Who’ll Stop the Rain?

 

 

 

On a sunny morning in 2010 I was sitting on my porch in Berry Creek having coffee. The house was one of three on Oak Tree Drive. There was one directly across the street, and one more exactly a block away. The one I was at was the “Big House.” The one with the columns.

 

My son and his uh, “wife” were in a battle with the Texas Child Protective Services. Between drugs, no water, and various STDs they had major issues with the great state of Texas. The department has had many issues with removal of children. You’ve heard all the stories. This was not one of those. These are people who would be lynched in 1880. This was far from the porch in Berry Creek. Until the next morning. Pam, my then wife was meeting with the aforementioned pair in court to try and salvage their relationship with the department and being able to keep their four children. Yeah! Four, ages eighteen months to two years or so. Fed sugar water to leave money for drugs.

 

For some reason beyond my simple mind Pam came home, packed up and left me. No big deal. I’ve been left before.  I did switch from coffee to whiskey. I’m gonna be honest with you. Getting left is something I’m well-versed in. I’ve been left by the best . . . and a few also rans. But as we began to sell off properties I took note that this may be more serious than was first perceived.

 

I’m not going to bore you with the ins and outs. Just be aware that they were going in and out of me. My son and wife split up. This is my surprised face. Pam got the kids and my son’s wife moved in with me as the Titanic on Oak Tree Drive went down. Since the CPS had chased my daughter in law off, she moved in with me. I was designated as the official son of a bitch, once removed so I was forbidden see the kids until I was shed of her.

 

Now, I’m no fool. I was faced with a moral dilemma. Run her off and be alone with a one-eyed cat, and get to watch four babies, or throw caution to the wind and stay in place. Who knows. Could be some trim there. There wasn’t, of course but not because I’m such a great guy. There was an alphabet soup involved here. Jackie, that was her name, had HPV! I don’t know what the hell HPV is but there is an H and a V there and that was too close to HIV for me, so I got ED! I lived through the 80’s, never been to an STD clinic in my life and she wasn’t that cute!

 

So, she’d go to visit my son at the methhouse every Thursday while I came to town to help Pam with the business. Oh yeah. We were still in the real estate business, but I had to slip in through the back door to work on the company books. I’d sit there with kids crawling all over me, calling me, PaPa, which I wasn’t, but I’ll get to that later, and picked Jackie up on the way back to Berry Creek to make martinis for yet another night in the promised land.

 

Since I was now the pedophile designate, I had to run and hide whenever the CPS came by. There was a spot out by the fence where I could crouch down and pretend to be a bush while they combed the house like I was Anne Frank. I don’t have to tell you that this got really old really fast. So, in a brilliant stroke I jumped on a plane one day and relocated to California. I had a son out there who was in the Navy. Perfect life, perfect family and imperfect me! To make things short I was not California material. I was working on a first-class alcohol problem by then so back to Texas I went.

 

My Texas life was gone. Kids didn’t know me, Pam remarried, I was broke so Pam’s new husband put me up in a garage apartment. Down, out, and without means and a drunk. Jackie had fled to Oregon by that time, so I was relieved of my status of untouchable and the kids were allowed to be around me again. And they were around a LOT! There were five by this time because Jackie had cloned herself yet again and had another one in her very used oven. Six kids and not one daddy in sight.

 

This is as good a time as any to explain my family status in relation to this tribe. Recently one of the twins, growing tired of the family game, “Who’s Yo Daddy?” And took his Christmas money to settle the matter once and for all. And not no 23 and Me shit! Uptown, laboratory standard, catch a killer DNA. We all waited for the results and it wasn’t no twenty-four hour turnaround. When it did arrive, it had been ascertained that I wasn’t even related to my damn self. My entire family history was a lie. My first wife had kids by whomEVER, and of all the subsequent relationships that I’d had over the years no little me’s had been produced. I had been with the supposed mother of my two “legitimate” sons for well over five years after the birth of bastrado number two and she never missed a period. I was shooting blanks! The good news is . . . LADIES?

 

But, as things would have it the CPS came calling again.  CPS caseworkers are like roaches. Once you have them, they’re hard to get rid of. So, Pam, NewHubby, and all five kids moved to Utah to start a new life. I stayed in Texas to watch the two houses. My son, remember him? Well, he came around all the time breathing the air and a little light stealing to keep his medicine cabinet full. He kept going on and on about reconciling with Jackie, but she was out there in Oregon smoking up all that free grass and didn’t intend to go nowhere. Girl has seen more rehab than John Lennon. WITH her God Damn HPV!

 

Pam’s husband was suffering from the effects of Agent Orange. Man was a national treasure. Three Bronze Stars with valor, two silver, couple Purple Hearts and a Congressional Medal of Honor. Man must have attacked North Vietnam with a sling shot. Now his own government was doing what the Viet Cong couldn’t. He’d go for blood in Salt Lake City and down to Texas for chemo. I’d watch the kids. He had adopted the kids. They got his army benefits. The minute the papers were signed he died on us. His job was done. He’d taken his last hill. I miss him terribly.

 

You’d think this would be the end of the story. Pam and I would reunite, move back to Berry Creek, kids would grow up to be doctors and lawyers and such. Kiss my ass! Hell just started. As the kids grew, they morphed into JackieTims. Timmy was my son’s name by the way. I forgot to tell you that. And they hate my guts! You gotta understand that these are meth babies and not MY babies.  The two oldest are REALLY methed out. The twins? They came about right after Jackie got out of the Austin State Hospital ie the Texas insane asylum, so their minds seem to be right. The youngest? Don’t get me started.

 

I could tell you more. I could tell you about the pandemic, my hospitalization, the movie business that resulted from all of this but what good would it do? Every life is different. Each person’s trail takes a different route. What worked for me may not work for you. Just know that I walk alone. And I’m ok with that. All I ever wanted was to have my family back. But I could never have what I never had in the first place. My advice? Be happy with who you are, where you are, and when you are. Leave the rest for the museums.