The Skeleton in the Closet

[Coffeebreath]

I was born in Stamford, CT raised by a mother, father and a Golden Retriever, no siblings even though I wanted some (you always want what you don't have, right?) We lived in a ranch style house, on a block where the street circled around us and our neighbors, so it was a cool street to ride a bike on and I did have other kids to play with. There was also a huge Willow Tree in our front yard that I liked to go under and a telephone pole that layed on the ground that I could sit on and wait for the ice-cream truck to come around (the splinters were worth it ).

My parents were very involved in the church (it was a Methodist church and was just down the hill and around the corner from our house). My mother played the organ and my father sang in the choir and they made sure I came with them every time - dressing me in some kind of plaid clothing, whether it be plaid pants or a plaid clip on tie (it was the 70's).

My parents would drive me to visit my grandparents in the Catskills, and my grandparents in New Hampshire, and my grandparents in Michigan...Hey wait a minute...1..2..3..that's 3 set's of grandparents? "Mom, why do I have three sets of grandparents?"..."Some kids are just lucky like that, you're very special".

Most of my memmories of my grandparents were good - my grandparents in the Catskills (they wouldn't let me call them grandpa and grandma - my grandpa by his nickname and my grandma by her first name) lived on top of a mountain and the nearest neighbor was miles away, we picked wild blueberries and my grandfather made the best pancakes, my grandfather taught me how to build campfires and we made "somemores" and he would recite "Dangerous Dan McGrew", by Seward. But then there was the other side to my grandfather - as we sat by the campfire, he'd tell me to "throw another fag on the fire", and my grandmother scolded him for saying that and he'd say with a grin, "that means a log". My grandfather also smoked cigars and he'd play a game with me asking, "You want to see smoke come out of my eyes?" I'd nod my head. He'd sit down as I knelt in front of him. "Put your hand on my knee and stare into my eyes, don't look away from my eyes". I placed my hand on his knee and stared into his eyes. He took a long draw on his cigar and removed it from his lips, I kept my eyes locked on his and "Ouch!" As I rubbed the back of my hand vigorously, he laughed.

My grandparents in New Hampshire (they allowed me to call them grandma and grandpa) I enjoyed visiting. They had this old two-story house, the walk-up attic was furnished and that was where my Aunt lived. My grandparents loved to garden, they made a huge flower and fruit-vegetable garden, there was a pear tree in the back yard and my Aunt would make Sun-tea on hot days. My grandfather was an old time Methodist minister for a church down the road (he believed that women shouldn't be ministers).

My grandparents in Michigan (they wouldn't allow me to call them grandma and grandpa - only by their first names) had two St. Bernards. The St. Bernards had their own special van, with ramps so they could get in by themselves and seats so they could look out the windows. My grandparents would allow me to have soda, that they called "pop" and I'd ride a bike out of their flat concrete driveway and onto the flat concrete street and around the flat neighborhood.

My parents and I had moved from that close knit neighborhood to a little less knit but more well-to-do area and another ranch-style house although sitting on nearly an acre and a half, where my father would build his dream...a red clay tennis court. We still went to the same Methodist Church (although my parents took seperate cars because my mother had to get there early to practice the organ) But there were a few times after church that I stood on the back steps overlooking the parking lot, "hmmm, my mother's car isn't here and my father's car isn't here, they forgot me", and so another member of the church would have to drive me home. My parents each thought the other one was taking me home "banghead" .

I was in my teens when I was allowed to have a little champagne, wine, or Creme de Menthe. We'd celebrate Thanksgiving in the Catskills, first having an early dinner at a restaurant near the Hudson and I'd partake in half a glass of wine (at my mother's discretion, her hand covering my glass when she didn't want the waiter to refill it, :-x oh how angry was I when she did that, treating me like a child - however she didn't always catch the waiter in time and he'd pour it in and I'd pour it into my mouth, then she'd catch on and turn my glass upside down or have it taken away. Then we'd go to that house on the mountain where the turkey was already on the grill and a couple of cases of champagne were out in the garage. Back then it was cold and even snowed on Thanksgiving, so the champagne was just left out chillin'. After having turkey club sandwiches, the "boys" would go out and open a bottle of champagne. My uncle or father would pop the cork off the deck and then we'd measure how far the cork went, drink the champagne out of paper cups and pop the next cork and well...get corked. The women would stay inside the house, knowing what the "boys" were doing outside - but my mother thought that my father would be responsible for me, however my father didn't see the harm in me having a little fun.

At home in Stamford my parents would have cocktails before dinner and then during dinner we would eat in front of the t.v. on our own individual folding tables and while eating my parents would watch the news and read the paper (This is when Elmer Fudd would walk in and say, "Shhh, be wery quiet..." I wasn't allowed to talk, even though I wanted to have a conversation, it was their time to relax), there would be a big jug of wine on the floor between them and whenever my mother wanted more wine she'd lift up her glass in front of my father and he'd fill it. Usually for dessert my father would have vanilla ice-cream with Creme de Menthe (his other favorite flavor was Rum Raisin) and one evening I tried it - yup, good stuff. I liked it so much that I would always have that for dessert. My father noticed one day the Creme de Menthe was gone and he said looking at me, "Well I guess I'm not buying that anymore". After dinner was over I'd place my dishes in the sink and go to my room that I had painted black and wrote and drew on the walls with a white charcoal pencil and I listened to my heavy metal music like "Lizzy Borden's" - "Me Against the World", and "Anthrax's" - "Out of Sight, Out of Mind".

On my eighteenth birthday my mother called me into the kitchen while holding out an envelope to me. I recognized it right away, because I found it one day hidden among a stack of papers in a desk. That day I found it I didn't open it, because on the front was written, "Do Not Open Until March 26, 1988". So now it was March 26, 1988 and I was allowed to open it. "Hmmm, I thought. It's probably something big, maybe it has something to do with a car?" I opened the envelope, my father sitting in his chair in the next room watching t.v. and reading the paper, and I pullled out a letter and began reading. The letter was telling me that the woman standing before me was not my natural mother, that my natural mother had died in her late 20's of a rare cancer when I was a year and a half old. I felt the floor fall away from me. I felt that my life had been a lie. I went to my dark room, where it became my cave.

Some time after, when I came to grips with what happened, I felt that I needed closure. I had this big hole inside of me. So I went to my father asking him where my mother was buried and he replied, "Somewhere in Mass. I don't remember" - my father had buried her deep in his mind. After learning that my grandparents in New Hampshire were my natural mother's parents and my Aunt who lived above them was my natural mother's sister, I called my aunt for the information. My aunt had all the information and so I drove from CT to Mass by myself to see my mother, to say hello and good-bye. Soon my grandfather would die, then my Aunt would be diagnosed with cancer and die, and then my grandmother would die.

When I turned twenty-one, I didn't mind drinking at all - it was what was missing in my life, it filled the hole, it completed me, made me sociable and relaxed. Occasionally when my mother worked late, my father would take me out to a restaurant. I'd be walking behind him as we entered and he'd have a paperback book sticking out of his back pocket and then all through dinner he'd be reading - I'd signal the waiter for another Bass Ale.
I found my "Cheers" (a run down strip club hiding amongst warehouses), I became a regular - walking in with my cowboy boots and jeans, standing alongside a pool table holding my cuestick and my bottle of Bud in the other - I found where I was supposed to be. I got a job at a moving company that was located in that same section and I felt I fit in with those boys. When I was riding in the truck, the driver would stop at the seedier side of town in the morning and pick up some weed and beer. We'd have a few before the moving job and then afterwards the homeowners would give us a case of beer and we'd drink that, bring the truck back, and then go over to the strip bar. One time, on the weekend, I was at the strip bar and the bartender called out my name and told me I had a phone call - it was my mother, she needed her car.

[Rusty Zipper]

keith, thanks for sharing a part of yourself with us...

i love you buddy...

pat

[Angelily]

Thank you so much for sharing.. I really enjoyed reading this..

[citychik]

Thanks Keith,

I enjoyed reading your story too.

[horselover]

All I can say is thank you - thank you! That was a very interesting story, but quite sad when I reached the eighteenth birthday part. I do like the fact there's no ending yet. I have to say you need to rethink your career if you are not a writer. You have a gift of expressing yourself and I would definitely buy and read your books. Thanks again!

[Coffeebreath]

"When you listen to somebody's story, try to identify not compare - when you compare you're shaking your head from side to side and when you are identifying you're shaking your head up and down".

If I only knew then what I know now.

When I was in college I ran across an old friend (old as in elementary school). In elemantary school we never got along all that well, we'd always get into physical fights. However in college it seemed like we were best buds. We would hang out at all of the bars together and just pal around. I remember going over to his parents house where he showed me his room and his "stash" of where he kept his beer - in his dresser drawers and outside his window sill. I never hid my bottles, mostly because I didn't have any - I did all of my drinking in the bars, everyday.

I said to myself, "This kid has a problem".

Whenever we went out to the bar "my friend" would order a pitcher of beer for himself. I never ordered a pitcher for myself but probably drank the equivalent if I added up all of the bottles and shot glasses. I was always the one driving, because he didn't have a car (how convienent) and so he was always plastered and I definately had no business being in the driver's seat. The day after I wouldn't even remember driving home and yet I never got a DUI - which just added to whatever denial I had.
One time on the way home from the bar I was on this on ramp to the highway that had a hard curve and it was raining and I spun out onto the grass area - thank goodness not onto the highway. I tried to get my car back onto the ramp but my car wasn't budging - it was severly out of whack and I had to call a tow-truck, no police were involved and I blamed the spin-out on the rain and the hard curve - it had nothin to do with my intoxication.
Another ramp story, I had gotten my car stuck on a grassy median that divided the ramp. I floored and floored the gas and with a screetch of metal from underneath the car I was free.

[Believe808]

CB this is the first I have heard of your story, no coincidences you are speaking tonight and I did want to hear your story. Thank you for sharing this part of your life with us.

[Rusty Zipper]

he did an awesome job tonight,

and aload o strenght and hope...

[Butterfly Woman]

Thank You CB for allowing us to get to know you better

[anono]

thanks :)