Rages

My mom has said for years that I have "rages." I'm an angry person, and quick to jump to violence so solve my problems. Growing up in my house violence was just an accepted part of life. My brothers and I learned how to box when we were young, so fights just became more violent. I have broken a variety of things in fights with my older brother...kitchen chairs, eggs, computer keyboards, phones...and that's only stuff that actually broke while we fought.

I have often been able to control myself from getting physical with a person, in clubs and bars years ago, I never had to fight anyone because for some reason people found me intimidating. I have hit 6 foot something guys in clubs. A few weeks ago, I grabbed some guy by the throat in a bar for fucking with Jil. Every time something makes me angry my immediate solution is to beat the crap out of someone.

I have known for a long time that I need something to do about this. My mom has been saying it for years, and I have known it for a long time. So I have an idea...

I called my dad..

Dad, so, I've decided..here is what I need you to do..

Okay..what?

So I need you to find somewhere for me to box at. I mean, not just a gym full of little kids, I need to get in fights and need to get hit.

Are you sure you don't want to be someone else's kid?

What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Nothing..nevermind...consider it done.

So my goal, is that I'll be able to control myself, because when I get hit in a fight, I'm gonna be angry, and fighting regularly will help me to control that angry. That, and I think that I will good to get my ass kicked. It's weird, but I think that it would help. Anyone wanna box with me?

Moving Out?

I haven't had time to explain my moving out situation, but I will. Either way, I asked sent my dad an e-mail regarding moving in with him. My two questions were...

What would the rules be at your house?
Is there a closet in that room that I could hang up my clothes?

This is his response...

• No kite flying indoors.
• No guests above the first floor except for a bathroom break.
• Must take all medicines prescribed
• no smoking except on third floor
• 2nd floor tv on mute or headphones (provided)
• reasonable, sane conduct
• learn and use burgler alarm
• clean room and bathroom.
• Yes there is a closet
• Don't move stuff that is not yours
• Don't eat other peoples food without permission
• No off street parking provided but may be periodically available.
• Be nice to the animals.
• You get no pets. Too many now.
• No guns other than those provided, same for ammo.
• You may be terminated at any time with notice

...If I had more time I could think up more


My dad is a very special fellow. That is copied directly from the e-mail, I got it on my blackberry and came online to put it here, because I think he's funny.

My Uneventful Christmas

I say that gratefully; I had a very uneventful Christmas. Christmas Eve was probably the most stressful day. I went to work at the crack of dawn (I got there at 5.30am) and then rushed home as soon as I could. I baked cookies most of the afternoon, somehow I managed to throw in the traditional Christmas eve dinner with my mom, Erinn, and Cristin, also, guest starring, my aunt and grandmom. It was nice, and a pleasant break for the hectic day. I got home and though I desperately wanted to take a nap went back to baking. Eventually Bobby woke up and after I picked up up, I immediately put him to work wrapping all of the presents that we had, including any and everything from both my brothers, and my mom threw some stuff in too.

I managed to finish baking just in time to do the traditional dinner with my dad. My older brother had to work, so it ended up just being my little brother, dad, Bobby and myself. After waiting a half an hour (at least) to be seated, we got our food, and shortly after Bobby and I had to duck out for Christmas mass.

The church was beautiful as usual, and the choir was pretty good too. I pointed out the girl with the great ass who I secretly have a crush on, and Bobby didn't understand why I knew she had a nice ass... Anyway, having Bobby there made mass a bit better, more entertaining. First the first time in two years, Father changed the story he usually tells, this year he didn't talk about geese, which I was beginning to expect. For those non-catholics, after you receive the Eucharist, you have a few minutes of silent prayer to reflect and what have you. I usually cry at that point. It doesn't matter what time of year, or what's going on in my life. When I bow my head to pray for those people that I care about, the same things always make me cry...

..That Patrick will get to live with my sister, and grow up to be a more adjusted kid, more like our family than his mother's
..That my sister will keep this baby, because she is an amazing mother and deserves all the kids she wants
..That Russell will find peace on his first holiday season since his mother died, because his family has already been through so much
..That Jaime will get her life together and be a functioning member of society
..That Tim is happy where he is now
..That Tim's family is making it through this holiday season without their youngest son
..That my aunts cancer will stay in remission because she tries so hard to be a good person
..That Ben's mom will make it through this holiday season and that her family will remember her in her prime, and not in the bed-ridden state she is now

Thinking of Tim dying, Russell's family, and my sister make me cry the most. Not necessarily because they make me sad, but because I want them so bad and there is nothing that I can do that will affect anything.

After church I finished wrapping present, and very shortly after that, I went to bed. I slept in as long as I could, and Christmas morning (afternoon) was great. Everyone seemed to get things they wanted, my family seemed amazed that I didn't cry, and I made out like a bandit.

I got a really nice ring from my mom, the livescribe smartpen that I wanted, shoes, boots, shirts, a tomtom, bobby got me the blackberry, it was pretty good.

I hope everyone else had a good Christmas/Holiday

Growing up

I went to my dad's house yesterday, and since I'm mad at him, I made it clear that I was in fact, not there to see him. When I told him I was still mad at him, his response was, not as mad as I am at you... Very grown up, especially for a 69 year old man. No, we indeed never do grow up

Daddy Dearest (Part 2)

My dad can be generous in many ways, he can also seem like a crazy person, or someone who is trying to live vicariously through his kids.

Since my dad retired when we were young, we would often go run arrends with him after school. The thing was always tricky was, when my dad said he was going out, sometimes he'd say where he was going and other times he wouldn't. When my dad didn't say where he was going, the only thing you knew, is that you wanted to go with him. You might end up going to the hardware store, or you might end up at Six Flags.

My dad collects things, you name something that was around in 1940-1960, my dad probably collects it, at least, if he thought it was cool when he was a kid (yeah, he was born '40). The coolest part about this that I can remember was my basement. My dad has a collection of beer signs, add to that a couple pin ball machines, a pool table, ping pong, a slot machine and a dart board, and you got a pretty good game room. A lot of the stuff was collectable stuff that my dad bought.

Daddy Dearest (Part 1)

Growing up in my house could only be described as a living hell. Well, most of the time. I can’t claim my life was always miserable, because that would be a lie. My dad had an interesting view on parenting, because his parents did such a great job with him.

My dad’s dad, who I guess I could consider my grandfather, but I never knew him to call him anything, was an alcoholic. He would beat my dad relentlessly when he was a kid. My dad hated his mother for never sticking up for him, but she didn’t really know what else to do. My dad had a brother, who I also never knew, he was in the military and after coming home and having a couple of kids, he killed himself. He was an alcoholic, and I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t know the names of either my uncle or my grandfather. I have a rough idea of what they could be because we’re big in naming our kids after other members of our families.

As I was saying, my dad got his butt kicked as a kid; his mom ignored it, and then sent him away to private school. I can only assume that for these reasons, my dad has no idea how to be a parent, nonetheless a good parent. On nights that my mom would work late were probably the worst. My dad would yell at us a lot, send us to our rooms for no reason, and then right before my mom came home make us come downstairs and clean up his mess. If there was any argument with any of his unreasonable commands, he’d hit us. I’m not just saying, oh, parents spank their kids when their bad, I mean, he HIT us.

My brother took the brunt of the abuse because he was the oldest, so I would protect and/or hide my little brother. There were a few times when after a beating we were sent to our rooms, and we would all huddle together in my room waiting for my mom to come home to save us. She never saved us. The second we would see her car pull into the driveway we would sit at the top of the steps and wait for her to come in the door, because we wouldn’t dare go back downstairs without her in the house. When she would enter we would surround her, crying of all the things that dad made us do, and how he hit us, and how a wall got a hole in it, or a door broke during the battle. She would just emotionlessly say that whatever happened, we probably deserved it.

I remember two events that may have led to the end of the abuse. For me, one day I was standing against my dad, and he was threatening me, and I said, “Bring it on, it doesn’t even hurt anymore when you hit me, I’m used to it.” He ended up just looking at me, and then walking away, the fight was over where we stood. My brother on the other hand, had a more interesting turn of events with my dad. After a battle between them, my brother sat, beat and broken, and through the tears said “Go ahead Dad, walk away in your father’s shadow.” My dad went to his room after that and cried. We were never hit again, though there were a few occasions where it was threatened.

Ironically, like my father, I blame my mom for the abuse. I somehow hold her responsible, and for what I’m not completely sure. I have an amazing relationship with my dad now, and can barely get along with my mom. I know that she didn’t know what to do in the situation so she would ignore it, or hide from it. I understand that, I just can’t seem to forgive it.