I put an end to the hitting when one night after he’d given me a shiner, they’d had company. It was exhilarating, countering their
inquiries about the black eye with, "oh that? My father hit me."
Dad
raised the ante by giving me a silent treatment.
2 years later, when I was 16, my father walked in to the bathroom on me by mistake. He turned red and slammed the door yelling what the hell is wrong with you?
This time no mother [mine] put him in line.
I straight awayed to my room, packed a paper bag of clothes. Within an hour I was on a bus up to a commune near the University of New Hampshire.
Settling in to my seat on the bus I nervously wiped my tears. Talking to myself, "This is real. My God!" Laughing and crying disoriented, a long held prisoner suddenly released without money, I felt rich with excitement, "I don’t know what is
going to happen to me but at least Something will
happen!"
Separated from accusation, feeling my own natural goodness, for a change.
A commune in New Hampshire, an American Indian, tall, sulking. I take to his bed surprising and unsettling him, We'd met at a concert, weeks before and he had invited me up. He was very
tall, had long braids, dark redish skin. I took him like an animal takes meat, or like a novice trying ethnic food. No wonder he was offended.
In bed there I found there was seemingly nothing inside him; or was it me? He was the one crying, not me, for once, after it was over, saying "That’s it. I’m never sleeping with anyone who doesn’t love me again."
I couldn’t stay: by morning, the misery hung between us. I called my parents. My mother answered the phone. I said, "It’s me. I’m O.K."
There was silence on the other end. Then "Where are you?" "I’m in New Hampshire. I’m not coming home unless I have total freedom. No more keeping me in, no more punishments."
"You can have whatever you want. Your father has said to tell
you this. Whatever you want. Just come home."
And I did.
And they kept their promise for awhile....
Join me as we travel together on the road called "Aging." I will be sharing my personal experiences with you and offer ideas on how we can better navigate the complex byways of our older years. Grief, healing, generations, ancestors, and more.
On February 20, 2003, pyrotechnics at a rock club in West Warwick, RI set off a devastating fire that roared through the crowded club, killing 100 people and injuring hundreds more. Gina Russo was one of the survivors, and she retells her harrowing e
This book is an autobiographical account of the lessons I learned about life and how I was able to apply them to inspire, motivate and empower others in my own work as a firefighter, as well in my daily life as a husband, a father and a man. When I w