger difference than you think. A difference you might not want to make.
