I have also posted this on the “LRH Thumbnail Sketch” thread although it appears to going dead. I’m doing that as I set out on this task due to dialogue there that stimulated me to tell some of this story and provide “context” as to “What I bought into and Why” re: Scn.
“Know this: that whatever situation you find yourself in, it is what is necessary for your development.” Edgar Cayce
“Truly, no thing in this world has kept my thoughts thus busy, as this my very own self, this mystery of me being alive, of me being one and being separated and isolated from all others, of me being Siddhartha! And there is no thing in this world I know less about than about me, about Siddhartha!” Hermann Hesse, “Siddhartha”
The vertigo went on for weeks and weeks, the ear ringing for months and months, the headaches for nearly a year. For months I had trouble concentrating, felt “detached” and disinterested in my life and life in general. It was two weeks before I was allowed to return to school and nearly 6 weeks before the Doctors said I could return to work. In early December the Doctors told me that, as far as they were concerned, my football "ticket" had been punched and was no longer valid...it was over. They thought although my symptoms were improving and would eventually subside, that the risk of permanent damage was high if I had another concussion, due to the fact that this was my 3rd concussion since I was 5 year old and this one was bad, real bad.
During this time, for reasons that are still inexplicable to me, I was taken effortlessly to intense interest in the world of Spiritualism and “Other Realities”. I began reading Edgar Cayce, Ernest Holmes, Buddhism, etc from what small selection there was in my “Tabernacle”, the local library. When I returned to school things were different—I was different. I was not interested in my classes, social scene or much of anything. In that first semester of my Senior year I went from my customary A’s and B’s to one “A” and the rest B’s and C’s. Outwardly, I "kept my chin up”; inwardly I was drifting, detached.
My Mother’s life was consumed with her budding “Church” and her reaction to my injury was that it “served my right”; that God was punishing my for my having “spurned” Jesus; that she hoped that I had “learned my lesson”.
My Father and Stepmother wanted me to spend part of the Christmas Break with them and I agreed to go there for a week. They (she) had a large, beautiful home in the hills overlooking the valley and town below. To me, it was a mansion (probably at least 6,000 sq ft), swimming pool, color TV’s, Stereo, expensive furniture, 4 car garage with two Cadillac’s and my Father’s new Bronco, the works. There was a cottage on the property (larger than the house I had grown up in, until my Mother added on) where an older couple lived that were the caretakers of the estate (maid, cook, gardener, maintenance, etc.) and they were very nice folks that I actually spent nearly as much with as my Father and Stepmother during that week.
My Stepmother had one child, a married daughter that was in Grad School at an Ivy League University. She also had 2 brothers that were married with families and lived in a small city about 100 miles away. Everyone was going to be there for Christmas so that I could meet my new “family”. My Sister had opted to spend Christmas with her boyfriend and our Mother and would spend the second week of Break with them. So, I was on my own with our new Stepsister, Aunts, Uncles and 5 step cousins, the oldest of which was 5 years younger than I.
I had never seen a house so resplendent for Christmas. Everything was beyond beyond. There were nearly more gifts under the tree for me than I had received at all my previous Christmases. I had been in a few fine homes of friends but this place was wealth and extravagance on display and I felt out of place and uncomfortable and, for some reason, embarrassed. Every meal was of the finest foods and preparation, served to a huge formal table with china, silver, linen and crystal. At every meal, as my Father sat at the head of the table, I thought how out of place he was…my Stepmother was the one that should be sitting there. Everywhere in masse, just for the taking whenever one pleased, were the things I had been raised without—chips, pastries, soft drinks, candies and snack goodies of all kinds and sorts. My bedroom was huge with a door opening onto the veranda, a color TV, fancy AM/FM radio, big closet and its’ own full bathroom. It took me days to get use to the softened water and learn how not to use so much soap that it took forever to rinse off. It all made me feel like Mark Twains’ character Tom Canty (the pauper in, “The Prince and the Pauper); this was not where I belonged.
Over that week I gradually sensed a “theme” developing that was to become fully manifest on my last day there. My Father had spent much of his time during the days leading up to Christmas busy with the business of setting up his new operation that my Stepmother’s money was bankrolling for him. I spent time with my Stepmother, helping the caretaker and, once my new “Uncles” arrived, going on some outings with them. They were nice fellows and sportsmen so we had something in common, however, they were also “Born Again’s” and true to all that ilk, must “Witness” at every opportunity and, if there is no apparent opportunity, they must invent one. The conversations also were increasingly coming around to, “How much your Dad loves you,” and “your Dad really wants you to come and live with him,” and how my Mother was responsible for the divorce and how much she had mistreated my Father and was mistreating me. During the time I spent with my Stepmother it was the same litany and it became obvious to me I was being “worked” and “tooled” in a team effort. I decided to remain demure, let all this pass and return to my “world” when the week was over. But, alas, old habits are hard to break and on my last day there my Father pushed on me until I pushed back.
After lunch my Father and Stepmother “laid their cards on the table”. They thought I was a very bright young man with tremendous potential but I had been “twisted and duped” by my mother; that they would pay for all of my college and provide a wonderful home for me and a ”true” Christian family to be part of ; that all I had to do to get these “goodies” was to agree to cooperate with my Father’s attorney to go to court and amend the “Final Decree” for my Father to have custody of me and remove the “Child Support Order”; move in with them and go to the small State University near where they lived for two years and then, if I wanted to, go to a “Big Name” school after that; that they’d bankroll everything, including a new car. I was so unnerved by the callousness of their “offer” that my mind shut down, the pit of my stomach churned and all I could say was, “I’ll think about it…I need to get going.”
As I packed my car with all the expensive gifts—boots, watch, sport coat, on and on—my mind came back on-line and I thought about my two older Brothers and Sister. My oldest Brother was married, had 2 children, was working 2 jobs and going part-time to finish college. My other Brother was married, had 1 child, was working full time and going part time to Grad school. My Sister was living at home with my Mother, working part time and going to college. All of them were bright, all of them were good, decent, hardworking, determined people with great potential. The more I thought about them, the pissed and more pissed I got. When I went in to say goodbye, my Father and Stepmother were “stewing”, still “on point”. Obviously my response had been unacceptable.
My Father started in sternly and reproaching, as was his way, that I was not “thinking straight”, that my mind had been “twisted” by my Mother and that they knew what was best for me. I responded that maybe so, maybe I wasn’t “thinking straight” but that until my Brothers and Sister were offered assistance—with no strings attached—I wouldn’t consider discussing any of this further. He Laughed at me and chided that that was none of my business and I was too young and confused to understand what was going on.
I thanked them for the wonderful hospitality and gifts, told my Father I loved him, went to hug him and he flinched, arms frozen to his side. I walked out of that house and it would be 12 years—at the funeral for my oldest Brother's son—before I spoke to or saw my Father again.
One year later, almost to the day, I would take my first step on “The Bridge to Total Freedom”.
Face
PS: My Brothers and Sister are as fine of folks as have ever drawn breath and have lead exemplary lives of accomplishment, humanity and humility with earned and deserved respect. I am so proud of them, so honored to be their “Baby Brother”. We all share a bond that is singular, unique, deep and eternal.
Roger's enjoyment of loving relationship pictures motivated me to share some more - So here they are - from our Star Wars Parties (where we were written up in the paper
