My dad remarried when I was living away with my mom and some family over in Austin. I had no feelings about it one way or another. I had been moved so many times and had to deal with so many new people in my life that I never really bonded to anyone or anything. My dads new wife meant nothing to me one way or the other- I was to far away to be concerned anyway. After moving back to Kentucky I lived in Richmond, Ky with my aunt, uncle and cousins. It was pretty much the best time of my childhood. Man, the stories I could write about… (but I’ll save those for another time)
Once back in Kentucky I could spend time with my dad again. What a pleasure it was to go to his new apartment and meet his wife and sleep on a roll-away bed. (this is sarcasm by the way) Truthfully, I was OK with her but I almost stopped breathing when I found out she had a son. The hell??? There were many things I could deal with; I could move around the globe, I could tolerate my dads new wife, but hell-to-the-NO …… no freaking way was I going to share MY DAD with another kid.
I went over to my dads house a few times a month. My new brother was an asshole. That’s because he was spoiled, pampered, blubbery, and had a face full of zits. Not to mention that his every breath was controlled by his momma. He was an asshole because that’s all he knew how to be considering his unfortunate low-self-esteem and the 2 foot leash his momma had him on. Bro didn’t have many friends if he had any. I never saw him with any, anyway. We were the same age, went to the same school and had a few classes together but we were total opposites. He was all about $200 Nike’s, I wore white Keds from Kmart. He lived in a house, I lived in a trailer. He got to go on the DC trip, I got to stay home, and I didn’t care. Good riddance, hope ya don’t come back… like, everrrrr.
A few years passed and dad decided to take a family vacation down to the sunshine state. It was 1984 and quite possibly the hottest summer I’ve ever experienced. LOL Seriously- dad drive a green Oldsmobile of some sort. It was shaped like a box. It had a 4/80 air conditioner. (in redneck terms that means, 4 windows down, 80 mph) Anyway, it was so flipping Satan hot that the grass on the interstate was catching itself on fire down in Georgia. To make matters worse, my dad is a Hank Williams Jr. fan and o.m.g… he had a tape (yes I said tape, it’s 1984, I was almost 10 years old) blasting in the car. Dad with his shirt off, all windows down, grass on fire and two miserable kids who hated each other in the backseat, was singing, “A Country Boy Can Survive,” really bad, very loud, for like… hours.
Siesta Key. Once we got our things unpacked we hopped into our bathing suits and ran out to the beach. It was beautiful- the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. White sand that felt like soft, hot flour and it was directly in the way of the crystal blue Gulf. Damnit. I ran as fast as I could through that hellish hot powdered sand into the ocean. Ah—– A few seconds later there he was.. my new brother. He jumped and played in the waves for just a few minutes before a piece of seaweed wrapped itself around his ankles sending him screaming like a little girl. He ran as fast as his chunky butt could go all the way back to the pool. HA HA HA HA. Wuss. As you have read from my other couple of blogs, being an ass was nd is my god-given talent; that begin said, I teased and insulted my new brother endlessly about being a chicken shit when it came to the ocean. One day towards the end of the week Bro decided to give the Gulf another go. Knowing he couldn’t swim well I offered to let him sit on my two-man raft while I pushed it out to the SECOND sandbar. (You could walk to the first sandbar when the tide was out, but between the first and second, you had to swim.) Bro wanted to be brave so while I pushed the little raft my Bro hung on for dear life, and helped to make our way out into the Gulf. I told Bro that I was going to dig for sand dollars because I was gonna bring them home for pets, so he had to either stand still… or he could sit on the raft and float away. He decided he would stand. We dug about the sand, throwing our “catches” on to the raft. We had a few live sand dollars, conchs, starfish and some pretty cool seashells. When I noticed that Bro wasn’t paying attention, I grabbed hold of the raft and swam back. (yes, I was intentionally being mean to him.) Once back on the first sandbar I could see the tide coming in and I could see the water slowly getting deeper. So I did what any good sister would do… I grabbed my raft full of goodies and I dragged them back to the condo. HA HA HA.
Not too much time passed before my dad asked where my new brother was. I shrugged. Then dad asked me again, this time with a little more depth to his voice. Hating it, I pointed to the Gulf. All I can say now is that me and my raft swam back out in the ocean to get the crybaby. My new bro and I didn’t talk about that day ever again. Matter of fact, we didn’t talk about much of anything until we were adults. But lemme tell ya, not one more time did he think to tease me about my buddy shoes, the trailer park where I lived or about anything else. I think he just assumed that I was evil and I had tried to kill him and next time I might succeed. hahahaha.