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Usually I feel like if people are being honest, I'd rather just go to bed. However, here goes: I grew up with an immigrant mother from a horribly poor family, and a father from a rather well-to-do family. Growing up, my cousin and I would spend many weekends at my paternal grandmother's house. She had a guest room down the hall from her bedroom, which was across the hall from her grown son's bedroom. He had long ago lost his driving license for repeated drunken driving, and other offenses. My cousin, who would share the room with me, was the drunken uncle's son. Our shared room was a large one, full of fabulous furniture and two twin beds. I have very vivid memories of my uncle, his father, coming into the room at night. He would reek of alcohol; it seemed to surround him like a shroud. He would sidle up to me in the tiny twin bed, and when I would wake and ask what he was doing, he would say "your dad never tucks you in", and wrap an arm around me. I actually liked that, because my parents were always emotionally distant, and this felt nice. He always covered the gaps, at least in that sense. When my grandmother took us to India for a summer vacation, I remember him saying "why did your dad only give you $100? I'll take care of you", and giving me an envelope with nearly a grand in it, that had to be exchanged for Rupees at the airport. He would hold me while I slept, until I would wake again (I was always a light sleeper) by saying "Scott?", his son's name. He was making sure that he was well asleep. In fact, on more than one occasion, he would come in if Scott had coughed or sneezed, with a bottle of Nyquil to help Scott sleep. Anyway, he would call out to his son to see if he was asleep, and if so, begin to rub his hands all over me. He would grapple me like an attacking sea monster and bury his head into the back of my head, rubbing until the back of my pants were nearly soaked. To this day, I don't know if he had came through my pajamas or if he had urinated in a bizarre attempt to feel like a complete man. Either way, I learned not to roll over in the night, lest I wake up in a wet patch and get yelled at by grandma's housekeeper. I think my secret was known, at least within immediate family. I spoke to my grandmother about it, and she shut me down, telling me that he was sick and she wouldn't hear another word. Within a month, my cousin found his father hanging from a rope in their garage, after he got off the school bus. I've always wondered if my accusations got back to him and he decided to end it. I don't think I'll even know. criscodisco fucked around with this message at 05:21 on Oct 7, 2015 |
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Oct 7, 2015 05:18
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Zzulu posted:I lost my family to a pool of diarrhea
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Oct 7, 2015 19:41
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VendaGoat posted:What does everyone consider a "skeleton"? When I was in elementary school, we had a week every year called "book week". The rule behind book week was that a few times a day, the principal would come over the loudspeaker and announce that it was reading time. You had to have a book ready to read for 15-ish minutes, and if you didn't have one ready, there was a bookshelf in the classroom for you to grab one out of. I had a choose your own adventure book all week, but on Friday I forgot it at home. When reading time was announced, I ran over and grabbed a big picture book called "The Body". I opened it up and there was a big 2-page picture of a skeleton, laid out like a centerfold. The kid next to me, Kurt, said "oh gross I hate those things!" I said "what do you mean? That's what's inside all of us!" He said "no it isn't, they're scary!", so I pointed out the skull, where our nose was and our mouth and eyes. He started screaming at the top of his lungs and wouldn't stop. Our teacher had to take him out into the hall because he was melting down. He never came back to class again.
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Oct 8, 2015 00:51
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