I believe I've already stated that my dad didn't have a very good childhood. An only child, he was born to a couple fun-loving party people that chose to spend their time frequenting clubs where they could drink, smoke, gamble, and socialize with others. They didn't have any desire to be saddled with a child. Because of their twisted priorities, dad was raised by his grandmother (his mom's mom) in New Jersey instead. While that might have seemed fine, it apparently was not. I don't really have any idea of what he had to endure or things he might have been denied while growing up. I'm pretty sure his grandfather doled out pretty harsh punishment. It's likely that he grew up with a chip on his shoulder knowing he wasn't wanted--I don't know. His already troubled young life was really shattered when he was 12 years old. That's when his grandmother, his guardian, protector, and nurturer, suddenly died. She was apparently all he had. At that time he was shipped off by his grandfather to Algona, where his biological "party-parents" were living--probably to the tune of, "He's your kid... Take him!" I'm assuming he and his grandpa didn't see eye to eye otherwise he would probably not have been sent away. Being stuck between two families and finding out that neither of them want you has got to be quite a mind job. Add that to what has already rocked his boat and its easy to see how he could grow up with issues. As an adolescent in the fifties, he fell into the stereotypical male lifestyle that has been romanced ever since: The slick-haired, jeans-wearing, leather-jacketed, cigarette-smoking symbol of rebelliousness that was the teenager of the day. He embraced motorcycles, hot-rods, and racing. He portrayed the rebel/loner without too much effort. After all--he was already living it.
My mom was also an only child, but her family circumstances were very different. She was born to a hard-working conservative couple. My grandpa Arlie was not a dreamer--he had a job that was one of the coveted blue-collar jobs of the time: the railroad. He was a hard-working man that was perpetually busy. It was only in his advancing years that I ever saw him idle and enjoying his favorite westerns on TV from the comfort of his recliner. He loved building things and learning how to do things if he needed to accomplish. For whatever reason, he and grandma waited quite a while before adding my mother to their lives. Maybe it was grandpa's work ethic. Maybe he just didn't have time. I don't know. I remember wondering at times that maybe my grandma just didn't know what sex was. I never did see the two of them sharing an intimate moment of any kind while I was growing up. Maybe it was a brief moment in their lives--a time when they said, "Let's get this over with." Maybe it was a case of kids getting in the way. I do know that my mom's mom came from a decent-sized family. Maybe she wasn't all that thrilled about having a big family... just like I was? She had two sisters and a brother, all living fairly close by, so during my childhood there was always some sort of family get-together going on.
Mom wasn't raised in a religious environment, but she was raised in a household that had rules and respect. I don't know if she was ever paddled or not during her childhood. As level-headed as she has always been, she just has never struck me as the type that would have done anything to get herself in trouble to earn any kind of punishment. I'm sure my dad was though. Getting into trouble probably came naturally to him. He dished out the same method of discipline onto me that he undoubtedly received when he was growing up, and I hated him for it. Even though I came from an era when punishment was doled out without hesitation, whether it was by parent, teacher, or principal, I always hated my dad for his methods as well as his reasons. He used a wide, leather belt. He didn't whack just once or twice either, depending on his level of anger at the time he might sometimes keep going until mom hollered, "That's enough!" Just based on that there's little doubt that he was beaten during his childhood, and maybe severely--I don't know. I only knew that such a thing would never happen in my house. During Sarah's childhood she got swats every now and then, and always amounted to one swat on the butt with a hand. Not more than one, and never with a belt. I wouldn't have even considered such a thing.
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