Have you heard Carrie Underwood’s newest song called “Blown Away”? Its powerful message resonated with me from the first. I was raised by a “mean old mister” and it has taken years to blow away the “sins of that house”. As a matter of fact, I’m still working on it. There are many days when I feel that there is not enough “wind or rain” to wash the memories clean.
My step dad, (the only dad I ever knew) was evil. If he ever uttered a word of truth it was by accident. He was a con man filled with what he would call “a bit o’ the blarney” from the “old country”. As a matter of fact he was very good at falling back on the “old country” bit when caught at his many discrepancies. He would plead ignorance of American ways. He had lived here for decades but it usually got him by.
True to his Scottish/ Irish heritage he loved “a little nip now and again”. It was more often now. As with many, alcohol increased his capacity for evil. He was a predator of the worst kind. No little girl was safe from him, his own daughters, me, cousins, friends; all have stories to tell about his “touching games”. He would conduct them in crowded rooms of adults, trips to the store, in the middle of the night after his wife went to sleep.
He was a first class manipulator. It was a rare time that he could not work things out to his advantage. One event has him drinking with his wife and her brother. He invites his brother-in-law to stay the night to “keep him safe.” After all are in bed, he calls the sister-in-law implying that something terrible has happened to her husband. He promises to get there as soon as he can. He makes the 45 minute drive in 30. The distraught wife is waiting inside. He hurries in. And begins to seduce her!! No, probably seduce is to kind a word. I think assault would be better. She manages to get him thrown out and keeps her husband from killing him when he found out.
There are dozens of family stories like this. My mother even caught him in incidents with me. It was many years before I could gain any understanding into the events that followed or maybe I should say the events that didn’t follow. He managed his “blarney magic” and stayed.
In his older years when it became more and more evident that he couldn’t keep it in his pants ever- many “other” women stories began to emerge- he admitted to being a sex addict. Really??? Is that what you call it? He went to wife ordered therapy because his infidelities with other women seemed to bother her more than his inappropriate actions with children.
And I received a therapy ordered six line apology for “anything he might have ever done to hurt me”. This was more than his other victims got but it was insulting and degrading. Years of painful extraction of emotions, memories and fears…………there is not enough “rain to wash away the sins” in Oklahoma or anywhere else …….it takes courage and a lot of work to “blow that house apart”.
One early morning I picked up the phone to hear my sister say, “Dad is gone.” I answered, “With who?” It took a few minutes for my brain to grasp what she was telling me. He was dead. He died of a heart attack on his way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. He died while trying to pull up his underwear, head on the ground and naked butt up in the air, mooning all who entered the room. I wished I had been there to place a “kick me” sign on it. I felt the ironic justice keenly. I also felt safe from him for the first time since I was 8. If those thoughts put me on the naughty list in Heaven, oh, well. The smiles that image brings to my face on the few occasions I think of it are worth it. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?
My step dad, (the only dad I ever knew) was evil. If he ever uttered a word of truth it was by accident. He was a con man filled with what he would call “a bit o’ the blarney” from the “old country”. As a matter of fact he was very good at falling back on the “old country” bit when caught at his many discrepancies. He would plead ignorance of American ways. He had lived here for decades but it usually got him by.
True to his Scottish/ Irish heritage he loved “a little nip now and again”. It was more often now. As with many, alcohol increased his capacity for evil. He was a predator of the worst kind. No little girl was safe from him, his own daughters, me, cousins, friends; all have stories to tell about his “touching games”. He would conduct them in crowded rooms of adults, trips to the store, in the middle of the night after his wife went to sleep.
He was a first class manipulator. It was a rare time that he could not work things out to his advantage. One event has him drinking with his wife and her brother. He invites his brother-in-law to stay the night to “keep him safe.” After all are in bed, he calls the sister-in-law implying that something terrible has happened to her husband. He promises to get there as soon as he can. He makes the 45 minute drive in 30. The distraught wife is waiting inside. He hurries in. And begins to seduce her!! No, probably seduce is to kind a word. I think assault would be better. She manages to get him thrown out and keeps her husband from killing him when he found out.
There are dozens of family stories like this. My mother even caught him in incidents with me. It was many years before I could gain any understanding into the events that followed or maybe I should say the events that didn’t follow. He managed his “blarney magic” and stayed.
In his older years when it became more and more evident that he couldn’t keep it in his pants ever- many “other” women stories began to emerge- he admitted to being a sex addict. Really??? Is that what you call it? He went to wife ordered therapy because his infidelities with other women seemed to bother her more than his inappropriate actions with children.
And I received a therapy ordered six line apology for “anything he might have ever done to hurt me”. This was more than his other victims got but it was insulting and degrading. Years of painful extraction of emotions, memories and fears…………there is not enough “rain to wash away the sins” in Oklahoma or anywhere else …….it takes courage and a lot of work to “blow that house apart”.
One early morning I picked up the phone to hear my sister say, “Dad is gone.” I answered, “With who?” It took a few minutes for my brain to grasp what she was telling me. He was dead. He died of a heart attack on his way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. He died while trying to pull up his underwear, head on the ground and naked butt up in the air, mooning all who entered the room. I wished I had been there to place a “kick me” sign on it. I felt the ironic justice keenly. I also felt safe from him for the first time since I was 8. If those thoughts put me on the naughty list in Heaven, oh, well. The smiles that image brings to my face on the few occasions I think of it are worth it. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?
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