Post by Dr. T is an alien on Apr 4, 2023 2:49:37 GMT -5
Recent news events made me wonder how many youngsters will have their earliest memories be of a violent occurrence in their lives. It’s something I am a little sensitive to because that more or less my experience, though not nearly as traumatic as the event that brought this to my mind in the first place.
My parents got divorced when I was two. Being the 70’s, my mom automatically got custody of me. I don’t remember those things. I don’t remember my dad’s job sending him over 1000 miles away. I don’t remember my mom quickly marrying the reason for the divorce. I don’t remember my new stepdad pulling my mom into a life all about drugs. I do, however, remember the results of those that lifestyle.
When I was three, our home was invaded by armed thugs. There was a knock on the front door. My stepfather, who was expecting his brother to stop by, went out on the enclosed front porch to go answer the door. My mom was in the kitchen and I was playing in the living room.
After a length of time, when my stepfather was apparently quietly subdued and restrained out in the enclosed front porch, I hear a loud, “FREEZE, LADY!” I looked up to see an arm extending into the living room pointing a revolver across the room at my mom. It’s an image that’s indelibly etched into my memory.
The group of thugs quickly came in, hogtied my mom, stepdad, and stepdad’s brother once he arrived for his expected visit. I was not physically restrained, but I was frozen in place by fear. They trashed the house, even throwing furniture around. In their zeal the couch actually was overturned and landed on top of me. The invader who did that quickly pulled it off atop me and apologized for doing so, relieved that I apparently was not too seriously injured. I found the apology and concern for my to be quite incongruous with the events of that evening.
The events culminated in the invaders threatening to kidnap me if they did not get what they wanted. After that my memory blacked out for a while, which I’m assuming is actually a good thing. I do remember that it took me a very long time to calm down enough after they left to work up the courage to free the hands of the nearest adult (stepdad’s brother). I then shut down again. The police showing up and the rest of the evening blurs together in the memories following the events.
How did it all resolve? The invaders were quickly apprehended. They had sort of known my mom and stepdad and their ski masks were not enough to disguise who they were. They were, of course, looking for their drugs and any money that could buy drugs. After talking to the cops my mom, stepdad, and his brother all realized that the cops would start looking into why they were targeted in the first place. A few days later we had moved to Vegas (no longer having much intact furniture probably made that easier).
On the plus side, the continued interest from both the Denver PD and LVPD (which led to another move, this time to Portland, OR) eventually played a role in my dad getting full custody of me when I was 5. Dads didn’t usually get full custody in 1980, so that says something about how much my mother stepped in it.
She still got 6 weeks in the summer and at least a week around Christmas, so she wasn’t completely cut off from me. Divorcing the bad influence helped. She managed to stay sober when I visited, but fell off the wagon when I went back home. She eventually checked herself into rehab. I know it was a struggle, but she made it stick and turned her life around for a good while until her death, but by then I was a grown ass man with a wife and kids that got to know her and still remember her fondly.
So yeah, I started this post with the heavy and tried to bring you back to a better spot in the end.
My parents got divorced when I was two. Being the 70’s, my mom automatically got custody of me. I don’t remember those things. I don’t remember my dad’s job sending him over 1000 miles away. I don’t remember my mom quickly marrying the reason for the divorce. I don’t remember my new stepdad pulling my mom into a life all about drugs. I do, however, remember the results of those that lifestyle.
When I was three, our home was invaded by armed thugs. There was a knock on the front door. My stepfather, who was expecting his brother to stop by, went out on the enclosed front porch to go answer the door. My mom was in the kitchen and I was playing in the living room.
After a length of time, when my stepfather was apparently quietly subdued and restrained out in the enclosed front porch, I hear a loud, “FREEZE, LADY!” I looked up to see an arm extending into the living room pointing a revolver across the room at my mom. It’s an image that’s indelibly etched into my memory.
The group of thugs quickly came in, hogtied my mom, stepdad, and stepdad’s brother once he arrived for his expected visit. I was not physically restrained, but I was frozen in place by fear. They trashed the house, even throwing furniture around. In their zeal the couch actually was overturned and landed on top of me. The invader who did that quickly pulled it off atop me and apologized for doing so, relieved that I apparently was not too seriously injured. I found the apology and concern for my to be quite incongruous with the events of that evening.
The events culminated in the invaders threatening to kidnap me if they did not get what they wanted. After that my memory blacked out for a while, which I’m assuming is actually a good thing. I do remember that it took me a very long time to calm down enough after they left to work up the courage to free the hands of the nearest adult (stepdad’s brother). I then shut down again. The police showing up and the rest of the evening blurs together in the memories following the events.
How did it all resolve? The invaders were quickly apprehended. They had sort of known my mom and stepdad and their ski masks were not enough to disguise who they were. They were, of course, looking for their drugs and any money that could buy drugs. After talking to the cops my mom, stepdad, and his brother all realized that the cops would start looking into why they were targeted in the first place. A few days later we had moved to Vegas (no longer having much intact furniture probably made that easier).
On the plus side, the continued interest from both the Denver PD and LVPD (which led to another move, this time to Portland, OR) eventually played a role in my dad getting full custody of me when I was 5. Dads didn’t usually get full custody in 1980, so that says something about how much my mother stepped in it.
She still got 6 weeks in the summer and at least a week around Christmas, so she wasn’t completely cut off from me. Divorcing the bad influence helped. She managed to stay sober when I visited, but fell off the wagon when I went back home. She eventually checked herself into rehab. I know it was a struggle, but she made it stick and turned her life around for a good while until her death, but by then I was a grown ass man with a wife and kids that got to know her and still remember her fondly.
So yeah, I started this post with the heavy and tried to bring you back to a better spot in the end.