My favorite 3rd of July

When I was in the sixth grade. I had a newspaper route. It was just a “throw away” paper. For those of you who don’t know a throw away paper is a newspaper that no one subscribes to, it just gets delivered every week and then at the end of the month the paper boy comes and tries to get you to pay him for it. It’s called a throw away paper because nobody reads it they just throw it away.

 At that time the monthly rate for my paper was twenty five cents. If I could collect twenty five cents from a customer I got to keep part of it and the rest went to the company. Even though nobody read the paper I delivered when those little old ladies saw that cute little red-headed kid trying to collect for it they just couldn’t say no. So I did pretty good.

I don’t remember how long I had that route but I do remember that for the fourth of July that year I had ten dollars to spend on fireworks. Back in those days you could buy a lot of fireworks for $10. I came home with a box as big as I could carry and it was full of everything you could imagine.

 Also, as you might imagine I couldn’t wait for the big day. As it happened that year my mom was at work on the night before the fourth and my sister wasn’t home either but I don’t remember where she was.

The the kids next door Ronnie, Donnie and Johnny were in bed already but their bedroom window overlooked our backyard and I was telling them about all the fireworks I bought. Just to show them I lit some sparklers… then some whistlers… then… well to make a long story short, it was a fantastic third of July.

 Just me and Ronnie, Donnie and Johnny.

Bad Times

I read the stories about Walt and Ed and how they liked to beat up on Jay. Well, I don’t know what was in their minds, or if they were vexed or had demons in their minds.  They told Ed that because he drew those horrible looking  figures and monsters and devils that he was a devil himself.  I do know that when Ed was a teenager, Daddy used to make him watch while he had sex with Mother.  I guess that was Daddy’s way, as sick as it was, of teaching Ed “the facts of life..” That must have been horrific and demoralizing for Ed.  Mother was always drunk, or she would not have stood for it. 

  Ed never did anything mean to me, that I can remember, except that I bought my first car when I was 18, and it was a 1951 Ford, and I went to the house in Kansas City and bought it , and paid my hard earned $80.00 for it.  It did not make it back  to our house.  It broke down.  Mother had it towed to our house, and parked it.  I  had  filled the gas tank on the way home.  Well, before long Ed had syphoned the gas, and taken all  four of my tires off and used them on  his car.  Mother let him. I never drove that car again.  Other than that, he practically ignored me most of the time.

  Now , Walton, was not so nice to me.  When  we lived in Henderson and I was from the age of six to nine, Walton sexually abused me everytime Mother and Daddy went somewhere.  One aprticalar time he laid me up on a table so I was be higher to him and made me perform oral sex on him.  I cried.   He always made Ed and Jay go outside.   I was so deathly afraid of him that I was afraid not to do what he said.  He laid a whip on the floor and told me that he would use it if I did not.   One time after one of the “sessions”  he said, ” If you tell Dady and Mother, I will kill you.  You will be just as dead as if  a car ran over you on the highway”  I will never forget those words.  That is exactly what he said.  I stayed away from Walton as much as I could, yet as God as my witness I loved him and I would have done anything for him.  I wanted him to just plain ol’ talk and joke with me like  he was to the rest of you guys, and I always figured it was because he felt guilty and did not know what to do about it.  I always felt like our family kids and all, after Walton was grown, kinda held him on a  pedistal.

I don’t hate Walton, and I don’t hate Ed.  I now know that  they  had a lot of turmoil going on in  their minds.  Daddy was mean to us, we have to admit that, but, I do believe that he was trying to do what he thought would make good people out of us.  I had a baby kitten there on 88th place, and Daddy told me to give it away or he would kill it.  It took me two days to find a girl who wanted it.  I came home to get it, and it was laying in the yard dead. 

I know you guys probably always thought I was a church fanatic, but, from the time was old enough to get out of the house by myself, I found that church and the good feeling I got there was the only thing that helped  me keep my sanity.  When Mother went ot work nights,  my father also sexually abused me.  From the time I was ten until I  was old enough to get babies.  I used to wonder if all daddies did that. 

I don’t hate Daddy.  I have spent many many prayers telling God that I did not want to hate anyone.  I don’t know what makes people do the things that they do, and I am sure there many kids who had it a lot worse that I did.  I used to tell Mother what Daddy was doing and she told me to shut up.

Don’t ask me what kept me from growing up twisted and nuts , or a druggie, or whatever.  It had to be God.  I’ll say one thing, my big brother Jay was my main help and comfort, and he did not even know it.  He was always there for me, and  I felt protected  when he was home.  He was  my buddy .  You are all my buddies, I love every one of you, but, Jay and I are only 13 months apart, and we  went through lots of “stuff” together that  the rest of you are not old enough to remember.   He would let me tag along with him when he went with his friends, just up to the store and stuff like that.  When we got home, he was the one Daddy yelled at for taking me “with those hoodlum friends of his”  and Jay would just look at me while Daddy was getting onto him like he was saying  to me with his expression, ”Just be quiet.” If one of those guys had put a finger on me, Jay would have taken him apart.  But, they were not hoodlums anyway. 

I had a lot of bad stuff happen to me, all of  kids did, but, God has blessed me in so many ways anyway, all my life.  He has given me three wonderful sons.  and a good vocation that I love, and good health, and now he has given  me Marion who is wondeful. 

I have not told anyone but Linda an Karo about my deals with Walt and Daddy.  I knew that they would understand, and not tell anyone before I was ready to tell it.

I hope I have not made anyone feel bad, or brought back any bad memories to anyone.  I guess it was just my turn to talk.  I am ready to listen to anthing anyone else has to tell.

love, Bets

LImerick #6 . . .

Version 1: Jerry
I know you are busy forgetting
But don’t be sitting an’ fretting
It’s okay to grow
Really old, y’ know
If it’s not your pants you’re wetting.

Version 2: Karo
I know you are busy forgetting
All those miserable nights of bed wetting
Go ahead and pee
It’s okay with me
If it’s not on my sofa you’re setting.

Version 3: Limpy
I know you are busy forgetting
All those miserable nights of bed wetting
But try as you might
You pee all night
And try to claim you’re just sweating.

Version 4: Betty
I know you are busy forgetting
All those miserable nights of bed wetting
But try as you might
Your minds one big fright
Maybe you need a blood-letting.

Version 5: Jay
I know you are busy forgetting
All those miserable nights of bed wetting
But try as you might
Your minds one big fright
This whole damned thing is upsetting!!

Dreams

I’ve love you guys.

Three kid stories . . .

First: Shaun.
In about 1975 or 1976, when Shaun was about five or so years old, we were living in Cardiff-by-the-Sea near San Diego. His mother was in Seattle at the time so we lived alone.
It was my custom to sit at my desk and write. Occasionally, Shaun would come by my desk and ask a question. (Kids ask questions about anything and everything; that’s what they do.)
This happened on a daily basis usually several times in an evening. I would always answer his questions as best I could but I would always add: “What? Are you writing a book?”
One evening, he walked up to my desk and said: “Dad, I need 57 pieces of paper.” Somewhat taken aback, I said: “Okay, Son. But WHY would you need 57 pieces of paper?”
He replied: “I’ve decided to write a book.”
Second: Janis.
When we lived in Seattle, I decided one Spring that we would do some backpacking. I think Denise was 13, Susan was 10 and Janis would have been 7. At first, being “city kids”, they resisted. They did NOT want to do that. I forced them to go and, after the first couple of hikes, they decided that they really liked it.
During each hiking adventure, I would take my camera and take lots of photos. Then I would take the film to the developers and have them made into slides. Then, at the next available time, the whole family would gather and I would put the slides in the carousel and we would have a slide show and look at all the places we had been.
During one slide show, Janis said: “Dad, where did you get these slides?” I told her, simply, that I had gotten them at the developer’s so we could view them. She thought for a few minutes and then asked: “Dad . . . how do THEY know what it looks like where WE went??”
Janis, again.
When she was about 4 years old and it was near Christmas time, I was curios to find out who wrote “The Night Before Christmas”. I looked in every book, encyclopedia, etc., that we had. I could not find out what I wanted to know.
Finally, in frustration, I sat down at my desk, pounded on it and shouted aloud: “DAMMIT!! WHO wrote “The Night Before Christmas”!!!!”
Janis was nearby and, with more than a little fear and concern, shouted: “It wasn’t ME, Dad!! I didn’t do it!! I don’t even know HOW to write!!”
The Bosheldest

Boshear humor . . .

When I started back working at Hopkins Distribution on Thursday, there was a young person of indeterminate gender. I HATE when that happens. Don’t know how to address him/her. When people are like that, they should introduce themselves by saying: “Hello, I am a man/woman.” Or something so we’d know.
Anyway, all day Thursday, I wondered. Then he/she said something about his/her girlfriend. So I thought: “Okay, so it’s a guy. Maybe.” These days you never know. Then, that afternoon, one of the leads told me to work with him. “Yippee!! Skippee!!”, I said to me.
Then, yesterday, I was working alongside him. Turns out his name is Dan. He said several times: “I’m really tired, today.” Finally, I asked: “How old are you, Dan?” “I’m 29.” He replied. I said: “Well, if you’re so damned tired at your age, what the hell will you do when you get old???” Then he said: “Have you ever had cancer? And gone through radiation and chemo-therapy?” And I said: “No, I have not.” And, without missing a beat, I continued: “Just don’t die here, Son. I don’t wanna’ hafta’ deal with your dead body. Okay?” One of the Hispanic gals was working nearby during this exchange and cracked way up. As did Dan and I . . .
The Bosheldest

The heist . . .

Subtitled: A bag of peanuts, a dime and Big Daddy.
Back in the olden days, we were visiting at Big Daddy’s house. Since we moved to Los Angeles in September of 1951, this must have been about 1949 or 1950; so I would have been 8 or 9 years old. Why were we visiting Big Daddy? I don’t know but, in those days, family visited a lot. No one had televisions, cell phones, laptops, PC’s, internet or email. Very few people even had telephones. (At our house, we didn’t even have electricity and running water. We used coal oil lamps, went to the well to draw water when we needed it and walked a ways to go to the toilet.) But I digress; that’s another story.
So we visited. During this visit, some of us kids decided to go play. “Play”, in this sense, meant wandering around the countryside.
I don’t know who all was included in our little gang. I know there was me and Ed. I think Charles Aubrey (Ain’t Nancy’s boy) was there, too. Anyway, there were probably six or eight of us kids on the roam.
During our travels, we came upon this house; whose, I don’t know to this day. As a group, we decided to go inside and see if we could find anything. As we wandered around the house, we found a glass bowl with a bag of peanuts, a dime and some other stuff. Keep in mind, in those days a dime was money!! It was a time that you could buy a penny candy bar (that costs about 75 cents today). You could go to a movie for nine cents. Cokes (the big ones) were a nickel. But I digress, once again.
As we walked the back country roads we all ate the peanuts. I don’t know who ended up with the dime. It wasn’t me; honest!!Stolen goods are always delicious!!
When we arrived back at Big Daddy’s house, he was standing there looking like God. God with an attitude. It felt a lot like the dreaded Judgement Day. Somehow, he knew what we had done. How COULD he? Well, he WAS God . . . LOL!!
And, just to set the stage and how things were at that time . . . nobody – and I mean NOBODY – ever back-talked Big Daddy. He was the supreme ruler and commander of the family. Even his grown children (who, at the time, must have been in their thirties) would not sass Big Daddy. If they did, a huge right hand would come around and make them horizontal for a while.
So, as we arrived back at his house, he was standing there holding a ROPE in his huge right hand.
My first thougt was: “Oh my God!! He’s going to hang us by the neck until we are dead!!” (I saw a lot of cowboy movies in those days and I KNEW a lynching when I saw one!!)
He said something like: “You bohwees are in a lot of trouble. Stealing is a sin and you WILL be punished!! (I could feel my neck stretching even as he spoke.)
He took that rope and gave each and every one of us a whuppin’ not to be forgotten. Did I ever steal again? Not EVER!! Not because I knew it was wrong but because I knew Big Daddy would whup me – or hang me by my neck until I was dead.
The Bosheldest

A sad and tragic pair . . .

FIRST MEMORABLE BEATING:
Back in 1953, when I was 12 and Walt was 18 he beat the stuffing out of me. Walt was a real bully with us younger siblings. I remember that Ed, bless his heart, would beg Walt not to hurt him. He would promise anything to get out of being beaten up.
Not me. I never would do that. And I never would cry. I think that’s why Walt used me for his special “whipping boy”. I think my stubbornness just made him madder.
We lived at 1501 W. 105th Street in L.A. I remember we had a big overstuffed easy chair in the living room. Walt got mad at me for some slight; real or imagined. I don’t think anyone else was home – if they were, they were hiding – but Ed Pierce was there. He was Walt’s best friend at the time.
Anyway, Walt made me get on my knees in front of that chair and and lean over so he could whip me. I did just what he said. (I always took my “punishment” without complaint. I don’t know why but I did.)
I don’t know whether he used a wire coathanger or the wire handle of a fly swatter; but I suppose it doesn’t matter.
He beat and he beat me. And he kept beating me. I thought he would NEVER stop. One of the worst pains of my life; both physical and emotional. I guess the fact that I refused to cry must have made him SO angry that he just totally lost it.
Afterward, he told me that I’d better not let Mom or Dad see my back or “I’ll do it again, only worse”.
After all, Ed Pierce came and looked at my back. I don’t think it was actually bleeding but it was bruised and battered. Ed made Walt come and look at me. He asked him: “What’s the matter with you??”
Walt looked at me and started to cry. He bawled like a baby for a long time. Then he put his arms around me and told me he was sorry and that he would never hit me again. And he didn’t. He was truly filled with remorse and shame.
SECOND MEMORABLE BEATING:
In 1955, when I was 14, Dad and I were home alone (why, I don’t know). He got angry with me for some reason. He made me take off my shirt and stand in front of him’ facing the wall. He started whipping me across the back with something. I think it might have been his leather belt. But, as before, it doesn’t matter.
He told me that if I flinched – or cried out – he would “give it to me more”. But, of course, I did. And he did.
It was another of the worst pains of my life. He just kept hitting and – it seemed – each stroke was harder and more painful than the one before. I remember that, at some point, I no longer really felt the pain. Maybe a “psychotic break” or something. I could just hear him grunting and panting as he beat me.
Afterward, I ran away from home (AGAIN!! I did that a LOT in those days.) I wanderer around Hawthorne for a few hours. I don’t remember how or why but I ended up at the Police Dept. I remember talking to Lt. Baumgartner. He interviewed me and asked what my problem was. I told him I did not want to go home. And he wanted to know why. (I don’t know why but I still wanted to protect Dad. Love, I guess.) Finally, I told him I was afraid. He looked at my back. And when he first looked, I heard him gasp. Must have been pretty bad. He took photos of my back and then he drove me home.
He went in the house with me. I heard him talking to Dad. He really reamed him. He wasn’t exactly yelling but he was making himself heard.
He told Dad: “If I EVER find out that you did this again, I will have you prosecuted to the fullest. And if that doesn’t work I will come back here and I will personally shoot you. Do you understand me, you son-of-a-bitch?”
Dad mumbled something which must have been some kind of agreement because Lt. Baumgartner left. Dad never said a word to me. He just went into his room and kept drinking.
Unlike Walt, I don’t think he felt any shame or remorse. At least, not consciously. But he never did beat me again.
As I grew older and learned a lot about human behavior, I could see that Walt and Dad were just fighting demons of their own. And terrible demons they must have been. And I know that they “suffered” more than I ever did. And, having learned to understand them, I was never bitter. Just really saddened that I could never do anything to help.
The Bosheldest

Limerick #5 . . .

Version 1: Jay
I wish I could see all your faces
Though some are really sad cases
But pretty or not
I love you a lot
On second thought, stay in your places.

Version 2: Jerry
I wish I could see all your faces
But we’re spread out in so many places
In distance, we’re apart
But not in our hearts
And we talk on a regular basis.

Version 3: Karo
I wish I could see all your faces
But we’re spread out in so many places
If I had a canoe
I’d take off my shoe
And use it to paddle in races.

Version 4: Limpy
I wish I could see all your faces
But we’re spread out in so many places
If I had a canoe
You know what I’d do?
I suppose I’d take it to the races.

Version 5: Betty.
I wish I could see all your faces
But we’re spread out in so many places
If I had a canoe
You know what I’d do?
I’d bring all my love in big cases.

I guess the joke is on me…. again

Let me tell it from the beginning.

Last Tuesday Morning (hey, good name for a store.. but I digress) Limpy sent me a private email and told me she was having problems posting on the Boshidiots blog.

At first I just replied and said “Sucks to be you” thinking that whatever it was she would figure it out.

Well she wrote back right away and said she had tried everything but it didn’t work. So I wrote back and suggested she send me her login name and password and I would try to login as her and create a post to see if it works.

She sent it to me and I logged in as her and created a quick post and made up some stupid story about her being in love with someone name Beverly. I even posted a comment about it. Then I sent her an email right away saying “It worked for me go check it out”. I thought she would go read it and email me back some stupid comment and then I would go delete the post.

I waited for her response… and I waited… and I waited… but it never came. At that point I figured she had gone to bed for the day and I had to get to work so I just left it.

After I got to work Jayare sent me an IM and said “Dude, if you are going to post as Aunt Limpy you need to login as yourself before you post a comment!”. Oops. I immediately went and fixed that. Then I told Jayare the story and said I hadn’t heard anything from Aunt Limpy yet.

 All day long we IM’d back and forth reading emails and waiting to see what would happen but we never heard from Lynda.

So Wednesday I saw emails coming in from Lynda. She was replying to the ones BEFORE I sent my email with the link so I knew any minute I was going to get an email from her telling me what she thought of my little joke, so I waited…. and I waited… and I waited… but it never came.

I saw her answering emails that were sent AFTER I sent the link so I knew she must have read it. I was really confused about why I hadn’t heard anything from her.

Then I saw Steve online so I IM’d him. Here is a transcript:

***********************************
Jerry: Did you read boshidiots yesterday?

Boy: No.

Jerry: Ah, you should read it today.

Boy: Aunt Linda?

Jerry: Yeah.

Boy: Well, that’s the way that goes then.

Jerry: Yesterday morning she sent me a private email telling me that when she tried to post anything on boshidiots it let her type the whole thing but then gave her an error when she tried to publish it. I told her if she sent me her password I would try to post something as her. She didn’t read it until today. Then she commented. But she hasn’t sent me anymore private emails.

Boy: Dude. Dude.That’s not funny.

Jerry: LOL.Only to me it is.

Boy: Does everyone else know it wasn’t her?

Jerry: I have no idea.

Boy: ‘Cuz it totally came off like her. Judging by their comments, I don’t think they know.

Jerry: Karo sent me a private email saying it didn’t sound like Lynda because she would not share her personal life. Then she asked if it was me.
I told her I didn’t think it sounded like Lynda either but the only way I would be able to post as Lynda is if she gave me her password. I’m sure they all know.

Boy: Well, they all bought for a second. I totally bought it.

***********************************

I went away from that IM session figuring my son was very gullible if he could believe what I wrote so easily.

Later, I went to Boshidiots to see if anyone else had commented and that’s when I figured out that the joke was on me.

Apparently, Lynda had gone back in and edited “her” post and enhanced it quite a bit by telling how long her and Beverly had been together and really, really made it believable.

So this morning when we had our weekly PU Jay called me, I called Karo, Karo called Lynda… but Lynda didn’t answer. Instead, her machine picked up and this voice we never heard before said something to the effect of:

 ”Hi, you have reached the home of Beverly and Lynda. Lynda can’t come to the phone right now because I’ve got her tied up but you can call back next week. Or we should be done soon so you can try later.”

We couldn’t tell exactly what it said because we were all laughing too hard.