My brother Dan

I went out to breakfast last week with my younger brother, Dan. My wife and I were vacationing at our cottage near where Dan lives. This post is prompted by me reflecting on who he is individually, as part of our family as well as my relationship with him. As I’ve mentioned before, I am the second eldest of five children. Dan, is the third eldest and the second son in the Matta family.

My earliest recollections of Dan are found in the Heights in North Braddock. I remember his first birthday and all the wonderful toys as well as him in his playpen outside in the yard. Mom says Dan was a sweet boy but since I was displaced it was difficult for me to see. I have more tangible memories at Mount Pleasant. Mom could not keep clothes on Dan. He would strip them off and preferred to go “naked as a jaybird.” He would work hard to get the diaper off and eventually mom did convince him to wear underwear that was three sizes too big. Dan loved physical contact. He loved snuggling but he also loved roughhousing and often times didn’t know when to quit. This could be seen when we went to visit our Great Aunt Beulah and her son Mac. Mac would roughhouse with all of us at the same time, but when he was ready to quit, Dan didn’t always get the message. Mac would have to “put a hurting” on Dan in the form of a painful pinch. Sometimes, it wouldn’t stop there and Mac would have to up the hurt level to get it to stop. Dan would get it but occasionally, Mac would get a small hurting from Dan, too. Dan had this knack for lifting up his head into an adult’s chin smacking the lower part of the jaw. It seemed unintentional but more than a few adults quit roughhousing with Dan before Dan was ready. He loved using his head as a kind of battering ram. Actually, when he was really little it was his weapon of choice. So, when he was angry rather than smack with his hands, he would lower his head and ram you like a bull. Dan was hard headed but fearless.

An example of his fearlessness can be found on one of the few days our dad seemed to be home. I was in the basement with my dad. Dad was always puttering with something and I think it was the furnace in this instance. Mom was with Dan in the kitchen. The door to the basement was in the opposite end of the kitchen from where the stove and refrigerator were located. Dan was a toddler and managed to get the door to the basement open. I’m not sure how mom missed his exit, but all of a sudden we hear mom scream for my dad, “Tom!” By the blood curdling tone and intonation, my dad and I knew it was something dangerous. As Dan hears mom’s scream he turns, never interrupting his forward motion to the stairs. I turn and look up the stairs to see Dan leaping headfirst over the railing. At the moment he turns, Dan is freefalling directly in front of my dad at chest level. My dad couldn’t really see what was happening but his instincts were phenomenal! Physically, Dad is positioned with both feet on the ground and his arms at his side. In one fluid motion, Dad turns, opens his hands and snatches Dan by the ankles. Dan’s weight carries my dad’s hands toward the ground, but his head stops several inches from the concrete basement floor. Needless to say, my dad and mom were overwhelmed and speechless following this close call. Many thanks were offered to God that day and the story is etched in our family’s folklore.

But that was Dan. We went on our one and only vacation to Cook’s Forest in the summer of 1963 and Dan couldn’t swim. The water in the crick was freezin’! And this was a deep hole that went under a bridge before it becomes a stream again. Without waiting for anyone, Dan jumps off a bridge into the water. Diane, our older sister, and I gasped, but there’s Dan, grinning from ear to ear teasing us about when we were going to follow. Diane says to Dan, “Dan, come out of there. You can’t swim.” And Dan’s response, “so-o-o!” The reality was he was swimming. Diane and I scratched our heads trying to figure out how this was possible. He was 6 years old.

On this same trip, he is sleeping with Dad in a bed in the great room area of the log cabin cottage. Other family members are in this room talking, eating and lounging. Dad has a blanket covering himself and Dan is finding himself more often than not without the warmth it provides. He keeps tugging to get more of the blanket to cover himself and he says, “come on, Dad. I’m cold.” Now our dad was notorious for talking in his sleep and without missing a beat, he sits up, looks at Dan in that mostly asleep glaze and asks him a question. “Are you a man or a mouse?” Dan looks at dad and responds, “I’m a mouse, squeak, squeak, squeak. Now give me some covers!” Needless to say, there was no more sleeping as the entire family erupted in laughter. Dan’s sense of humor continues to be unmatched whether intentional or not.

Dan was sweet and humorous, but tough at the same time. I mentioned in another post about how after we moved to North Braddock from the farm at Mount Pleasant, Dan enjoyed getting into fisticuffs. I remember him bringing on several occasions rather large, older boys to the house. I would be standing outside on the porch and here comes Dan with a teenager in tow. He stands at the gate and says, “Buzz, I told this asshole, that I might not be able to kick his ass, but I had an older brother that could. So, come out here and kick his ass, ok?” Given the Goliath vs. David size differential between the teen in tow and I, I learned very quickly how to negotiate a binding peace settlement. “Well, now Dan, this guy doesn’t seem all that bad. Let’s talk about this. I don’t think my brother meant what he was saying.” And as I’m doing this I’m nudging Dan onto the porch behind me. Not being much of a fighter. Dan snaps back, “Buzz, I meant every word of it. This kid is the biggest asshole!” The teenager lunges at me but more to get to Dan. “Now, now, let’s not get all bent out of shape.” Fortunately, I was able to talk my way out of these doomsday scenarios. When the kid finally left, I looked at Dan and said, “You’re going to get us killed.” “Ah, Buzz, you could kick his ass if you wanted to, I know you could.” And he would say it with genuine belief in me and disappointment that I wouldn’t engage this kid.

As he continued to get older, Dan used his toughness to look out for everyone. Money was tight in those times and none of us were above stealing nickels and dimes out of our mom’s purse. And most of the time, mom didn’t notice. But it would add up and then there was a day of reckoning. How the reckoning went, mom would tell dad. “Tom, somebody’s been taking change out of my purse and nobody will own up to it.” Dad went into action right on cue like they rehearsed this response. “Ok, line up!” We’d dawdle pretending not to know what he meant. Everybody line up and I mean everybody. Now, we ain’t leaving here til somebody tells the truth. Diane, did you take money out of your mom’s purse?” Diane shook her head back and forth to indicate, “no.” Her head was bowed and she made no eye contact. Dad continues, “Buzz, did you take the money that’s missin’?” I’d shake my head back and forth saying, “nope.” The same thing was repeated with Dan and Jim. Then, dad would say, “Now I gave you all a chance to tell me. Since nobody wants to be honest, you all are getting spankings til someone comes forward with the truth. And we can be here all day. It’s up to you. Again, we ain’t leavin’ til you tell me what the hell is going on. Diane, let’s start the spankings with you.” Dad would bend Diane over and give her several swats on the bottom. And Dad knew just how hard to hit to make it sting with pain. Diane, being a girl, would start screamin’. Dad would finish with spanking Diane and she’d take her place back in line. “Anybody wanna tell me who took the money?” Dad would pause waiting for an answer. There was none. “Ok, suit yourself. Buzz you’re next.” I bent over and even though I was not a girl, I screamed all the same. I would regain my composure and take my place back in line following the spanking. Dad would go through the same questioning. “Do you know why you’re all getting spankings? Somebody knows who took the money. Even if you didn’t take it, you know. So, I’m giving you this chance to tell me.” I don’t think time ever went so slowly. The tension was unimaginable. “Dan, you’re next.” Dan would bend over and wiggle as Dad spanked him. He told me once prior to this if you wiggled, it took some of the sting out of it. This was not something I would even contemplate. I don’t know. I was afraid to move. But Dan didn’t scream. Dan would take his place back in line and dad would ask again, “Have you had enough or do you want to do this all day.” Nobody says anything. “Ok, Jim, you’re next.” As Jim was the youngest, his spanking was more form than substance and he would take his place back in line following his “whupping.” What is tough to describe is how my Dad’s anger is increasing as we were not cooperating. And now mom is starting to worry Dad’s really going to lose it. Dan would look at his siblings who were all crying, as we are terrified to fess up. He would look at mom and dad and say tearfully, “It was me. Don’t keep hitting em’.” There were times, when it was Diane that took the money. At other times, it was me that took the money. And sometimes it was Dan. But it was usually someone other than him. He was so moved by his empathy for his siblings, he wanted to protect them. And he would take the punishment to protect us all. That’s Dan, tough, funny, sweet and LOYAL to a fault! But I wouldn’t want him any other way.

Father’s Day Thoughts: Dad’s first 911 call goes to the Coast Guard to find 25 year old son

Well, this past Saturday was interesting! One of my sons is up from Pittsburgh to attend the graduation party of his first cousin. The Friday night prior, my son asks my wife if she’d like to come take a walk on the beach to keep an eye on him while he swims at Presque Isle. He’s been training for a triathlon competition and needed to do a swim in something other than a health club pool. Well, as he’s asking my wife, I’m behind her waving my arms as I want to go too. It turns out that she ended up being a little tired and I was the “go to” guy with my son. Now, I like to think of myself as an athlete, but swimming is definitely out of my league. I figure I can take a cell phone along, keep an eye out and it’ll be no problem.

We get up around 6:15am and head north to Presque Isle. We make a quick stop at the drive-through of McDonalds for some coffee, because anyone that knows me knows that I’m not good for much before my morning brew. We get to the parking area on the beach and my son suits up in his wet suit since the lake water is still quite cold. My son forgot his contact lenses and hands me his glasses to hold while he swims. We saunter onto the sand and he heads for the water and I head for the lifeguard chair. The weather is absolutely beautiful. Sun is up and there is a cool lake breeze. Birds are everywhere engaged in all sorts of chatter this June morning. I saw cardinals, yellow finches and I think some kind of tanager with a bright orange body and brown wings. The beach is empty except for a park employee who is using a piece of equipment that cleans and smoothes the sand. So, everything is good!

Off he goes into the lake. He’s moving with the tide and as I sip my coffee, I watch him very gradually get smaller and smaller as he swims parallel to the beach inside the breakers. As he gets smaller, all you can see are his arm motions. Then a time comes when you can’t make out his arms from the motion of the waves.

And that’s when it hits me, WHAT THE HELL, I CAN’T SEE HIM ANYMORE!! I thought he would swim out and when he got to a point that he had trouble seeing me, he would just head back in my direction. So, I begin the process of what George Herbert Mead refers to as minded deliberations trying to determine what my next course of action should be. Five minutes go by and then it is 10 and I’m fighting off what starts out as annoying anxiety. But by about 20 minutes, the anxiety is beginning to mount. I begin racking my brain wondering if I had misunderstood my instructions. I silently pray asking God to protect my son. At 25 minutes, I’m starting to have those crazy thoughts everyone gets when they imagine seeing the car they are driving along side the road, crashed with lots of mangled bodies hanging out. You see yourself, your spouse and your children all laying their dead. The function of the crazy thought is that it encourages cautiousness and you slow down to a more reasonable speed. I’m seeing Tom with some gash on his head kind of like the movie “Deliverance” with his arm twisted up around his back drowned in some crazy position. At 30 minutes, I realize that maybe I should get out of the lifeguard chair and speed walk in the direction he swam, hoping he was on his way back and we would connect that way.

As I’m walking, the broader implications of the situation are beginning to dawn on me. I’m going to have to do something more if I don’t come across him soon. I put that thought out of my head and climb up into the lifeguard chairs that are positioned equidistant intervals along the beach. I get up as high as I can, but I still can’t see him. I continue. As I’m problem solving this situation, I wonder if maybe Tom got out of the water and went to the path to get back to the car. He’s planning on a 20 mile bike ride following his swim. “That’s it!” I thought. So, I move off the beach and onto the path that goes back to where the parking area is. When I get to the car, his bike is still there and no son. My heart sank. I’m fighting off thoughts of planning his funeral as the crazy thoughts intensify.

I know now I have to call his mother, my wife. It takes me back to when I was watching the boys and my wife had gone out to shop or exercise and I had “daddy duty.” In one instance, the boys are rough housing and one falls into the fireplace mantle. Blood starts squirting and I did what any rational, sane father. I panicked and called my wife. I thought I was done having to put the proverbial tail between my legs when the kids got hurt and I was in charge. In this case the child is almost 25 years old. I can hear my wife now. I’m dead meat!

Well, I played with the cell phone for a minute or so and then looked at my watch. It had been 40 minutes since I last saw my son. I called. It was still early. There’s no answer when I call. The answering machine begins and when I hear the beep, I leave this message. “Cindy. It’s me. Can you pick up the phone? I really need you to pick up the phone.” I hang up, pause and dial again. This time she picks up immediately.

“Cindy, I can’t find Tommy.”

She responds, “What? What do you mean you can’t find Tommy? You’re supposed to be walking right along side him as he swims!”

“I didn’t know that. I sat on the lifeguard chair and watched him swim from there. I figured he’d keep track of me and turn around.”

She interrupts, “Buzz, last night Tommy explained what he needed. Why do you think he asked me if I’d like to take a walk along the beach?”

Now I’m thinking, I would interpret that walk along the beach thing very differently. My idea of a walk along the beach is to walk out onto the beach and sit. You sit on a blanket, you sit at a picnic table and in this instance you sit on the tall lifeguard chair.

Cindy continues, “You’ve got to call the Coast Guard right now! What beach are you on?”

I respond, “Beach, beach, I’m on the beach.”

Cindy fires back in that “momma bear” tone, “Are you telling me you don’t even know what beach you’re on?”

I realize the beaches are numbered and she is trying to get me to get the right information for the Coast Guard. I continue, “Ok…ok… I’ll run out to the parking area and get the beach number and call the Coast Guard. Then I’ll call back after I’ve talked with them.” I run as fast as I can to the sign and it says Beach 6. I dial 911 for the first time in my life.

And the female operator asks, “What’s your situation?”

I ask, “Can you patch me through to the Coast Guard?”

The operator asks me again, “What’s your situation?” implying she isn’t going to do anything unless she knows specifically what is going on.

I communicate, “My son is training for a triathlon and I haven’t seen him in 40 minutes. He’s swimming in the lake.”

Operator communicates, “I’ll call the Coast Guard.”

A male voice asks me the same thing as the 911 operator, “What’s the situation?”

I repeat the same thing, “My son is training for a triathlon and I haven’t seen him in 40 minutes. He’s swimming in the lake.”

The serviceman from the Coast Guard repeats in small phrases the same thing I am saying to him and it is obvious he is on the radio to whoever they are going to send in for a search and rescue.

The Coast Guard dispatcher asks me, “what does your son looks like?”

I calmly report, “He’s a big guy, about 6’3”. He’s wearing a black wet suit. You can’t miss him.” As soon as I made the last statement, I realize how stupid it sounds. I missed him. And I ask myself, How could I miss him, you big dummy?

The dispatcher asks me for my name and I tell him, “My name is Tom Matta.” He pauses and I can hear him talking in a muffled tone to the people that he will send out. “Do you have everything ready to roll there? On my signal you’ll proceed to Beach 6.”

Now this phone conversation is taking place all the while I am walking back to the beach from the Beach 6 sign on the far end of the parking lot. So, I am now facing the direction that I’m expecting the Coast Guard boats to come.

As I hear him continue to bark out orders, my attention shifts from my looking at my feet as I walk in the sand to a person I see way off in the distance. The person is walking toward me and I can see that the upper portion of a wet suit is hanging down in front. And at that moment, the person begins to use both arms to wave at me to get my attention. It’s my son! Tommy! I yell into the phone, “I found him. It’s him. He’s waving to me.”

The Coast Guard dispatcher, asks “ is he still in the water or is he waving from the beach?”

I answer back, “He’s on the beach. He’s on the beach! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so-o much!”

“That’s all right, Tom. That’s what we’re here for.”

I hang up the phone and make a beeline to my son. I call my wife in the meantime to share the good news. I start to tear up and then catch myself. We meet and stop looking at each other quizzically.

I begin, “You almost got picked up by the Coast Guard.”

We both recognized some serious miscommunication took place and each of us took responsibility for the part we each played in this fiasco. When we got back to the house, I found myself asking both sons, “are you hungry for some breakfast? How about some good coffee? Another cup? I just wanted to wait on them and serve them.

I honestly cannot remember the last time I was that frightened. I also felt “dumb as a box of rocks.” I think of myself as a good parent, but watch out for the lapses!

Hats off to the 911 operator and the Coast Guard dispatcher! Thanks again.

Matta has Mentoring Moment with Virginia Satir

This twenty minute exchange with one of the masters of family therapy continues to impact me over 20 years later. The following is a transcript of that exchange. My mother had passed away six months prior to this training with Virginia Satir and I was trying to decide on whether I was capable of going on for a doctorate. I did not expect to delve into trust issues with my father. As you can see the work becomes very personal. Virginia’s magic is in how she weaves universal human struggles into the framework of the discussion. She used everyday language, although she could be poetic, to accomplish this. That was part of her magic. In this way, everyone in the training or the therapy room is impacted.

March 3, 1986 (Gabriola Island, British Columbia)

Following the first day, Virginia Satir begins many of the following training days with a “temperature reading” to check on the pulse of the group and identify various issues that may be going on with group members.

Tom: The puzzle is a tough one for me. I think it reflects some other things but there is a part of me that is afraid of you and your knowledge, of how knowledgeable you are.

Virginia: Let me do something….Can you sit down there? Sit, really sit down. (Virginia motions for a small stool and motions for Tom to sit on it. Tom sits on the stool facing Virginia and she looks directly at Tom and gently takes his face in her hands) Now look at my face. Is that what it feels like? Now at this moment in time, who else am I, Tom?….For you, who else am I?

Tom: My dad (Tom is tearing up and Virginia takes his hand and helps him to his feet)

Virginia: Now, I think that there was another piece to this. You wanted him to be up there and so many times he was down. Are you worried that maybe that all the things I am teaching you will turn out not to be good or I’ll turn out to be a fake or a fraud or something like that.

Tom: I don’t know. I’m not sure

Virginia: What happens to you when I say that to you?

Tom: A part of me says that I know that that is not the case. I do feel safe and secure on some levels. There is a part of me that has been awestruck with some of the things I have been learning.

Virginia: What are you feeling right now?

Tom: There is a part of me that is feeling better, more confident and not as, not as frightened by your knowledge. But you are right. I did want him to be up there.

Virginia: And He fell down so often. Now let me ask you something, have you fallen down in your own estimation, sometimes? Is there something at this moment, that you remember, particularly, where you felt you fell down?

Tom: As an adult or child?

Virginia: Whatever comes to you.

Tom: I remember having a dog, that I did not take good care of that died.

Virginia: What about you and your children at this moment? Do you feel in any way you are falling down with them, Tom?

Tom: When I get angry, I become very angry and I know I am frightening to my kids in that sense. I don’t abuse them, but I know that that rage, there is a rage that is triggered from time to time. And it, I find it frightening.

Virginia: Ok, now, your children being 4 and 2?

Tom: 5 and 2.

Virginia: They must come up to here on you.

Tom: Right.

Virginia: Let me see, a boy and a girl? (Virginia begins a family sculpture that represents my children attached to me.)

Tom: A boy and a girl.

Virginia: Which is the youngest?

Tom: Tommy is the youngest.

Virginia: All right, Tommy, would you come here, please? You’re about this size, right here. You’re right about that size. Now the little girl?

Tom: Natalie.

Virginia: Natalie?….Who shall we have for Natalie? Not real Natalie that conflicts, I don’t like to do that to people.

Tom: Oh, you want me to pick?

Virginia: Why don’t you do that. I picked one, you pick the other.

Tom: Susan

Virginia: Ok. All right now, I think you are a little bit taller. You probably would come up to about here. That’s about right. Now you (woman as little girl) take a hold of your daddy on his belt. And you (man as little boy) take him on his knee.

Virginia: Is your wife shorter than you are?

Tom: Yes, she’s about 5/7.”

Virginia: About 5’7.” Ok. All right. Now, these two little kids can remind you of where you once were with a daddy. What I am sensitive to at this moment in time, is that you were aware of about how you could demolish these children. And that your father often behaved in a demolishing way. And when that happened, it was both frightening. But you learned something from that. How did you learn to effect or to cope with your father’s demolishing actions when you were a little boy?

Tom: I did what he said or I’d get the hell out of the house and stay away.

Virginia: Now what I want you to know is that you have successfully kept your life from your father’s demolishing things. However, while it was successful keeping you here, there is still a lot of pain connected with that. Now, being angry is a human emotion. For you, it is tied up with being out of control. And maybe sometimes you worry about that. What I would like you to do now, is to see yourself when you feel angry, lets say toward this little one, is that you find someplace, where you can, first of all you allow yourselves to breathe, so that your hands feel allright. Then you find a place where you can put him at eye level. He’s got to stand on his own feet, look at him and put your arms out to him and tell him. by that time you won’t be angry any more. And tell him what made you angry. It may even come after you’ve had across word with him. Or that you have been out of or maybe you’ve been irrational. So you have a chance to help him to know. You can make contact with him. And when he gets angry, then you will teach him how he can do the same thing. This anger that you have and that kids have and everybody has from time to time contains the wish to let the self have more security in some way. But it comes out in such a way so that it is fearful. When it is accompanied by guns or power like a grownup to a child, it is frightening and dangerous. So you have a chance, not to have to put your anger down, but to begin to just be aware of it and help your children when you are able to just share with them. They will understand and when they get angry then you can do the same with them and help them to tell you what’s going on so you don’t push it down but you help them to be able to deal with it. Now, can you see yourself doing that?

Tom: Yes I can.

Virginia: Why don’t you pick up your little one here and let’s see what happens. Maybe at this moment in time he has been nagging someone and you’ve got yourself centered. And now you just reach down and pick him up and tell him what you are angry about.

Tom: Bob I’m angry with you….Bob… (laughs)

Virginia: That’s not your, that’s not his name.

Tom: Let me think.

Virginia: If you are not angry now you have to say ‘I have been,” because if you are not angry now…

Tom: I’m not angry now. Ok. I’ve been angry with you with the way you’ve been nagging me. You’re not letting me get some things done around here that need to be done.

Virginia: Ok, now tell him what you would like him to do

Tom: I’d like you to go into the den and you know the puzzles you really enjoy doing I’d like you to get those out and put those together while I finish cleaning up the kitchen.

Virginia: Now, this child is 2. Ok, now, one of the things you need to know about 2 year olds. Their attention span is short.

Tom: So, it needs to be short and to the point.

Virginia: Not only that, but…

Tom: Bob doesn’t look like 2.

Virginia: I know he doesn’t look like 2. And neither do 2 year olds a lot of times. They look like, I hear people say that 2 year olds are bigger than I am. What you are doing right now, connecting with him and telling him that you are busy at this moment and that there’s puzzles there for him. This is what will help him to feel ok. Cause, something at some point in time, Children have to be, want to go and be validated. So they, you watch, if you go to a park or something there are parents there. The kids run off, they’ll play a little bit and come back they want to get validated. Just to touch a parent. Or when somebody at home, the kids come back to do that. And so all the parent has to do is eye level them and connect with them and maybe hug them a little bit and then say well they can do that and you’re busy at this moment, whatever that is. And then at a certain point in time you allow some time to just. Well a one minute with the child that’s fully present between you and the child is already a great big gift and the child feels ok about it. In fact, thirty seconds might even do it. So that these are the things you have in mind. So you are accomplishing a couple of things. You’re putting yourself in a position where you now can share and you are also aware of what makes him feel secure. So, you can also share with him whatever it is in terms of your feeling and also that needs to be repeated when he gets angry because every once in awhile those two are going to fight, Hey that’s kind of what it is. It is important for you to just receive that information because that’s the way they learn. They don’t learn from “Don’t push your sister.” Or don’t you do that to your brother. Have you noticed that didn’t do much?

Tom: That’s right.

Virginia: All right, how are you feeling right now?

Tom: Really enlightened and very warm inside.

Virginia: Good. Now let’s look at your daughter. See and again with children you don’t wait until they need validation. When you go by them, you can just touch them somewhere and tell them how wonderful they are and what you just noticed that was so marvelous. In other words to give to them validation not only when they do things wrong, but just for their being. And your hands and your voice will be the most telling part of that.

Tom: Natalie, I’ve been angry with you, with the whining and the crying you’ve been doing lately. I know I haven’t been able to attend to you. Uhh… I’m trying to think in 5 year old terms. I haven’t been able to play with you today, but I’ve got this kitchen to get cleaned up. And uh, what I’d like to do is get that done first.

Virginia: At five she might even be able to help you. Can you figure out some way she could help you?

Tom: I sure could!!….How about if you come in with me and I’ll let you put the forks and spoons in the drawer?

Virginia: See there’s a creative part, also.. There’s a creative part that goes with recognizing that children, children love to be a part of what’s going on. And when they can do something it is a marvelous thing. So the parent can be more creative about involving the child in that regard. Remember something, the energy is just almost 100% moving with children. It just needs direction. And the direction is not only in what you do, but in just being connected and being around. If you see some of the tapes that I’ve done, you see the children around and they’re doing wonderful things and they’re around. They’re little kids. But the atmosphere is one in which it is a connected atmosphere. So, you’ll find that. How are you feeling inside yourself right now?

Tom: Warm, kind of a pleasant tearful.

Virginia: And how do you feel with me?

TomVery good (embrace)

A Father’s Protection

Whenever Dad would start on one of his tirades, we would try to find closets and hide under the beds. We would either be under the bed alone, or there might be two or three of us children. And Dad had these humongous hands with stovepipes for fingers and big forearms. So, when we scampered under the bed, we held hands and prayed. Sometimes we’d be under different beds praying, asking God to make it stop. And then while we’re under the bed and Dad’s in the room, and we start look at each wondering who he was going to get this time cause he always got somebody. Dad would do this thing where his arm and his hand would be reaching trying to grab onto someone. This huge hairy hand and forearm would grab at the air like a bad horror movie. He’d find somebody’s arm or leg and slowly drag that child out while we children were screaming. It was just as terrifying watching your brother or sister being dragged from under the safety of the bed, as it was to be the person to receive the beating. What’s really fascinating is that when we’re praying under the bed, I do remember this kind of calm presence. I do attribute it to the presence of God. It was not ego-syntonic. It was something outside of myself. I don’t think I was disassociating. But it was like this calmness, and his hand would come under the bed, and you’re like “Oh my gosh, God, please…”

I contrast those experiences from what I wanted from my Dad. Mom could con him sometimes, to take one of the kids to go pick up his paycheck when he was driving the big rig. I couldn’t have been more than seven years old at the time. It must have been August because it was hot and humid. The reason I remember was my dad commented on the heat when he was driving and sweat was beading on his forehead and up and down his arms. We rode in the 18-wheeler cab section and bobtailed from Mount Pleasant to Greensburg on Route 30. There was a bridge there and I think it is still there. And a Sinclair Gas Station just down in the hollow as you got off the exit by the bridge. I still remember this gas station because it had the green brontosaurus for its logo on the sign. As we head into this Sinclair Gas Station dad pulls the rig to the pumps for diesel fuel. The gas station has two mechanic bays and a separate area for the customers to walk in and pay for their gas. Dad gives me a nickel and motions to the soda machine for a bottle of pop. This was a real treat, because first of all we didn’t get out often being on the farm and the idea of a bottle of pop was like heaven. I begin to walk toward the pop machine while dad gases up the truck. As I’m getting my pop, I notice two rather large German Shepherds. And one of them is chained, the other one isn’t. And as a farm kid, the only experience I’ve had with dogs is our beagle, Bootsie. She was just as friendly as could be. I didn’t really think of dogs being a threat or dangerous. These were big dogs and I get my pop and walk over, and start to pet one of them. Just then there’s a semi-truck coming into the station. I heard this rumbling sound, and I just assumed it was the truck. And when I went to turn back around, the dog springs towards me. I think I mistook the dog’s growl for a semi coming into one of the diesel bays to refuel. As I reflect on it now, no one told me that you don’t pet dogs in that kind of weather. In that one leap, the dog knocks me to the ground. I can still see that pop flying out of my hand, kind of in slow motion. As a child we didn’t get pop very often except at Christmas. Funny the things you think about in the midst of a crisis. And the dog is trying to scratch at my eyes and go for my throat. As this is happening, I am trying to protect my face with my hands and arms, opening and closing my eyes to see where the German Shepherd is trying to bite me. At a moment when my eyes were open I can see the shape of a large hand moving just above the neck of the dog. I know that hand. That’s my dad’s hand, the same hand that came after us when we were hiding under the bed! I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in all my life. My dad’s hand grabs onto the scruff of the German Shepherd’s neck and he picks the dog up like a rag doll with one hand. He starts to shake it, still with one hand. And through my scratched face, dog saliva and sweat and tears I can see the dog is concerned for its own welfare. The dog starts yelping and my dad throws it off to the side. The gas station owner comes out asking my dad, “What are you doing to my dog?” And if there was ever a time I wanted my dad to swear at someone it was this clueless man. My Dad says, “What the hell do you mean, what am I doing to your dog? Look what your dog did to my son!” I’m layin’ there, all scratched and bleeding. I managed to protect my throat, but had my dad not intervened, I don’t think I would have been able to prevent much more serious injury. But when I think of my Dad, it is one of the best memories I have. He showed me he was capable of taking the power of who he was as a man, and use it for what I think it was intended. I don’t have a whole lot of recollections like that, but in that one experience I realized that male strength could bring health and life through protection and not just death and destruction.

Pigs Run Wild!

From 1957-1963 our family lived on a small farm in a place called Mount Pleasant and on Mount Joy road. It was a veritable children’s paradise. In addition to pasture, woods and streams, there were all sorts of wild and domesticated animals. My father moved my mother and we children away from the city. And of course he was going to raise some animals. He purchased two piglets and purchased special feed that was sure to fatten them up in record time for slaughter. He couldn’t wait for the smell of lard, bacon and ham steaks sizzling on the stove in a Griswold skillet. Well, my dad was a truck driver and gone a good portion of the week. Sometimes, he’d be gone a couple of weeks or so it seemed. I remember helping slop the hogs but there are other recollections that stand out more. My older sister got the bright idea that these pigs were just the right size for us to ride. I was about 5 and she was a couple of years older. And the pigs were kept in the lower portion of a rather large barn. She and I figured out how to cordon off a race course within the barn. And lo and behold we began what is known as “Piggie Races.” Racing the pigs was such a great time and somehow we knew not to mention this to our father. Over time, our dad became very frustrated with the pigs. They grew but they had muscles. And he remarked that they were the leanest pigs he had ever seen. He even went and pitched a fit to the feed mill that sold him the special fattening slop mix. Many months went by with Diane and I and sometimes our younger brother Dan riding these pigs. Finally, our dad came home early from road trip to find the pigs hollering and the kids laughing up a storm. He came in to the barn with his hands on his hips and looking so stern, kinda mad. “What are you kids doing to my pigs?” Diane looked at him and gave him that smile that only she could give and he bust out laughing. I thought to myself, “Phew, that was a close one!”

Now these pigs liked my dad. I don’t know how they figured out that he was such a nice guy. Maybe it was that special feed he always seemed to be putting in their slop. On one Sunday afternoon, the family was sitting in the yard between the house and barn. It sloped from the high side of the road and front of the house and leveled off down by the shanty out back. Our grandparents had come for a visit and were sitting on the side-porch. Our granddad, Big Jim, was well over 300 pounds and very much like jolly ol’ Santa Claus. We always enjoyed having him around. He’d play cards and sing to us children. My dad was sitting in the grass reading the Sunday comics. There were times when my dad let the pigs out of the barn and they seemed to stay close by. Well, on this particular Sunday afternoon, the pig that was beginning to get rather large starts to stare at my father. But dad is reading the comics and is not paying attention. As we watched, the pig moseys up to where my dad is seated. My father was a tall man and he sat on the ground with his long legs bent at the knee and paper in his lap. As the pig stares, it walks past my father and directly in front of where he’s seated. When the pig gets just past my father, it begins to move backwards guiding his body in the direction of my father. Imagine a pig trying to look backwards to see where he’s going. As this is happening all the children are looking at each other and our grandfather. Our grandfather realizes something very unusual and interesting is happening and he sits up and forward to pay closer attention. If you didn’t know it, you might have thought that the pig was a big rig just like my dad drove because he was looking over his shoulder trying to direct this big body toward my father. And as if this pig knew how to drive in reverse, he backs into my father’s lap and sits down on the Sunday funny papers and my father’s hands. Now, I don’t want to be guilty of anthropomorphizing a pig, but this pig sits on its hind legs, front legs straight and puts a smile on his face, like “look at me,” I did it! At the moment the pig sits in my dad’s lap the entire family including my grandfather erupts in laughter. My father never saw it coming! We still tell this story in our family!