My mother would put down the bottle in 2003 with the birth of her 3rd grandchild, her and my father would only trade the booze for pain medicine. My dad had a long history with the abuse of controlled substances, he lost the use of his right arm while partying. Drinking and eating pills he would fall through a plate glass storm door. Rushed to the emergency room he would bleed out at Union hospital and be pronounced dead by one of the medical staff who was taking vitals from the injured arm. Their mistake realized and not being equipped to handle his injuries they would race him to Christiana hospital and be prepped for emergency surgery. He would survive his injuries, although he would never use his right arm again. That was 1972, it would take him almost 2 years to recover from the accident. Fast forward to 2003, when my mother quit drinking my father did as well. Out of respect for my mother he gave it up and turned to marijuana and prescription medicine.
The party would not stop at 58 Delaware Avenue and would just be another of the reasons we would move back to 34 Second Street. My fathers address was 34 Second Street and my grandmothers was 58 Delaware Avenue. The whole time I lived on that property, my first 23 years of life, we referred to the houses by number. The parties were endless at 58 after my grandmother died. My parents would host keg parties, or better yet would sponsor my brother to have them. Always justifying the behavior by supervising the activities, only there was no supervision. I was 10 or 11 the first time I drank and became ill. Prior to this my parents would let me drink spiced egg nog on Christmas. I could have a small splash in my cup on New Years, usually the same rum my mother would be drinking and occasionally I could get mom to let me drink a wine cooler during the summer months. This time would be different, an elder female cousin and her girlfriend whom lived in the neighborhood had brought a bottle of peach schnapps along to the party. It was my brothers 17th or 18th birthday party and the partying was out of control. My brother had 20 or 30 people over all kids, my mom and dad were off somewhere partying as well. The party was in the house, on the big back porch, and in the side yard so there was no escaping it. Being myself I was naturally curious and I wanted to be a part of the party. My cousin would give me the peach schnapps and I drank the entire bottle, becoming violently ill I can still remember them huddled around me as I was vomiting, dry heaving, laughing and joking ” he broke his cherry” ” good for you ” ” the first one is the worst one”… to bad my first time I was ten and my elder sibling, my family, and all their friends thought I was a joke there for their own amusement. No hush, hush, don’t let dad find out. Please don’t tell dad, please don’t tell Uncle Slim? your cool right ? yea I’m cool. And so it would continue.
After Gom died, my brother would go to the attic to have room for his new family. My mom and dad would take over the only bedroom in the house, prior to this my brother and I would share it, I would sleep in the living room in the hospital bed my grandmother died in. I would not have a bedroom for many years, on the weekends when the party would be under way I would be banned to my parents bedroom with the curtain drawn. I didn’t even have a door!
My imagination showed me everything that was going on out in the living room, I did not have to be present. The talking was always loud, carrying on drunk and high. The teenage girls seemed to love to sleep with the older guys, my dads workers or friends. 10-15 years older than the group of 16-20 year old girls that were hanging around at the time. I recall many vivid accounts of strip poker, the shapes of the breasts, “Hey Slim look at her little p**** or the size of her little br****/t***.” Starting in March of 99 and continuing for the rest of my teenage years the party went full blast.
My brother always carried a circle of 3 or 4 close friends and they were always at the house. As I got older, I was accepted into their circles more and more. I am the second son and was raised as such. To look up to your brother, and he was raised in opposite fashion, to be the leader. I could always rely on my brother when we were kids. He shot the neighborhood bully from 100 yards away out of his bedroom window with a pellet gun. Simply because he seen it happening and the bully was chasing me with a stick. I would stick to my brothers side like glue, always mimicking his actions. Wanting to be like him in every way imaginable. He was my hero, growing up with a father with a paralyzed arm left a lot of play time and teaching to my mom and brother. Yes I would grow up to idolize my brother. When he said f*** the police, I said it louder. When he ran from the cops for 5 hours, I needed to run for 10… actual I would run for 3 years but that’s a different story. Those 3 or 4 friends that were always there would often bring a few extras that would show up for a few months at a time and add to the festivities. My friends would come over and join in, almost every one of my friends parents disliked my parents because of what they allowed to go on. Every weekend was the one to look forward to and as I aged it only became more and more excepted.
My parents would give up the fight at my 13th birthday, November 7, 2001. My mothers drinking was out of control, her mother had passed away the previous winter and she was not taking it well. I was in 7th grade, was suspended twice a month, removed and sent to outside learning centers, court appearance 2-3 times that year. Dad was at his wits end and I suppose they were willing to make a deal. They removed the reigns completely, as a birthday present. I got a 4 pack of Jack Daniels wine coolers and a carton of cigarettes 2 days before my birthday. Why? I had court the day before my birthday and there was and 50/50 chance I would not be coming home. The judge had threatened forestry camp the last time I went before him and that was only a couple months earlier. My lawyer would argue that the charges were already pending at the previous court appearance and the judge would slap my wrist one more time. My behavior would continue to worsen as I grew older. Fueled by my brothers example and my fathers attitude I was destined to fail. For all of the misdeeds my brother would show me, I would surpass his capabilities for sure.
With a lack of guidance, no supervision and the granted maturity I would grow up in the party and become a derelict. Allowed to join in at 13, by the time I was 15, I had quit school and was a full time employee. There was no slowing me down or stopping me. The things I had seen and been a part of had sent me into overdrive. Needing to out do the memories of the past or perhaps run from them. On any given weekend my brother and his friends would be playing strip poker and having sex in the driveway. The next day my mom is drunk and beating windows out of the house while I’m sleeping in front of said window. There was a disfunction there like no other, a disfunction that only amplified as more people, more drama, and more substance was added in. I am a product of my environment, the people who raised me are directly to blame and I hope that anyone reading this story can see the error in the judgements, don’t raise your babies up to be outlaws, make them be doctors and lawyers and such…
I made every decision that led me down the path I walked. No one mentioned in this is to blame for the choices I made in life. I will say that it’s easy to make bad choices when there the only presented options. I hold no one at fault and I grant forgiveness to everyone that has ever wronged me in my past. I let it all go because I want my own peace. These writings are me preparing to write my book and a way of letting it go. If you find guilt through reading these pages, I beg that you pray for forgiveness. If you find hope or a story that is similar to your own, leave a comment. I will gladly post any comment made that adds to the context of the story. This is my story, the accounts are as they happened from my shoes. There are things people don’t want to hear or see, but I live with the memories daily. No one really knows what its like to wake up to your mom beating your father while he’s sleeping. NO ONE knows what its like to be a 9 year old and watch your brother and his friend throw your drunk violent mom out the door and not understand what’s actually going on. Broken homes create broken people.
I am a miracle of what gods grace can do to change a person, raised by wolves I found the Shepard and his flock, I was granted amnesty and pardoned through Jesus blood and I have found the true meaning to joy. I write these stories and include my videos and opinions to broadcast a changed life, a life of joy and happiness, and the message of hope. Recovery is possible.
We do recover.
From Redpoint to Recovery; The road less traveled 