MARRIAGE
I was coming to the end of my time in Guam. My wife wanted a divorce; she got an attorney who drew up papers. She and her attorney called me to a meeting shortly after my release from the car chase ordeal. They wanted me to sign divorce papers which I did not want to do. I did not want to give up so easily. The attorney said she could force me into it somehow, and convinced me to at least sign a legally separated paper. I get angry when I am hurt, so I said, “Fine, you don’t want me anymore? I’ll sign.” I went immediately and filled out a request to be transferred—a request I knew would be granted. I had already done about a year longer than most Navy people do in Guam. In fact, in one week, my transfer was approved, and I was being relocated to a ship homeport of San Diego, the U.S.S. Long Beach CGN-9. This was one of the Navy’s most powerful ships! It was a nuclear–powered cruiser, 735 feet long. I was surprised that the Navy felt I deserved such a highly desired duty station.
I gave my wife all the furniture and household items we had bought in Guam; she agreed that I would keep the Toyota truck we had. I was allowed one vehicle to ship to my new duty station, so I dropped the truck off at the naval base at the other end of the island to make the trip to California. I would pick it up in four to six weeks in Long Beach, California.
As I packed my belongings, I could not help but reflect on all that had occurred in the last two and a half years in Guam. I was pretty sad; the hardest thing to deal with was my failed marriage along with the drug use I had gotten involved in which was way beyond anything I thought I would ever do. I was very concerned about what the future held for me. Would my parents be quick to figure out I was on drugs? What would that do to my relationship with them? Would my marriage somehow end up working out over time? That would be a real miracle. What new job would I be assigned to on the ship? There were so many questions and so many unknowns.
To top all that off, there was this negative buzz going on. President Nixon, the Chief Commander of the Military, was being forced to resign or the public was going to impeach him for the Watergate scandal. Was there anything in this world that was solid? Was there anything honorable that a person could trust in and not be disappointed? It felt like the world was crumbling around me. I wanted to cry, but rarely did. I found temporary relief in snorting China White, smoking pot and drinking alcohol.
CHAPTER TWO
MY YOUTH
I remember one night when I was in 5th grade, my mother was making dinner. The house always smelled so good when she cooked! We were waiting for dad to come home any minute. It was just like any other day. We waited and waited and finally mom made some phone calls. Dad had left a meeting in San Diego around 5:30 p.m. and should have been home 30 minutes ago. We were all wondering where he could be.
My dad was, and still is to this day, a family man. My dad always took the family to church and we always knew that was what we were going to do every Sunday morning. He always thanked the Lord for our meals and taught me that God always takes care of us. I remember my dad reading the Bible; he had one that sat on a table next to his favorite chair in the living room. We watched some TV in the evenings, and then he would turn it off, open his Bible, and read. He did that every night for as many years as I can remember. He said it was the best way to get ready for bed; reading the Bible brought him a sense of peace and strength. I learned from my father that we should be good to others, and that it was against God’s principles to lie or steal. It was wrong.
My mom assured me and my brother and sister that dad would be home later and he probably had other business to take care of that was taking longer than he thought. It was a school night so we went to bed, sure that our dad would be there in the morning.
I woke up in the morning and a feeling of fear came over me when I found out dad never came home that night. Mom looked like she had worried all night long about him, and I am sure she did. She played it cool with us kids though saying we all would go to school and dad would be home that night. She said we needed to pray as a family and ask God to help him wherever he was. Mom told us that even though no one else knew where our dad was, God did.
We prayed fervently and I think it was the first time I ever saw tears in my mother’s eyes as she prayed. She asked God to find our dad. My brother and I were within walking distance of the school, so we left for the day. When we returned home, my mother greeted us at the door and told us what had happened and that we were going to Sharp Hospital to visit dad. At around 8:00 a.m., she had received a phone call from the CHP. They had informed her that dad had been in an accident. His Econoline van had run off the highway last night, gone down a steep embankment, and crashed at the bottom of a ravine pinning one of his legs in the wreck. He would not have been found except around the time we had prayed in the morning for God to find him, a truck driver operating a large semi (which sits up higher than all the other vehicles on the road), had noticed something down in the ravine that looked like a van. The truck driver said he knew that he was supposed to stop and check it out. He drove this stretch of highway on a daily basis and had never noticed the ravine before.
He stopped the big rig along the road, ran back to where he could see the van, and yelled with all his strength, “Is anyone down there?” My dad who had been praying all night for help, and trying to escape this death trap, heard the truck driver’s voice and began responding as loud as he could, “Yes, yes, I am down here! Go get help, PLEASE!” The truck driver radioed for help.
The rescue crew came and got him out. He was not too bad considering one leg was pinned so tightly the blood was not circulating. Back then, that was coyote and rattlesnake country. The possibilities of harm could have been much worse. He had deep cuts and abrasions all over his body and his face was black and blue. I was just glad to see him alive. He recovered after a few days in the hospital and then came home. I had just witnessed on a large scale how prayer can make things happen.
When I was in high school, I couldn’t wait to get home and jump on my motorcycle. It represented freedom for me. I also wanted to get away—from what, I am not sure. Some of my problems were imagined and some not. Sometimes my father would get angry about something I had done, and in his rage, he would strike me with his wide leather belt or his fists. I remember one time in particular, I was caught smoking a cigarette at school. When he came home, I figured he would yell at me and maybe lecture me on the dangers smoking was to my health (even though he and my mom smoked). However, upon arriving home, he walked right up to me as I was sitting in a chair in my room and said in a loud voice, “You want to smoke, huh?” Then, to my surprise, he threw a punch at me as hard as he could. Bam! He hit me in the face so hard it broke my nose. Blood was running everywhere. I knew at that moment that if I said anything he was going to give me more, so I just sat there angry, feeling that my father was out of control. It really hurt me that he would strike me like that. Then he left the room and came back in a few minutes, looked at me, cursed and yelled, “I broke your nose! Well, I guess you made me kind of mad. Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital and have it set.” When we arrived at the hospital, I lied to protect my dad and told the doctor I got hit in the face playing baseball.
It was a confusing time for me as a teenager. I thought that my dad loved me and the whole family. He was a good provider, watched over us, and most of the time I looked up to him. At church, I remembered the preacher talking about a heavenly Father who loves us. I felt like I did not quite get it. Was this love? One day I would think my dad did not like me, and then other days I would think he did. I felt like the world was kind of a messed up place so what did it matter what I did?
LOST…AND FOUND
Riding motorcycles was a passion of
