Life Begins Read online

  I am guessing that my father wanted to marry my mother because Jack's parents had gotten married. My father saw how happy Jack's mom made his father. My father wanted the same kind of happiness. And that is where my mother stepped into the picture.

  She had the misfortune of being near him as he was trying to possess something that was beyond his reach. My father played the part of the love of her life. He fed her all of the lines and did everything that he usually did when he was trying to take over a business. He left her weak and defenseless, and then came in for the kill. With the demolition complete, he consumed what was left.

  My mother didn't have to wait long for the demolition to take place. While they were on their honeymoon, my father slept with one of the maids. I am not sure on the exact details. My mom was on several anti-depressants at the time and had a few drinks when she told me that story. What I understood her to say was that the honeymoon had started off romantically. They had sex for the first time that night. It was her first time ever. It was everything that she had always dreamed of. He was soft, sweet, and thought only of her.

  Afterward, he went out for a cigarette. An hour later, my mom went looking for him. She found him down the hallway on top of one of the maids in the closet. She ran back to her room crying.

  My father did go to see about her, once he had finished his business with the maid. And that is when he consumed what was left of my mother. He told her that if she left him, nobody else would take her. She was damaged goods. What would people say about her getting divorced so soon after getting married? What would her family think about her?

  And that was how my parent's marriage was. I wish I could say that there were bright spots, but I doubt that there were any. I can not even say that my birth was a joyous occasion.

  I think that my mother wanted me. She had been pregnant once before. It was two years after they had gotten married. She was supposed to be on the pill, but she wanted a child. I think it was more out of loneliness than anything else. A child would give her somebody to talk to and endure the misery with.

  When my father learned about this first child, he had it aborted. He didn't want a child. My mother was told that if she forgot to take her pill next time, he would get rid of her and the baby.

  And then a miracle happened. Jack's parents became pregnant. My father saw how happy Jack's father was. He then decided that it was time to have a baby. When Jack was born a male, my father had great hopes for me. He was so disappointed that I had been born a girl that he left me and Mom at the hospital. Jack's father was the one that drove us home. I think he is also the one that got my father to let us back into the house. He would never tell me.

  And that is why I owe Jack my very existence. If he had never been born, I wouldn't be here. I can’t comment on whether this is a good thing or not. Jack says that life is nothing but a search for meaning by people who were not asked to be born and who are too afraid to die now that they’re here. I can’t tell if he is being funny or not. I don’t always get a lot of his jokes.

  ~~~

  As I was growing up, I heard nothing about how I should not be here. My family has always been one to tell me that I have a purpose in life. I have been marked for a destiny.

  I was a troubled pregnancy. From what I have heard, my parents tried for many years to have a child. After several miscarriages and eight years of marriage, I was finally conceived. At my mother's first meeting with her doctor, she was told that she would be doing good to deliver me.

  I don't think I have a destiny or purpose in life. If I do, I don't know what it is. My father was strangely silent on this topic. He never treated me like I had a destiny, but it was like him to keep things like that to himself. He had a way of sensing things and knowing things beyond his knowledge. His mother said that he was a chozeh and could see into the spiritual realm.

  When Christine's parents were getting divorced, I asked him about… my birth, destiny, and Christine. It was a rough time for me. For the first time in my life, Christine was away from me. She had been sent to a boarding school to be away from the whole divorce proceedings. I needed answers and assurances that everything would be okay.

  Although I asked him a direct question, he told me a story about the Jewish people. He told me about Joseph being sold into slavery by his brothers and then saving his family and people during a famine. He then told me the story about the Jewish people being in slavery in Egypt and Moses leading them to freedom. He then told me about the Holocaust and the formation of the modern nation of Israel. He then asked me if I understood.

  I didn't. All I saw was that something bad happened to the Jews. We were then rescued only to have something bad happen to us again. My father kind of laughed and then went on to tell me that I Am Who I Am brings about triumph out of tragedy. Where there is evil, there is hope. Where there is hope, there is faith. Where there is faith, there is love.

  I knew that there was an important lesson here that I was supposed to learn, but I had no idea what he was talking about. So I asked him again. He then hugged me and told me that when bad things happen not to look at it as the end. It is just the beginning. He then told me that I should not be looking for my purpose in life. My purpose would find me.

  When I asked him about Christine, he told me that she probably had a greater destiny than I had. When I looked at him strange, he explained that she had the greater tragedy in life. She had the greater chance to triumph.

  When I started to argue that I had been a troubled pregnancy, he cut me off with the fact that my birth led to Christine being born. Maybe I had been born to bring her into the world. Maybe my destiny had already been fulfilled and I should look beyond myself. He then shot me a look as if this was the final word on the subject. I did not fully understand, but I let the subject drop.

  And that was all that my father ever said on the subject. He would die shortly after that, but that story remains for another chapter. I can’t tell all of the most interesting parts of my life in the first chapter.

  ________________________________

  Much of the world I was born into no longer exists. I don’t know if that is a good thing or not. For all of the advancements in the mental health services in regard to the diagnosing of autism, learning disabilities, and other behavior problems in children, there was something freeing about being autistic and not being treated differently.

  I spent the majority of my adult life not knowing I was autistic. I went to normal schools and played with normal children without any special consideration. If I had been born today, I would have an individualized education plan and other special accommodations for being different.

  Some could debate whether it is better to treat autistic people differently, or whether we should treat them the same. I mean, it’s not like they have a disease or have a mental impairment. They think differently. Throughout history, it is believed that autistic people have accomplished great things, but then again they were thought of as being normal. These people include Thomas Jefferson, Henry Ford, Beethoven, Michelangelo, Isaac Newton, Jane Austen, Mark Twain, and Albert Einstein.

  For all of the arguments for special needs, there is also an historical case to be made that autistics can meet the same challenges as normal people and even excel in everyday life. I don’t oppose offering services to help autistic people in areas where they have difficulties, but I do oppose treating them as less than a person.

  When you treat somebody like they have some debilitating disease, they pick up the message that they are lesser. I never had that, and my parents never treated me like I was special needs. They treated me like I was special to them. I was wanted, loved, and cared for.

  Even though I was believed to be normal, I had my quirks. I didn’t do anything until I was ready to do it. I didn’t walk until I decided to do it. My parents tried to teach me to walk. I made my legs go limp and wouldn’t help them in the teaching process. I had a walker, but the actual walking without the use of mechanical assistanc
e wasn’t going to happen until I decided to do it. So one day, I decided to pull myself up with the help of my grandmother’s skirt. I then took a few steps on my own. Unlike most children, I didn’t wobble or teeter. I walked perfectly, as the story goes.

  Autistic people often come off as stubborn. We aren’t. We are also not non-cooperative nor exactly cooperative. We do not understand the world around us and feel more comfortable moving at our own pace.

  Autistics often come across as arrogant. We aren’t, though. We see the world differently and understand it differently. We do not fully understand people. They are like some sort of strange species to us. The only thing we are certain of is ourselves. It is the only thing one can fully know in a confusing world of lights and sounds.

  I don’t remember much of my childhood. I have heard the stories my parents have told me. I know I used to lose myself listening to records. I have seen the home movies of me rocking back and forth to 45s. The stories go that I wouldn’t even respond to my name during these times.

  As a writer, I usually write to music. I find it helps me to feel the emotion I am trying to convey. It is not uncommon for me to listen to the same song repeatedly for hours on end. Before the age of CDs, I would set up the old record player to replay a single over and over again as I worked things out in my mind.

  There are times when the world gets too noisy for me. I have to shut myself off from it and center myself in the silence. I cannot explain it to a normal person, but I like the sound of silence and being away from the world for a little bit like I am some sort of old hermit.

  My parents accepted I was a little different, but to be honest, my differences were somewhat hereditary. I was like my great-grandfather and my uncle. I never knew my great-grandfather, and I didn’t spend much time with my uncle because he lived far away. It is kind of scary to think you can have hereditary behavior from relatives you never really knew. It’s not a learned behavior, but somehow it has gotten passed down.

  I don’t know what my father thought of me. Looking back at his teachings, I see he was tailoring his parenting to me. Instead of trying to get the child to conform to the parent, my father met me where I was and used what I would understand to help to make me into the person he wanted me to be.

  What I remember about my childhood was a great deal of freedom and responsibility. Sunday mornings I was allowed to wake up at 5:30 in the morning and watch The Muppet Show by myself. I would then go back to bed and wake back up a few hours later to get ready for church. I was doing this before I even started school. It was not considered sneaking out of bed or doing something forbidden. They helped me to set my alarm clock.

  I don’t know why my parents let me do this. Maybe they saw no harm in it. Looking back on it, I realize now that even before I went to school, I learned how to tell time and the value of being able to get up for something. These are skills people need in life when they have a job or other responsibilities they have to get up for.

  Since we didn’t have cable, I had to turn the antenna from the northeastern direction to the southwestern direction. I was learning geographical relationships between my town and the bigger cities in the state as well as things like north, south, east, and west.

  My father used my interests to help to teach me life skills and to give me an education. In exchange, I was given a certain amount of freedom to explore and discover the world around me without a fear of getting in trouble.

  I have always had a hard time sleeping. I would lie in bed for a couple of hours and not fall asleep. After the local news would end, my parents would watch Leave It to Beaver. I would either watch it with them, or watch it from the hallway. They knew I was doing it and knew that I had to get up in the morning to go to school. They never acted like this was something I shouldn’t be doing. Maybe they were sharing a part of their own childhood with me or giving me an example of child that could get in trouble in every episode and still come to his parents for help.

  As I look back at all of the lessons that my father taught me, I realize that he taught me through stories, riddles, challenging my thinking, and using things that I enjoyed doing.

  I was special to my parents because I was a difficult pregnancy, but that didn’t mean the rest of the world should think that I am special or treat me special. There is a value to caring about another person, especially when we put them ahead of ourselves and our problem. Life will present you with problems. You can lament this fact, or you can accept them as the particular circumstances you have been given in life and look for ways to overcome them.

  There have been many times since my father’s death I have missed going to him for advice. It took me until I was an adult to realize that he imparted me with not only all of the wisdom I would ever need, but he gave me the philosophies and skills to solve all of the problems I would ever have.

  The best teachers are those that change your life without you ever noticing they were educating you. My father was this kind of man.

  Chapter Two

  As Cruel as School Children

  My childhood was a happy one. My pre-school days were spent with Christine. We played together every day. It was then that I started to love her. I admit that it was a childish love, but it was fun. I remember playing house a lot in those early days. It was always her choice. I didn't care. All I wanted was to spend time with her.

  ~~~

  Jack and I had two very different childhoods. I think we were both jealous of each other and wanted what the other one had. I was what some have called a "little princess" and got whatever material desires I wanted. My father saw me as an extension of himself. For me to project wealth was to project wealth on him. Since that was the image that he wanted, I had the best clothing and toys.

  Jack's father didn't care about giving Jack the best toys. He seemed to be grooming him into a grown-up. Instead of toys, Jack's father would rather spend time with him.

  I remember a time when Jack wanted a toy. His father told him that he didn't need it. Jack then threw a fit. His father then looked at him and talked to him as if he were an adult. He told him quite plainly that the toy would break and would only bring him a temporary happiness. But Jack had learned a few lessons by watching me handle my parents, so he continued the tantrum. His father led him out of the store. I was sure that Jack was going to get the beating of his life.

  The next time I saw him, I asked him what his dad did to him. He told me that after he had been taken out of the store, his father took him to a homeless shelter. He showed him children that didn't have any toys, food, or a home. They relied on the kindness of others for everything that they had.

  I think it was probably one of the most traumatic things to have ever happened to Jack. It's an example of what I loved so much about his father. By that Christmas, Jack had been so deeply scarred that he was too scared to ask for anything. Santa Claus brought him the toy that he threw the tantrum over. That was his father.

  Our parents were the best of friends and of the same financial status, but they had two very different views. My parents always gave me the best things. Jack's always gave him what was best for him. I don't think Jack ever knew how truly lucky he was.

  I would have traded all of my toys just to see my parents look at me liked his looked at him. When Jack was learning to read, there was a look of proudness that I have never seen on my parents' faces. Mine just seemed annoyed that I couldn't read any better than a first grader.

  Jack can kid me about being "a little princess," but he was a little prince. He ruled that house. I don't think there was ever a child who was more loved. Everything that his parents did revolved around him. They didn't give him everything that he wanted, but they gave him what was best for him. My parents were always in a popularity contest. Jack's didn't care if they were popular.

  There is a reason that we played house so much when we were kids. It was an escape for me. My Barbies were still beautiful people that didn't have any problems. Playing house let me escape to an
everyday life where life could be different. Jack was a doting husband. I worked and came home to him every day. I knew that when I grew up that I didn't want to be caged up in the house waiting for a man to come home so I could start my day. I was going to live and come home to the man.

  And for the record, I did let Jack choose. He just usually wanted to play doctor. It's not that I minded. There was a reason that I was never late from work when we were playing house.

  ~~~

  The odd thing about being a child is that you play like you are grown up. There then comes a day when you wish you could return to those days when you didn't really understand what it was like to be a grown up. Christine was my childhood.

  I don't remember anything else but her. It was a love that was pure and honest. Everything just seemed to work.

  I don’t know why it would work, though. We were playing like we thought couples should act. We didn’t fight. The kisses were fake and meaningless. It was more fake than a sitcom. Seriously, the house could catch on fire and we would get bombed by some warlord all within two hours of playing and never have any problems. That is they joy of being a child. You don’t sweat the big stuff. Now if you fall down, that is a problem. But you getting bombed by a warlord is nothing. I wonder what show I was watching back then.

  My childhood ended by the time that I got into kindergarten. Our perfect love couldn't endure the temptation of other men. I mean, Christine couldn't handle the temptation of other men. I didn't turn gay in kindergarten. I haven't turned gay after kindergarten for that matter.

  Anyway, once we got to kindergarten, Christine started to change. We went from playing what we saw on T.V. as the perfect love to what was happening on the soap operas. I was still in love with her, but she was cold and distant. She told me that now that we were at school, she didn't want to play the same as we used to after school. So I gave her some space.