My Mama Told Me to Avoid Girls Pt. 01

My Mama told me if I avoided girls I'd have a nice life part 1.

Copyright Catcher78 all right's reserved.

Nobody in this story was fucked or fucked somebody that was eighteen.

Growing up poor affects as you go to the surplus food places with your parents in Seattle. You look around hoping that nobody you know sees you first, cause you can try to hide if you see them first. I was never sure where to hide, but once I ran away from my parents inside one of the stores. Later on after I started to think about things after getting the shit kicked out of me by my older brother, who had gotten the shit beat out of him by my war hero dad. He was truly at fault not me.

But I'd realized that it was my dad's fault we were poor. Not mine. He probably had PTSD (He was a bomber pilot, got shot down near Trieste returning from bombing the ball bearing factory somewhere in German in some unpronounceable city. He broke his back and walk with for nine hundred and fifty miles from Trieste to Bucharest, Romania and the English army, who treated him like a malingerer.

Ultimately they rebroke his back and casted him up but that's why he was nuts)

I had come to grips with being poor, except the part about being forced to eat really shitty food, canned mutton from the surplus stuff. The shit was as near as we had settled on preserved in formaldehyde. I knew even then about starving kids in India and China (give me some rice please) the smell was so fucking foul and the smell of it clung to everything. My dad would acclaim its wonder.

My mom would eat toast those nights, but it was not an allowable side order for me or my two brothers. The one that beat the shit out me was seven years older than me and the oldest brother, who we called the great white hope (very low voices when we did that), was eleven years older than me.

The big age gap, was explained by my abuser thusly, that I was a mistake. My mom, a poor man's wife, explained to me while we watched Chet Huntley report from McPartland Hospital in Dallas the day JFK was assassinated, that your dad had cheated on me and I almost threw him out and well when they got back together I showed up. Parts of both explanations had the clarion of truth about them.

I started doing two things somewhere along there. I read a lot. It seems I was deemed smart. I had an uncle who played ball forth Chicago White Sox and my grandmother got me a subscription to the Sporting News. They would have all the box scores and the paper would arrive once a week and I'd read the box scores from two and three weeks before. I was four. He was a catcher and played in the bigs for thirteen years. He was released when I was in kindergarten and just getting the hang of reading.

I started playing ball. Baseball, basketball and football. I was big and could run. I could run really well. I absolutely loved playing and practicing basketball and baseball. Football practices were mine numbing boring. Screaming coaches, slapping your helmet and running drills over and over again.

Football games were violent and full of rage. Honestly the one thing I enjoyed was hitting guys with my helmet. Anywhere, blocking or tackling was how they taught it, put your hat on him.

Hitting a baseball in batting practice or games remains as close to sex as anything I've ever done. Almost but not quite.

I got very good at that by the time I was thirteen.

The abuser and the great white hope had left and were married both.

It was 1968, there was a war in Vietnam and the asshole was over there and I was worried for him. The great white hope, almost died at the Air Force Academy, blood clots and terrible doctors, they killed him a few years later.

But in 1968 the Boeing company's payroll dropped from 150,000 people to 45,000 people. We lived in a house on Queen Anne Hill that they bought on the GI Bill for $7,000. The payment was $44 a month. Pops sold insurance and he did not sell much insurance that year.

Mom came to the rescue, making money on her back. This girl came up to me in school and asked me to get my mom to stop fucking her dad. That night dad was out not selling insurance (I had no idea where the fuck he was) and I brought the subject up to my mom.

It was awkward. I had not admitted to either parent that I was aware of things sexual, so this was a difficult thing to do and it did not go well for me. After listening to me she said, well he's a twice a weeker. That's forty bucks. That's most of my mortgage payment. No dinner for you for four days a week.

I turned and walked away and said nothing more about it, in fact I quit talking to her. She would come to watch me play baseball and sit in the wooden bleachers. Men would come up and offer to light her cigarettes. All the other mothers shunned her.

It was mortifying. But that was her fault not mine.

I was in my junior year in high school just before the high school season when she was diagnosed with cancer, March first. She died on June 17th.

After the funeral all these people brought glass dishes full of casseroles. I did not know what to do with them. We had this tiny little Frigidaire with tiny a freezer compartment. There was nowhere to put the casseroles. They were all over the counters and started to smell, so threw them in the garbage cans in the alley.

They started showing up, the casserole ladies that is, wanting their dishes back.

I lied and said I brought them to church. We had not been to church since I was seven, but I hoped they didn't know that.

When I was eighteen a beautiful blond girl came up to me and we were instant lovers. At least I loved her. Instantly, the most amazing thing that had eve happened to me. I told her and she was uncomfortable saying it back to me. Somewhere in there my dad married his secretary, who he'd been fucking while my mom was dying. I did not like her or him really at that point.

Then the great white hope died, blood clot to his heart in a hospital toilet, kind of ignominious of an ending, then my dad almost died oh and the blond girl started fucking my friends and then fucked several others at a party. I went into the Navy right at the end of all of that shit.

I had perceived that I was basically alone and married this beautiful funny bright woman who was my life and we had kids and lived a long life well into my sixties.

We had downsized and I saw this old banker's box that had my beloved wife's personnel file from when we were first married and she worked for a bank in downtown Seattle Over a two year period she had been admonished for having an affair with her boss.

I felt that my whole life was a lie. I had wondered about my middle son, if he was mine. I loved him, and his older sister and younger brother, but we had miraculously conceived in a onetime fuck. Looking back at everything, her brother's wife announced she was pregnant the same weekend we fucked and two weeks later my wife was pregnant. She had the baby on August 27th and her brother's wife delivered her daughter on September 2nd. Our nurse midwife said our son was born in the forty second week. Our event happened when she'd been pregnant three weeks or so.

After the whole banker box thing, turns out there were some other events in her life, more bosses, kind of her kink I guess.

But I just kept doing what I do, which is to write about the local baseball team, the Seattle Mariners and I'm an economist too and work with clients, so I keep busy.

So I had to follow my wife down the freeway to her car dealer to get some work done today and she left the car there.

On the way home she gets a call from this friend of hers that I've never seen wanting my mom's recipe for meatloaf, which I though was strange. She's one of my wife's girl's night out friends and has been for some time.

I was later writing a literotica story about some hilarious floozy when my wife comes in tells me she's going to a Billy Joel concert with the meatloaf lady who my wife assured her that I would not want to come (suggesting I would not want to walk up to the nosebleed seats in the stadium) I saw the reverse psychology at play, but realized it was all her problem not mine.

Finally nearing midnight, she was all excited and told me they were going to take a quick trip to San Diego right around the first of the month, her friend is divorced and my wife said it sounded like fun.

My mom was right.