As I reflect back on my life the flashes and images in my mind appear much like the playing
of an old 60’s movie. For this particular movie, I am the editor who continually fast forwards, rewinds, adds, and at times deletes certain scenes as they replay themselves over and over again. This movie never stops playing. I have seen it time and time again throughout my life and watch it still to this day.
The first series of images in my mind come very sharp, hard, and vivid. They all revolved around my father and his return from the Vietnam War. For him, the war was not over. It filtered into the home making it a war zone all its own.
With a jolt, I recall an experience I had around the age of seven. At the time, I had no idea that my father was having a flashback of Viet Nam. So, the experience was extremely terrifying for me to say the least. What began as a fishing trip with my father turned into a terrifying experience. My father and I were franticly running from the Viet Con; darting behind trees, ducking behind rocks, jumping in and out of creek beds, and hiding beneath the roots of a tree pushing out from the side of the creek bank. The Viet Con was all around us waiting to slit our throats with a smile on their faces. There could be no whimpering or screams of fear or we would surely be killed. We remained still, hidden, and as quite as a fish swimming through the water until my father concluded we had evaded them. But, in my fear stricken state of mind, I found myself frozen beneath the roots at the bank side I had embedded myself into too terrified to crawl out. With not much recollection of what took place next, my mind flashed to yet another experience that had burned itself into my memory banks.
I can hear my fathers’ blood curdling screams echoing in my ears. I see the fear in his face and the thrashing of his arms as he tries to fight off gigantic pinching bugs and spiders coming after him. They are coming out of walls and ceiling. My mom is standing on a chair franticly trying to kill the spiders so my father will stop screaming. I’m scared. I don’t understand. I don’t see any monster size bugs or spiders. Are they really there? Am I the only person who doesn’t see them? Should I be frightened? Has daddy gone crazy? As the questions continue to roll through my mind, I can feel myself beginning to panic. Then, I look to my mother and ask, mommy why is daddy screaming like that? What are you doing up there? She looks in the direction of my father and replies, “I’m killing these giant spiders.” You see, they are all gone.” My father screams out, “There is another one, kill it, kill it!” Mommy’s tone changes and she shouts, “NO, it’s just a spot on the ceiling!” “They’re gone now!” “Trust me, they are all gone!” My body is trembling as I move from this scene into the next.
I now know my father’s emotional and mental breakdown was a result of an acid trip. When we think of the sixties, one of the first things that comes to mind is the drug culture during that era in which, my father was a huge part of. He and his small tribe did anything from acid to LSD to smoking marijuana. With this being said, my mind floats once again back into the past for recall of yet another drug related experience.
I’m mowing the yard and come across what my father calls “Pot” growing in the back yard. It’s his prized possession in which he forbade me to touch. My child mind is racing with thoughts. I don’t like the weird smell that fills the house when he bakes this nasty stuff in the oven. I despise the way it makes daddy act. This junk is all that is important to him. I’ll show him. In a sudden, adrenaline filled reaction; I mow it down and have a strong sense of satisfaction in doing so. The consequences of this action are too painful to fully recall. I do, however, have remembrance of a leather strap swinging at me wildly with no care “nor” concern as to where or how it makes contact with my skin.
The images in my minds’ eye are coming faster now. Flash! My mother is flat on the floor with my father sitting on top of her. His hands are wrapped around her throat. Flash! The smell of alcohol is so strong I can taste it in my mouth. Flash! I’m physically trying to fight my father – punching, kicking, clawing. Flash! A twelve gauge shotgun being held to my head. Flash! My parents are getting a divorce after eighteen years of marriage. Flash! Flash! Flash! I move from this chapter of my life and into the next.
