treyzguy

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treyzguy

Location: Blakely, United States

Member Since: August 2013

Open for read requests: Yes

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I’ve always enjoyed writing. I find solace and some peace in making words transport me to other places.

I do not admit to any in-depth knowledge of proper grammar and/or use of proper punctuation…I am quite fond of periods though…

I hope these posts are as fun to read as they were to write. I know that when I can make myself laugh, cry, ponder or even get angry…I have achieved a momentary triumph.

This is a therapy I hope we can enjoy together.

Thank you…Now….A little about me

 

First things first…

I love my mom very much.

We don’t talk to each other anymore…

You’ll see this is a prevalent “thing” with most of my family. It’s just understood, that we all love each other, are thought of daily, don’t need constant contact, and generally ignore each other…at least that’s my end of the stick.

The older you get, the more you realize that this is bogus. You need family always… it’s all we have…some of us. Some not.

YAY ME!!

I miss my dad very much. He died in 2001.

Same year as Dale Earnhardt.

Lost both my heroes, same year.

2001 sucked!

I was born in Biloxi, Mississippi on September 5h, 1964 at Keesler AFB.

I don’t remember much about it though, I was still young…

I don’t even know how long I was in Mississippi (?) with my parents. My mom never said and I don’t remember asking.

My dad was an airman working with early radar systems, and mom was just a little Cajun girl.

She was born in Sulphur,Louisiana on October 10th, 1947. So that means she was almost 17 when I was hatched.

My dad always told me they found me by the railroad tracks eating spiders…?

My dad was born in Edison, Georgia, on May 1, 1942, so he was…what…22 then? Close enough.

One thing my dad’s younger siblings and assorted cousins mentioned (when pressed) was that his dad (Pawpaw) was extremely hard on him. Beat him with boards or fishing poles, practically anything he could grab at the time but, of course, others beg to differ on the severity of these punishments.

It was a different time then.

Probably these days (according to the one group) my Pawpaw would be doing 5 to 10 at the state work farm.

1

My dad, the younger, was skinny with a square head.  Secretary of his FFA group, that went to the Kansas City Convention. The 1959 Florida State horseshoe champ.

He played his best horseshoes when he was tipsy. He was an intense competitor (didn’t care if you were 3 or not), and terrible loser.

Made it all the sweeter to beat him…

can’t remember doing it, or seeing it done…

But, when he was really in his cups and drinking liquor, that’s where B.C lived; in the dark place.

You didn’t beat B.C…

Granny (his mama), always said she thought, that dad was never the same after he got “those shots” while in Air Force basic training. I think he went through the training in San Antonio, Texas.

He wanted to go to college for Journalism, but ended up as a pipefitter/welder.

The paths we choose…. C’est la vie!

He smoked a lot, drank a lot of coffee, and was EXTREMELY high strung!

Drinking made him mean (that’s where B.C lived)…in the dark place.

He was, early in my life, (until I was 16)…in my opinion and recall, abusive.

Both mentally and physically…to me

Their Dad was different from mine…but the same guy. Know what I mean?

He was holier than thou, manipulative, insulting, and had a God complex.

He was extremely intelligent, and knew it.

BC did not suffer fools.

He had no use for others he considered “culls”.

He had little patience with anyone over the age of 16… no one more than me.

When you ask my uncle and others, that were in “the know”… ask him/them how I was treated as a kid…his/their faces get very dark… very few kind things to say about his and their beloved older brother/nephew/cousin.

Dear old dad. Another thing that baffles some people not directly related to the family is that children adored him.

And so did I…through all the crazy times.

Because for all the bad times, he was still my dad. He did throw balls with me, took me fishing occasionally, and I remember going hunting with him twice. And, we chased stray chickens at the Cagles plant…now that was fun. Oh yeah…he bought me clothes and fed me…plus a house or 4. Ungrateful tyke.

2

I remember good Christmas’… a jet that made smoke and screamed… a G.I Joe with the kung fu grip and underwater gear.  A  BB gun, knife, and a .410 shot gun.

GOTTA LOVE US REDNECKS HUH?!

He was also a very good guitar player and singer. Actually recorded, was on local T.V and radio.

I don’t remember him once sitting down and teaching me chords. I learned by watching. I figured out the drums, bass, piano and trumpet. Mostly from watching the musicians around him.

I guess I wanted to show him I could do it, or…just because I was interested in learning them at that time, can’t remember. Lots of childhood memories are lost I’m afraid.

I don’t believe I ever really tried to learn anything special or do anything where his scrutiny could possibly be involved.

I did not test those waters.

Anyways, not beating my poor old Dads memory…Change of thought process for a second…

My mom says I used to take the blame, or something like it, for my brother and sisters, to protect them from punishments. That I used to wake my brother up at night after an accident, and change his sheets, so that he wouldn’t get in trouble the next day. The only way I remember these things, is by people telling me about it.

But I was also cruel to my siblings. Figure that….

Don’t get me wrong…I love them all fiercely… I was hateful and abusive. I was acting out people may say now…I just wanted to hurt something…I was a kid.

Their Dad was different from mine…but the same guy. Know what I mean?

I can never forgive myself for that stuff. I feel that if I sought forgiveness for these actions, I would be denying the effects those actions had on my siblings.

I didn’t know how to be then. I was one messed up little boy…you’ll see later.

My examples in parenting were poor indeed.

Don’t get me wrong, Moms and Dads are human too, and have their own faults, issues…baggage? They can’t bare all the blame.

Speaking of which, I have not been a positive role model toward my own progeny, by any measure. A good example of what not to do you might say. (Extremely immature and naïve am I)

I didn’t even start to gain any semblance of maturity until I reached my early 40s’ for crying out loud! I swear it runs in the males of this family!

I made horrific decisions (meant well), was irresponsible (meant well), and a terrible liar. Telling people what they wanted to hear, so not to disappoint or hurt them.

In all honesty…to keep me out of trouble, or shine in their eyes. Just a kid then… it continued.

In my misperceptions and my distorted way of coping, that I was sparing them and myself I guess.

I never considered that it hurt them more to be lied to, or else I just didn’t care.

What a bastard I must be…here…in this awake place

I was unaware, or probably couldn’t have cared less about these consequences… I really can’t say. Thinking about it now, this path was influenced by my parents. I called it “self preservation”… lie, or get the s*%t! beat out of me.  Most times, over nothing…NOTHING!!!

Lying was a crutch…a tried and tested action that lasted way after leaving home. But a very, very bad habit.

It’s a terrible thing not to be trusted… almost impossible to regain trust…and you never can completely.

Alas, accepting ones faults, putting them behind you, is the road to redemption and peace of mind and soul… a possible awakening.

I remember times that my dad could be very cruel to my mom.

Don’t remember physical abuse, but definitely mental. He spoke down to her a lot… said she was worthless and other ugly things.  Then, he would switch (snap!) just like that, and be very loving toward her. It depended totally on his moods.

There were many.

Weird it was.

Their Dad was different from mine…but the same guy. Know what I mean?

I also remember mom making us pack our clothes in garbage bags a lot, because we were going to leave… go anywhere, “I can’t take it anymore!”, she’d scream.

I don’t remember if we ever did.

Not when I was there. He’d have hunted her down and killed her!

I do recall him putting a gun to moms head in front of his friends (people who worked for him I should say) thoroughly terrifying and embarrassing mom. (that was old B.C) In hindsight (percentage wise…60-40) was always putting her down. Probably to get a power fix. I don’t know if his tenderness toward her was just for show or not. It depended totally on his moods or whomever he wanted to show his dominance to…and of course, alcohol intake. My mom’s the only one who could tell you that.

Dad moved us a lot.

3

I don’t remember exactly where I attended kindergarten, but I do remember learning to count to 10 in Spanish (can still rip ‘em off today!) I remember getting glasses (corrective lenses they called them…hmmp…looked like “four eyes” to me). Now I’m wearing them to read.

I remember stealing kisses under a table in second grade (Sherry Parrot).

I remember being in Georgia through the fourth grade, then some place called West Virginia, riding really fast on my Uncle Butchs motorcycle (A Honda…754 Special) Cool.

I remember peeking at Mom and Dad through their window while they were doing the big nasty (that was frightening) got the Birds and Bees talk that day. Didn’t look like Birds and Bees to me…more like…fish.

Then, back to Georgia and 5thth grade with Mrs. Salter. She’s the teacher who told my mom that I had audio-sensory deprivation. What?! …How long does he have!!

This is also about the time that the abuse at the hands of Ricky Moore started…more on that later…maybe. Still working that out.

We stayed in Middle Georgia until grade 7 was over, and then ended up in SW Georgia (Blakely) for the 8th -11th grade.

On to Fritch, Texas! I will have a whole section on Fritch, Texas later…

But, I digress…

I remember in the fourth grade, being beaten by my Pop for drawing a picture of a naked lady…to the point of blood. Then, I was made to soak in a tub with Epsom salt…also a courtesy of dear old Dad.

Why are the terrible times easier to recall…because I was young or, it was more traumatic?

Their Dad was different from mine…but the same guy. Know what I mean?

4

The effects of a parents actions truly last a lifetime don’t they?

It’s up to me to try and fix it I reckon.

But with absolutely no f**@#g normalcy or anything akin to it… to draw experience and or wisdom from.

How does one go about it? By watching others?

Does the phrase,” f*d from the get go” seem appropriate?

Are we? Am I? Was I?

It is very…very difficult to change ones behavior, when the pool of knowledge they have drawn from is…. tainted… poisoned even. People don’t understand…they judge through their own experiences, their own perceptions…they can’t understand…there’s no way for them to.

Good for them says I. Honestly…

Yeah, I was schooled in manners and the like for appearance sake. It was expected that all young southern boys have manners. Yeah, maybe the basics you know…control tactics to show what great parents they were… “yes, ma’am” “no sir”…what BS

I got so tired of hearing, “they’re so well mannered”, how about f*g terrified not to do it?!

Well, this is what this blog is all about.

Self enlightenment…

Heck!! Finding out why I am so screwed up!

It’s all about me (did that come across right?) finding out why I believe that I am a defective unit, or what I “deem” as defective. Hopefully, this will help or aid, or just try and explain to my kids…others I have hurt, what made me …me.

Why I did the things I did…I wanted to be like “normal” people. Beaver Cleaver and all that crap!

To CARE if things go bad… to CARE if I fail…to CARE if I hurt people’s feelings.

To know WHY?

I want these efforts to help set me on the right path. I want to remove the regrets in my life… to better understand myself…to be the man I always hoped to be… you know, like everyone else… not me.

I want to be free of regret. I want to find places in my heart to forgive myself and others.

I will not lie on this blog…I will not hide my faults. I am 48 years old now, and I am tired…so tired of dealing with demons.

I must try and be humble in my life. Try to be.

My belief structure is wide and ever evolving.  I have no fear in this task I have set for myself. I am only a man. I am only Me.

I have luggage…….lets unpack!

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