I found he was well received by her. They laughed and kidded around, he even was invited to stay for dinner. But he declined, saying he had to get back to his wife and kids, whom he had left with friends.
I thought to myself well, at least I know part of the truth. My father did not die as a shot down pilot. He had however served as a Lieutenant in the Army Air Corps. He had been stationed in Guatemala and later in Panama during the war. It was not until the morning of the following day that I learned the rest of the truth. I learned in a way which traumatized me and effectively directed my attitude about what true love is and is not. Most likely, it was a good part of the reason why I never married until age 63.
That particular morning after having awakened, as I was coming down the stairs for breakfast, I could hear coming from the kitchen, the loud shouts of my mother. She was cursing her mother (my grandmother), demanding to know why she ever had allowed that damn SOB to see me, let alone spend any time with me. The words she lavished on my grandmother (who had raised me from the age of one) were coming straight from the pits of hell!
I was getting increasingly angry with the way she was addressing my REAL mother – my grandmother. (I should point out here that upon their divorce, both of my parents being young, neither wanted to be slowed down by a kid. My wonderful, loving grandparents on my mother’s side took it on themselves to raise me from a baby). Angry, yet I was getting an education into the whole truth of what had actually happened. So I simply parked on the carpeted stairs and took in the whole conversation with great interest.
In response to the question – why, my grandmother said, “Joe has the right to know his father. Beecher missed seeing him and wanted to know how he was doing. I felt he, as Joe’s father, had the right to know about that.” “Damn You! You know the kind of Hell that man put me through! I vowed to him he would never see Joe again. I told him as far as Joe was concerned, he was dead! Now Joe knows we have lied to him. He may never trust us again! Why the Hell did you let that demon see Joe?”
My mother went on to explain why she had such hatred. “You know what he put me through! Or have you forgotten?” She went on to tell all of the dirty details in an effort to remind her mother of the suffering and pain he had caused in her life. She explained how he had written and called her repeatedly; asking for a divorce, telling her their marriage had been a mistake. He said he had found someone else he loved more and wanted to be free to marry her.
She went on to explain how she had told him as a Catholic she had not gotten married to be able to get a divorce, and the vows they had made were not just to each other, but to God as well. I learned his response was, “Well, that’s your problem, not mine. I’m not Catholic and I know God wants me to be happy. You don’t make me happy, Donna does!”
That perspective having failed to get his attention, she went on to remind him they had a little one year old baby boy. He deserves to be raised in a home having both a mother and a father. To this, he responded, “I’ll pay you any amount of money. I just want my freedom from both you and the kid!” My mother stated how this constant badgering, both by phone and in letters, led her to having experienced a nervous breakdown. “That damn son of a bitch was dead for years. Damn it! He should have stayed dead!”
She had yelled so loud and so long, at this my grandmother said, “Be quiet, you’re likely to wake Joe. You don’t want him knowing all of this, do you?” Then there was silence. I sensed they were heading toward the kitchen door. So I scrambled up the stairs to my room. I pretended to be asleep as they looked in.
Need I say anymore, or can you guess? I spent the next couple of years trying to analyze why this had happened to me. I came to the conclusion that when they got married, neither understood what true love was all about. If they had, I surmised, such a thing as divorce would never have happened with my parents. I made a vow to myself that I would never allow such a thing to happen to me, and especially to my children. I would be certain I truly was in love, and the woman I chose truly loved me. I wanted my children to grow up seeing their mom and dad deeply loved one another with all of their heart.
Yes, my life had been traumatized. But the life of my poor mother was even more so. Later in her life, now having two failed marriages, one day my mother announced she was in love with her boss. They had been dating a lot. But there was one obstacle; he was married with three kids. This produced great turmoil among my mother and her mother (my grandmother). My grandmother was telling her how wrong it was to steal a husband away from his family. My mother insisted he had told her his wife was a cold fish, and he had no real marriage. He claimed their love for one another had vanished many years ago.
But it only got deeper, as my grandmother said it was wrong to deprive his children of their father. To this, my mother said she deserved to find some happiness in life before she died. The argument intensified with time. It became one o clock in the morning. At this point my grandmother suggested we all get some sleep, as they were only going around and around. She said after a good nights’ sleep things would look different in the morning, with a clear mind able to function.
It was agreed to do just that – go to sleep. My head had barely hit the pillow when in came my grandmother, worriedly telling me I had to get up right away. “Your mother has taken a bunch of sleeping pills and I’m afraid she might die!” We called the poison center and they advised us to keep her awake, walking her around the living room and giving her lots of coffee.
My little sister and I spent the night walking my mother around the room. I would not let her go to sleep. When she tried, and refused to respond to my pleas not to, I would slap her in the face and say, “You’re not going to sleep on me! I’m not going to let you! So stop trying, and keep on walking!” With God’s help we were successful. My grandmother agreed to let her have her way in the matter and never brought up her disagreement again (At least not until after the wedding – then the cold war began).
From this experience, I learned how much emotionally horrible damage could be caused by irresponsible words and actions. I made a promise to God and myself that I would never tell a girl or woman I loved her, unless I truly did, and believed her love for me was equally as deep and committed as mine. My life’s desire became never to emotionally hurt any girl or woman I dated.
I remember in high school, listening to guys relating stories involving their sexual adventures. I one day got very angry with one guy in particular. He was telling how the girl he had dated refused his advances. “She was so cold. I was wondering how I could get her to put out. Then I said those three magic words: “I Love You.” Man, you wouldn’t believe how quickly she opened her legs for me! Yes boys, if you ever have a hard time getting your way with a girl, just use those magic words. They are so gullible!”
I then asked him, “Don’t you care how badly you may have emotionally damaged her?” “That’s her problem! Besides I paid $15.00 for our dinner, she owed me a good time.” His answer made me want to hit him in the mouth just as hard as I could. But logic prevailed. I realized this was just the exploits of a simple minded, self centered jerk. Also, the damage was already done to that poor girl. My hitting him would not be able to undo the emotional damage he had inflicted on her. Besides, if I took on such an attitude, I would have to punch out over 80% of the guys attending that all male Catholic High School.
Was I always the perfect gentleman? Unfortunately, the honest answer would have to be no. I did my share of sowing my “wild oats.” But I never had to lie and use the “magic words.” I found several women during the years that, thinking I was attractive, would gladly and freely offer their bodies to me for sex. Some would get a little far out and insist that when in the throws of passion they had heard me say “I love you” to them.
I would always stop and set the record straight. I would tell them I liked and respected them, but was not in love with them. I said if I were to become in love with them we both would hear me say it, because
