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We spent the early part of my life traveling the world. By the time I hit high school, I had lived in Germany, Tiawan, New York, Alabama and several places in Texas. It was exciting in a way but I wonder if he had not been a military man and we had lived in the same place all our lives if things would have been different. I doubt it because I would have been the same person and even on different paths, sometimes you end up at the same place.
Don't get me wrong. To this point there was no abuse or anything (not implying there ever really was but I'll explain that in a few.) He signed me up for basketball, baseball, football, attended the games and tried to teach me the skills to get better. We went to summer activities every year. He took us camping, fishing, taught me how to shoot a gun, took us out and spent all kind of time with us. He tried to instill in me his sense of adventure and encouraged me to read his favorite books ... "Call of the Wild" by Jack London, Rudyark Kipling, western adventures ... it's because of him I have this disease called compulsive reading and I thank him for infecting me.
We weren't rich but we never lacked for anything. We had one of the first color TVs, 1,000-pound microwave ovens and even a VCR with a remote ... okay, it was attached by a cord, but it had a remote. He made us the coolest bikes on the post. MADE them! I had this bad-assed chopper that he welded together for me and rode that bike all over hell and creation, flag flapping from the sissy bar and cards in the spokes. Man, I was hell on wheels! He also taught us how to maintain those bikes. It was great! He did those things, I think becuase of the way he grew up.
He was a mechanic from way back. His dad owned a garage in a small town in east Texas and dad had to quit school after his mom died to help out in the garage. They never had a lot. His dad eventually had to give up the garage and go to work at a factory. When the Army gave him his chance to see the world and escape, he grabbed it with gusto!
He had always wanted to visit the Final Frontier and in 1976 we moved to Fort Richardson Alaska. I say moved ... shit! He bought a 26-foot motor home and we drove from Fort Hood Texas, up the Al-Can highway and to the site of his biggest dissapointment. We made many side trips and saw many of the things America and Cananda had to offer. Things he had dreamed about seeing all his life. But Alaska ...
I really went bat shit nuts in Alaska. I still smoked and by then was drinking too. The bowling alley served canned beer in a coke machine. I think that's where my love of bowling started come to think of it! Hmmmmm. but I digress. My first day of school, I got in with a crowd that smoked pot. From that day on, I was out of control. I skipped school, ran away constantly when I didn't get my way or felt I had been slighted ... and got my ass beat frequently.
When I couldn't get drugs or just needed a quick change, I used to huff gas. I was huffing in the basement one day from our boat gas tank and passed out over it. I pulled it on top of me when I fell. Gas spilled everywhere. I knew I was in trouble when I woke up, so I got towels and sopped up all the puddles, got every scented candle I could find and brought them down into the basement. I lit them all to get the gas smell out of the house. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, huh? He came home from work and found me passed out ... again ... over the tank, gas everywhere. Hey, I had a few minutes after the clean up and figured (in my stoned to the gills state) "What the hell? Just a few more hits ..." He took care of the candles stopped the house from blowing up at about the same time I woke up came to. He chased me out the door, around the neighborhood parking lot and finally up to my brother's room where he beat the fuck out of me. Me on the bed, his knees pinning my shoulders down and beating the piss out of me, but seriously? What would you have done? I don't remember any of this and I don't blame him. The neighbor kids saw the whole thing and listened through the wall as he was beating me. They told me about it later.
One time I skipped school to go to a huge party at the biggest ski resort in south Alaska. I didn't make it back to the house before my parents got home in time so I just stayed gone. What the fuck? I didn't have anything else going on and I knew that would be my ass. It was the middle of winter in Alaska and I slept in Anchorage bus stops at night, not the bus station. They were just boxes with a bench and a space heater in the ceiling. I cadged money for food, sold weed for a small cut and basically became a vagabond. But you know what? Every night I saw my dad's car driving the streets of Anchorage looking for me ... every single, fucking night ya'll! That went on for several weeks and, tired, hungry, smelly and broke, I gave up, let him see me and take me home.
By eleventh grade, I had only earned about 6 credits toward graduation so the school kicked me out. I had been in fist fights with teaches, skipped more than I attended, was a known dope head and the school just said "No more." I mean, c'mon? Can you blame them? I went home and told mom and dad I was done with school. I was going to find a job somewhere and I didn't give a shit. I was NEVER going back and that was that.
So I was enrolled in a private, Christian school the next week and was right back at it. Their "idea," not mine! This school was so easy. It worked on the pace system. As soon as I could get done with the books and pass the tests, I could move on to the next one. I made up every credit I lost in public school and even got ahead of the curve. I lettered in wrestling and was really starting to get happy! Yeah, it was costing my parents about $250 a month, we (as a family and as a prerequisite to my admission had to agree) to attend their church everytime the doors were opened and I had to take courses on religion, (my first interaction with God.) It all seemed to be working out though. Oh yeah, did I mention I had to get my hair cut and wear a tie every day? BLEH!
Things looking up, it must have turned out okay right? No ... I stole a car. Old dogs and new tricks ... right? I just wanted to use it joyride and be the big man on campus for the day. I had stolen the key from a neighbor's key ring and took off as soon as they left for work. In the space of ten or twelve hours I got in a wreck, went to a rival school and did donuts in their slushy bus parking lot while school was letring out ... I was having a ball, ya'll! I'm surprised I didn't kill anyone. My third time through the post gate taking a group of friends home from school, I was stopped and arrested. The car had been noticed missing and reported stolen by then. The neighbor didn't press charges but a school security guard at the school I did the donuts in had gotten the plate number as I sped off. They DID want to press charges and called the State Police.
By the time court convened and I went to jail, my dad had applied for a transfer. He had to sell his car (a totally tricked out 1976 Tyota Land Cruiser wagon which he was planning on eventually giving me) to make my bail. He knew that if we stayed in Alaska, I would never survive so he sacrificed his dream to take care of a punk-assed kid that couldn't have given a tin shit about him. I was put in jail until we left Alaska and told never to come back by the judge. That's when we moved to Louisiana and I've been here every since.
As I got older and matured, I realized what I had done and tried to make it up to him. I spent ten years in the Air force hoping he would appreciate that, but dissapointed him again (in my mind) when I only lasted ten years. I worked about twelve years as a country radio DJ (seven of those I was going to school trying to get my degree) but radio isn't a "real job" it's just being a big-shot, good-time Charlie, an ego trip. No future and the shoulder length blonde hair with four earrings in my ear didn't raise the bar in his eyes either. I did finally get my degree becoming the first one EVER in my family to graduate college. My mom was proud of me, I think he was too but I never remember hearing it. I know that was the proudest day of my life and I was proud of me! I became a news photographer and then a TV producer ... he couldn't catch my news broadcasts so that was a phantom job for him. Hey you try explaining what a news producer does! Everything that came out of the anchor's mouths was put there by my fingers on my keyboard. It wassubstantial! He sees what I do now though, and has expressed his pride in me for my accomplishments and I thank him for that.
My whole life, I was a rebellious little snot but he was beside me all the way ... no matter what. I needed a thousand dollars? Here you go. Advice? Always there with it. Dad I just want to say I'm sorry for what I did. I've always looked up to you and been proud of the way you lived your life. I hope the rest of my life can make up for the first part. I'm afraid there is one more dissapointment looming, but that's all on me and I apologize in advance. I love you and Happy Father's Day.
Tommy