posted on Dec, 27 2011 @ 10:35 PM
I have a confession to make. It all started when I was young.
In the 80's I had a drunk Italian alcoholic Dad that loved to come home from The Latin Lounge where he would get boozed up the second he got off
work. My Mother cleaned and cooked all day after me and my brother Joey who ransacked the house like there were five of us. I never forget watching
Inspector Gadget while my Mother sang Cyndi Lauper-be bop...
We were living in Hammond Indiana and the majority of dance parties in the state were provided by my parents. I only lived there until I was about 4
so I don't remember much. However, what I do remember is my mother lighting off a firework that went off 3 feet above our heads, a scary storm, a
scary basement, a nice old man, about 200 rounds of bullets flying through our window one night.
It's true. I remember my Father jerking me and my brother to the ground as he huddled over us to try and protect our bodies from bullets. I now
understand I would do the same for my son, or even him. When all the shots stopped flying my Father ran into the living room my brother and I freaked
out. About 5 minutes later our home was filled with people I could hear the sirens and concerns from the on-lookers. I went into the hallway where an
old woman said you want me to help you put on your pants young man? I was upset because my camouflage slippers were under the front windows which were
blown out, and a firman wouldn't let me pick them up.
My mother had "Cujo" by Steven King standing straight up that caught a 22 shell at about page 200. My mom also still has a scar from where a bullet
grazed right down her head removing some skin (not noticeable).
Needless to say we never went back besides to pick up our belongings. What happened was our neighbor was caught up with drugs and some guys he even
fired a 12 gauge earlier on in the day to scare these guys away. The problem was at night time the shooters mistook our house for his house-not one
bullet hit his house. They drove off, robbed a restaurant down the street and were never caught.
After living with our Aunt for a while, we moved to Hessville (the nicer side of Hammond) where my dad began drinking tequila on a daily basis. As a
child these were my roughest times. I began to hate everything about him, the way he would wake my brother and I up at 3:00 A.M. yelling about the
Russians. Telling me how one day we will all be assigned a barcode to identify us. Fun and games until he turned violent-which was inevitable.
My father would beat us like he enjoyed it. Grabbing our shirts and pulling us to his mouth where he would scream, throw us around, and use the
belt-o-mighty to get the job done. It was disturbing to say the least. My brother and I would act as if we were asleep at 6:00 P.M. when my mother
knew he was drunk and on a rampage. I watched him throw her, hit her, we would all run away for a week or two, but my brother and I would beg mom to
go back, and we don't know why. Actually, I hoped one day we would have a great family.
My father kept beating us until I was 16, boxing outside with my friend-then he wanted a turn. I jabbed him a few times, and dodged what he was
throwing (you get in a lot of fights in Hammond in High School). My brother laughed as well as everyone else outside. He got mad started trying to
beat me in front of my friends, and the whole damn neighborhood, and I hit him. I acted like I was going to punch him in the stomach with my left, he
dropped his gaurd to block, and I already had my right wound up. I punched my 6'1' Dad time stood still. I could see everyone in the neighborhood in
slow-motion waiting to see if he would retaliate. He never did, he wiped the blood from his nose and went inside.
My mom said he kept calling her from work crying, in disbelief that he had been such a bad father. Then one day they moved away when I was only 17.
They first called it a summer vacation place-which they loved. So they wanted to sell our home, and said my brother and I could stay there until they
sold it. Since my Father worked in East Chicago my mom would come up everyday after dropping off my dad at work, then they would go home.
Then my Mother got sick and tired of driving up from an hour away to drop my Dad off at work, and they started coming over less frequently. My brother
moved in with my parents, and I got the 3 floor party pad. I was self-taught to play the drums and piano so I played in the local scene each weekend
making nothing, and having nothing.
I was just too young to be out alone. I once had a whole summer without power- my neighbor lent me an extension cord for my fridge in exchange some my
hot friends giving her a visit or two so she could hit on them. Don't let me kid you it was a walk in the park compared to getting beat. I was a
popular guy (because i had a house everyone could party at), but I had the time of my life. I was always so anxious, and happy. My life went from
being completely scared all the time to having a great time. Some years went by quickly before my father had his stroke, and to this day we still
don't get along very well. He went on to verbally abuse me after he knew he couldn't hit me anymore.
I was told I was nothing. I would never amount to s**t, and that my brother and I were pussy babies, and that's why he beat us. We deserved it for
playing like children I guess...
A few years after that my brother was getting great jobs for himself, and even got me a few jobs. I found myself giving it 100% in ever job, or task I
was given. I became the yes man at every company. The problem was the pay. I found that I couldn't give a company more than one-year of my time
before I would quit if they couldn't give me a better salary. I kept trying to start my own business, and I have been starting my own businesses
since I was 18. I am an entrepreneur at heart.
After my wife got pregnant I was forced to take a low paying job, simply for the health insurance. I was 25. I found myself slowly gaining experience
and beginning my next job with more pay than the previous job. This was still not enough. I was making $10.00 per hour living in a cabin with one
bedroom, and barely getting by. Our parents, well her parents anyway always helped us out. I was embarrassed for myself. One day however I did get a
job working in the Union in Chicago (provided by my brother), at $30.00 per hour, and as much overtime as your body will take.
I enjoyed this job for about 5 years before I realized I didn't want to work construction until I'm old. I loved technology. I went back to school
and now I have my own business (again) except this time everything seems to be working. I am more concise, organized, and ready to go. I did have a
few years of driving around with the owner of a local roofing company listening to Tony Robbins all day-everyday. I first I took it as a joke
listening to Tony talk away, and talk about a list over and over again. You have to make a list, you have to make a list. That's where it all made
sense. I don't have a list. So I created one. You know what? Every time I put something on that list-I accomplish that task. Sometimes it takes a
bigger list, or a list that has my goals/steps to take to get where I need to be.
Today I found my self wandering through my house in the eye of the observer. I walked through my home as if-continued below...