An Abduction Revelation: The Comeback Kid Returns Page 4

  My folks never apologized for keeping this secret from me. I never did discover if or when they had planned to tell me. I suppose they had their reasons. I would discover in my senior adult years that they hadn’t even told their closest friends and that relatives were told to keep their mouths shut.

  THE WAYWARD WIND

  The wayward wind is a restless wind, a restless wind that yearns to wander. And he was born the next of kin, the next of kin to the wayward wind.—Gogi Grant

  Not too long after this, another bombshell exploded and left another big crater in my little world. A few months after I met my birth mother, as I walked to my next ninth grade class, this scrawny kid who looked like a scarecrow called out my name.

  “ Hey Tommy,” he said, “don’t yew know that we is brothers?”

  This stopped me dead in my tracks.

  Shouldn’t you be in a corn field? I thought.

  Why in the world would this scarecrow claim to be my brother?

  All I could think to say was, “Yew is a fruitcake.”

  I had seen this kid before but had never talked to him. He was in the seventh grade and lived on the other side of the tracks. It was an unwritten law that you never associated with people from the other side of the tracks, because they were either poor or colored folks.

  This bad kid had a ducktail haircut and wore a black leather jacket. Good kids had flat-top haircuts and wore turtleneck sweaters.

  Fortunately, the bell rang for my next class, so I hurried off, eager to put some breathing space between us. For the rest of the day, though, I kept wondering why this kid would claim to be my brother. Could there be another surprise awaiting around the corner?

  That night at the dinner table, I spoke of what had happened at school that day.

  Dead silence followed. Of course it was my oldest sister, Sandy, who finally broke the silence. She was always the inquisitive one.

  “How cun Tommy have a brother?” She asked.

  I think Mom and Dad were about to have a cow, from the look on their faces. Finally Dad said, “Finish your supper. We will talk about this later.”

  Not a word was spoken for the rest of the meal. It wasn’t a golden silence as I could mentally hear everyone’s thoughts ticking away.

  After dinner, Dad took me out to the front porch. By that time, the suspense was killing me. “Well, Bud, this kid, Mike’s his name, jest so happens to be your half-brother.”

  Wow! I had a brother! I had always had a secret wish to have a brother! Dad explained how this had come to be.

  Mike was the son of my birth mother and her current husband, the man she supposedly ran off with when she left me at Grandpa's.

  But he was a bad kid, dad explained, and I wasn't to have anything to do with him. Wow! I had a brother there for a minute, and then I was back to having no brother the next.

  That’s all he would tell me that night. I began to wonder if any other relatives might pop out of the woodshed. These days, with the milkman going door to door, you didn't know who your siblings were anymore.

  Remember now, this was Clinton, a small Midwestern town in the fifties. Bet some of you are probably starting to wonder if it wasn’t really Peyton Place.

  RESCUE ME

  ...Come on and rescue me, cause I need you. Can't you see I'm lonely and blue...rescue me.

  When I was reared, there were no time-outs, groundings, or stress cards to flash. You took your licking and kept on ticking. Child abuse was unheard of. Parents disciplined their children with a belt or switch to the behind or legs. Dad didn't seem to favor any one kid when it came time to discipline. Mom would let Dad do most of the ‘dirty’ work.

  Her famous words were always, "Just wait till your dad gets home."

  My sisters and I learned fast that the louder we wailed, the less swats we'd receive. Dad never seemed to get out of control with it. And it was an effective method to keep us in line. There is no such thing as a perfect child, certainly not me. I figured I deserved every spanking that Dad gave me. It was the one and only one I received from Mom that got out of hand.

  One day a younger cousin was visiting and we began wrestling. I must have hurt him because he started crying and shouting, "MOMMY." My Mom and Aunt heard the commotion and came running. When he told them I'd hurt him, Mom grabbed me and one of Dad's belts and hauled me to the basement. I could tell she was really mad, so I tried to explain it was an accident. She wasn't interested in listening and started spanking me with the belt. At this age, I’m an invincible teenager and to tough to cry. Bad mistake, because this made her even madder and she started wailing away and beating on me like I was a junk yard dog. I had to raise my arms to protect my face. The more I didn’t cry the madder she got and the harder she hit.

  I was thinking that if I didn't do something quick, she was going to hurt me bad. Enough was enough, so I starting fighting back. Swinging wildly I happened to connect. My fist landed on her jaw, knocking her on her behind.

  I shouted, "Stop it! Stop it right now!"

  Of course, this stunned both of us, but it seemed to bring her back to her senses.

  She pulled herself up and headed back upstairs yelling her famous line, "Just wait till your dad gets home. You stay down in the basement till then."

  I was shaking like a leaf and scared to death. All the invincibility drained out of me. I knew I was really in a heap of trouble now. It had to be the longest day of my life, sitting in the basement waiting for doomsday to arrive.

  When Dad finally got home I could hear Mom and Aunt arguing upstairs. I couldn't make out what they were saying. This seemed to go on forever. Finally Dad comes downstairs. Fear hit me like I've never felt it before. I figured I was surely going to die. Should I run and hide? Where would I go? But I noticed he didn't have his belt in hand, which surprised me and calmed my nerves at bit.

  I found out later that my Aunt had stood up for me and claimed Mom might have gone a little overboard. I didn't get another whipping, but Dad warned me that I was never ever to lay another hand on Mom again. He must have told her the same thing, because that would be the last time she ever did. In fact, from that day on, the mental and physical abuse from my step mom ceased. I got introduced to every teenagers nightmare; grounding.

  From that day on, her attitude toward me changed completely. She became much more civil and even friendly toward me. She would help me with my school homework. My grades even improved. She taught me how to iron, sew, make my bed, and fold my clothes. This would be a blessing as I would put these skills to good use in the Navy. I actually started thinking she may even like me. I was able to forgive her in my heart, and we developed a good relationship for the rest of her life.

  As I reflect on this incident, I suppose step mom was venting her frustrations toward that other evil woman I so much reminded her of. This incident occurred just a few weeks after my birth mom had made first contact with me.

  PUPPY LOVE

  And they called it puppy love. Oh I guess they’ll never know, how a young heart really feels. That’s why they call it puppy love. —Paul Anka

  Here she comes!

  Oh boy, I got so excited it felt like I was about to pee my pants. Johanna was walking down the sidewalk, on the other side of the street, towards my house. She was so pretty, with short cropped brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. Her infectious smile put a smile on my face and caused it to turn bright red. The heat generated could melt homemade ice cream.

  My heart would beat faster and I would get goose bumps at the very sight or thought of her. We were sophomores, but she made all the other girls in our class look a lot younger. She was the reason I started noticing there was indeed a difference between boys and girls.

  I dove for the bushes, because it was an excellent vantage point from which to watch her pass without being seen. She lived up the street and would pass our house on the way to the grocery store. I would watch her every bouncing step until she vanished from sight.

  I never got the
courage to even say “hi” to her. If only I’d had a cell phone, I could had at least have texted her. No telling how that would have changed our non-relationship.

  But then, maybe not, because after our sophomore year, her family moved out of town. I never saw or heard of her again. She never knew how much of an effect she had on me. I reckon you could say she was my first love.

  SLOW POKE

  You keep me waiting ‘til it’s getting aggravating ... You’re a slow poke.—Poco

  It must have been a combination of zits, four eyes, and low self-esteem that made me feel so insecure in my teens. I was extremely shy and totally uncomfortable around girls.

  The first time I ever held hands with a girl was in the eighth grade, and it certainly wasn’t by choice. The teacher caught me pestering a girl. Why I would be pestering a girl was beyond me. My punishment was to sit beside her in class and hold her hand.

  Yuck! Hold hands with a girl. I don’t think so.

  There you go thinking again, Tommy.

  Now this was before Johanna, so I wasn’t into girls yet, and this turned out to be pure torture. But I was no dummy, and came up with a brilliant solution.

  Sitting in the back of the classroom, the teacher couldn’t see us all that well. My Aunt Helen had given me a baseball glove for my birthday, so I put it to a better use that day. This required the girl to hold onto the glove instead of my hand.

  Pretty clever, huh?

  Until the teacher discovered my not so brilliant tactic after all.

  Back in those days the teachers were allowed to swat students on their behinds with a wooden paddle. The paddles had holes drilled in them, no less. So I got swatted, right in front of the entire class. Talk about embarrassment! There went my face, lighting up like a Christmas tree again.

  My family would have become rich if that had happened in today’s society. The teacher would have been arrested and lost her job, while being labeled as a sexual predator. I’d have been tested for AIDS and given huge doses of Ritalin. You would have probably seen me in Michael Jackson's Thriller video, as I would have grown up to be a zombie.

  The folks tried to help me out of my shyness. A few times they would drop me off at teen town. Teen town was where teens congregated, since malls hadn’t been developed yet. Mostly I just hung around with a few guy friends and we would ogle the girls. You’ll have to use your imagination to figure out how we did that, without a computer, cell phone, or IPad.

  I had one other crush after Johanna. Her name was Jenny and she was the most pretty and popular girl in school, as well as the Homecoming Queen. I did kiss her once on her cheek, in my dreams.

  I had developed an eye for the pretty ones at a young age. I just didn’t know what to do about it then. But, rest assured, I would eventually figure it out.

  There would be a couple other occasions where my folks would suspect and accuse me of being with a girl. Now how in the world could that be, you might ask?

  HANKY-PANKY

  I never saw her, never really saw her. My baby does the hanky panky.—Tommy James

  “Oh my God! Dad, you’d better come look at this,” Mom screamed one day while she was doing the laundry.

  Next thing I knew, Dad ordered me to remove my jeans and underwear.

  What could I possibly have done now? I wondered.

  I figured another whuppin’ was coming and I had no idea why.

  I was somewhat relieved, but totally confused, when he only wanted to look at my private parts. Mom had noticed little bugs (crabs) crawling in my underwear. I had been itching in that area for a few days, but never thought to look for what caused it.

  “Yew’ve been with a woman, haven’t yew?” Dad asked.

  I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He then explained what those little bugs were and how I must have gotten them. I think dad was aware that I was no ladies’ man, so he figured it had to be something else.

  The only logical explanation had to be that I had picked them up from a toilet seat at school. I had to shave and powder myself for a few days, until they disappeared.

  To think girls could infest me with those type of little critters just made me even more leery of them.

  LIPSTICK ON YOUR COLLAR

  Told a tale on you, boy. Told me you were untrue.—Connie Francis

  I was suspected of being with a girl one other time. Mom found what she thought was lipstick on my coat collar. I just let her think that, because the truth would have been very painful for me. I knew it wasn't lipstick. It was a cherry brandy stain.

  The night before, I had gotten my first taste of alcohol. It was too much for me to handle, as I was drinking it like soda pop. It hit me hard and fast. I got sicker than a dog, puked all over the place, and stained my coat collar. Never touched that stuff again while I was in high school.

  FOR THE GOOD TIMES

  Let’s just be glad we had some time to spend together.—Hank Snow

  I never got bored during my childhood, but it seemed to take forever to grow up. Then, when I did, it was way too fast and I wanted to be a kid again.

  Without video games, cell phones, and all those other gadgets, kids occupied themselves in many other ways. My buddy Roger and I would listen to what our folks called the devil’s music. It was a new rock and roll sound that had teenagers twitching in uncanny ways. We listened to it on the local radio station or played it on forty-five rpm records in Roger’s garage. The folks thought we would surely grow up to be dysfunctional.

  Another buddy, Frank, and I would use sticks of dynamite like firecrackers. Frank worked in a hardware store that sold dynamite sticks. He would borrow a few sticks now and then. We would toss some out the bad mobile window, while cruising the countryside. A farmer’s mailbox must had got in the way and was blown to kingdom come one day. We heard on the radio later that the police were looking for vandals terrorizing the countryside. They even talked about bringing in the FBI, since destruction of a mailbox was a federal offense. That put an abrupt halt to that little amusement.

  Frank and I played another game on the telephone, when the folks weren’t home. We’d dial a random number and pretend to be the disc jockey from the local radio station. If the person we called could answer a question correctly, they would win a big prize, we told them. Our favorite question was: “How many drops of water flow over Niagara Falls every minute?”

  Of course, they wouldn’t have any idea, so we’d tell them to take a guess. When they guessed an answer, we would say, “Oh my gosh! You’re absolutely right! Come on down to the station and collect your prize.”

  That little entertainment came to a screeching halt, too, when we heard the station was contacting the police to prosecute the perpetrators. Thank God caller ID hadn’t been invented yet.

  Bad boys, bad boys, what ya gonna do? What ya gonna do when they come for you?

  Our favorite Halloween trick was putting dog, cow, or horse poop in a small paper bag. We then placed the bag at the front door of a residence. One of us would knock on the door, while the other would light the bag on fire. The resident would come to the door, spot the burning bag, and stomp on it to extinguish the fire. We learned a few new curse words doing that trick.

  As you can see, it was a simple life, in simpler times. But that was about to drastically change. The Kid’s childhood games would soon be replaced with grown-up games. Life was about to get a bit more complicated.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Transformation

  NO FUTURE IN THE PAST

  How long do old memories last? Why can’t I forget it? Why can’t I admit it? There ain’t no future in the past.—Vince Gill

  The 1961 Clinton High Senior Class was the largest graduating class to date, with 136 students. After graduation, I had no desire to continue my education. My grades had always been just high enough to get me to the next grade. I never won any awards or got voted the best in anything, except maybe orneriness, by my parents.

  However, my last se
mester in high school, I did make the Honor Roll, much to the surprise of my parents, my teachers, and even me. That was the semester following my freak accident out by the city dump. After that incident, my life, abilities, confidence and self-esteem would jump to another level.

  I had always wanted to be an athlete, but never was good enough to make any of the school sports teams. However, that spring, I was finally able to outrun my best friend Roger. Up until then, he had always been able to beat me. He couldn’t understand how I could all of a sudden outrun him. Neither could I, for that matter.

  I even set a gym record for the 880 run that spring in gym class. My gym coach tried to talk me into joining the high school track team, but I still hadn’t yet found confidence within myself.

  I was still shy around girls and would be too embarrassed to hold much of a conversation with one. What could be so embarrassing? After all, weren't they God’s little creations of sugar, spice, and everything nice?

  My parents and teachers never discussed the birds and bees with me. I graduated from high school having never been kissed and still a virgin. Can you imagine that in today's society? I’d be labeled a freak, geek, and a nerd, all rolled into one. Well, all this was about to change.

  After graduation, I felt the urge to get out of Dodge. I couldn’t explain why, I just knew I had to leave town. Don’t take it wrong. Clinton was a good place to be raised. Overall, I had a good upbringing. My parents didn't burden me with having to make many decisions. I didn’t have to worry about what to eat, wear, or where to hang my head. My biggest concern was about the weather cancelling a baseball game. The folks taught me some very important aspects of life that would help me in the future:

  LOGIC: Because we said so, that’s why!

  STAMINA: You’ll sit there until your plate is clean.

  CLEANLINESS: You’ll stay in your room until it’s clean and the bed is made.