Our Phone Number Was Unlisted

The first strike against my mom’s boyfriend was when he dented up her Gold Duster on every corner.

The second strike was when she caught him in the bath with me after he had asked me to wash his privates.

The third strike was when she laid on the couch with a black eye that he had given her “on accident.”

The day I found my mom on the couch a downstairs neighbor in our apartment complex brought me down to her place. She was a black woman, very beautiful with natural short hair. When I walked into her room and saw her headboard it had polaroid pictures of her and her lover in all sorts of interesting positions, but the one I recall most vividly is her on top of him with her breasts wildly free.

She told me her favorite color was lavender. Not purple, but lavender.

Soon after that, we escaped in the night from that guy. We stayed with an aunt and then found a new apartment. I was 6 years old and had just started first grade. We had lived with that guy since I was 3 and although I never called him dad-he was the only dad I’d ever known or would know for a long time.

My mom and I lived alone and I started a new first grade. I liked this one and seemed to be adjusting well. I remember them telling me I was good at reading, but then not long after we arrived my mom brought home another man. Another man like the first. He seemed nice, but not for long. Within what seemed like a week we moved in together into a new apartment and I started my 3rd school for the first grade.

As we continued to move we always had to have our phone number unlisted in case the man we escaped from tried to find us.

I cried at school a lot. I was worried about him finding us.

I cried when I couldn’t finish my work, when I couldn’t cope with what was going on around me at this new school, and I felt lost and alone. I wondered where my real father was and when I would be rescued from these thieves. That was the only solution I could imagine. My mom and her boyfriends had to have stolen me and my real parents would be back to rescue me soon. Why else would I be put in this situation with these people? It didn’t seem fair.

I knew I had a father, I also knew that my birth certificate said father unknown. My mom told me that he gave her money for an abortion and was later sentenced to prison. When we went around at school after being asked about our fathers, I had to say I had never met mine and he was in jail. My new teacher's eyes got big and I learned not to say that again.

I started to hide and get quiet. I would get sent out of the room to cry when it became too much for my teacher to handle and I don’t remember anyone ever trying to console me.

I felt like a bad seed and that feeling stuck with me until I found drugs, boys, and alcohol at 12. I found an escape and a reprieve from my strong and stuck emotions. I learned to let loose and party like I had watched my caregivers do my whole life. I was a natural.

I eventually did meet my real father. He had been released from prison and was clean. He had made a life for himself and had a business building custom Harley’s. He had a wife and a home, even a dog and 9 cats. Their house reeked of pee, but it was nice to have finally gotten to know him. He was funny and kind, but he didn’t know what hit him when he met me. I was a ball of fire, I liked to drink and do drugs. I like boys. I guess the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree, see my dad was a gigolo. He loved women. He loved to comment on their physiques and wasn’t always faithful to his wife.

When I got a job at a strip club at 18 he was proud of me. Thought it was awesome. Couldn’t wait to come down and see me with his Harley buddies. He had earned bragging rights, his daughter was going to be a stripper.

Things didn’t turn out too well. I and my dad ended up being meth buddies. I laid in his bed with a rifle next to me when he was gone watching movies all night tweaking. His wife left and he lost his business. His house was condemned and he went back to prison for a meth lab.

Somewhere in there, I became suicidal from the drugs and quit (not as easy as it sounds). I then got a DUI and court-ordered treatment 3 months after I turned 21. I’ve been sober ever since and just turned 45. My mom, dad, and all of her abusive boyfriends have died of their afflictions, but here I stand with a broken cycle of addiction and dysfunction behind me.

I share my story so that others will know it is possible. We don’t just need to follow in the footsteps of the people who raised us. We can do better for our future generations. We can be the strong ones who say,” this ends with me.”