What makes Pete tic?
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Petesmemories/tic
What makes Pete tic? August 17, 2021 et post
I was born with a “mean streak”,
and I have done many things in my life that I am sorry for. In my years as an
elderly person, I have fought the streak, and tried to right some wrongs I have
done. Most of them are irreparable, but I honestly try to compensate by some
measure.
I always accepted life as
predestined, in that, there was no alternate path, but to accept it.
No one that knows me would
ever believe what a sweet little boy I was!
2nd
grade,Yuma, Arizona, 1953, a guy named Lee Hancock, beat me up on my walk to
school everyday. I told my parents, and they said,”Hit him back”. So, pretty
much every school day for the next 4 years, I took a beating.
The first time I remember being ridiculed by my parents, we
had just returned from Okinawa, where I had fallen short of completing the
first grade, and, my ability to read would determine which grade I would enter.
I loved to read, but, being self taught, I was unaware of how
to pronounce many words. I was proud of my ability and would read aloud to my
parents, whereby they would mock and criticise mispronounciations. I never
imagined that they were proud of my ability, and this was the atmosphere I was
raised in.
It was determined that
I was reading at 6th grade level, and I began 2nd grade
where Mrs. Macki became my school teacher, and my piano teacher.
The beatings continued and I was forced to live with it. One
day in the 3rd or 4th grade, I was horsing around, and I
was tickeling a classmate, Robert Frith, smaller than me, of course, and I made
him cry, unintentionally, but it was seen by Mrs. Macki, and I was taken to my
empty classroom, and paddled by my most favorite, beloved, Mrs. Macki.
I am a piano playing, bookworm, nerd, loner. I can’t believe
how horribly life sucks, and there is nothing I can do about it! Beat up at
school, beat by parents, SUCKS!
Life goes on. I read everything I got my hands on, and I
introverted, and became OCD to be the best at everything. I became good, to
mediocre at many things, and I was the best in the aviation industry, where I
became popular for my ability, and made many lifelong friends.
An overabundance of energy allowed me to do the work of three
people. The lazy ones loved to let me do their job for them, while they rested.
I never took breaks or lunch because I had too many “G-JOBS”.
As a machinist, I made hand tools for all of the guys. I
visited Jim Linkous a few years ago and he showed me a toolbox he dedicated to
all the tools I made.
There were brass hammers with knurled handles and replaceable
impact faces, 4 sizes of screwdriver handles with interchangeable tips (Apex),
and mandrels for honing and grinding, and an assortment of handmade,
miscellaneous tools. They were neatly arranged on felt tray liners. It made me
proud that he respected my work that way, and he thanked me again for them.
A condition called circadian
rhythm sleep disorder plagued me. I don’t know if that occurs naturally, or
if it can be self induced. Either way, my rhythm evolved from a normal 24 hour
cycle ( zeitgebers )
to a cycle of 36 to 48 hours, and I had enormous, unnatural energy, which I
utilized at work to enhance my performance. The serious down-side to all that
is a need to artificially alter the sleep cycle. Alcohol worked best for me
until I discovered cannabis. (see http://www.petesmemories.com/pot.html) The legal status, and the availability of this “miracle”
forced me to regulate with alcohol most of the time.
I took a desk job where I started my day at the Holiday Inn,
with the “boss”,which usually entailed several bloody marys, just to get the
heart started after a 2 hour commute. Then there was lunch consisting of a
grilled cheese and several refills of Jack Daniel’s, neat. A 6 pack for the 2 ½
hour commute home where I was obligated to entertain clients in the evenings,
usually consisting of several beverages at one of the local hotels. 3 years of
this behavior developed a dependence, which persisted into my next job at Lockheed.
This had a horrible effect on my marriage, and it wasn’t long
before the love of my life walked out on me. I never got over losing her, but I
devoted all of my time and energy to my work.
By now, I have a reputation because of my work ethic, and
Lockheed accepts me as a functioning alcoholic, and offers me a career as a
foreman/supervisor, and I am asked to give classes in optical measurement and
mathamatics.
Switch to today, 10-2-2022;
For such a long time I have
been surrounded by a darkness, generated by people with unknown agendum. Some
members of my family have been a major source, and other members have
perpetuated this condition by failing to validate accusations made.
It is the simplest form of
judgement, facilitated by relying on the words of others.
From a movie; “Guessing is
how reasoning proceeds in the absence of facts.”
This is my greatest enemy,
aggravated by my refusal to defend myself. That defense would only be words,
and I prefer to be judged by my actions, and my reputation. One wrong
accusation can grow into a storm that affects the opinions of so many, it is
appalling.
Having been wrongly accused
of killing a beloved pet, I have become the murderer of every pet in the area,
meeting an untimely end. The responsible party has moved out of the area and
has never been held responsible. This is only one small example of the havoc
this behavior creates.
Being accused of exploiting a
younger woman proves that no good deed goes unpunished!
Jon Rogers and I met to shoot
pool, over 30 years ago, where we met sisters (for a second time), and Jon got
lucky.
I went home to my trailer in
Rosamond, and went to bed, alone. Before I fell asleep, I got a call from Jon,
inviting me to the girls’ mother’s house. I got dressed and drove out to 60th
St. West and had a few beers and some conversation. Before I went home, as I
was sitting in my truck, Denise came out, and bluntly asked if I wanted to fuck
her, in those words. I told her “no”, as Barbara was living with me at the
time.
I had offered Barbara a place
to stay a year earlier when I heard she was living in her car.
In late October, Barbara left
to live with a girlfriend in L.A. and, knowing that Denise was homeless, I told
her that I lived alone, and had an extra room where she could stay, no strings
attached, the same as I did for Barb. (see http://www.petesmemories.com/denise
)
She accepted, and it was more
than nine months that she shared my home with me before suggesting that we have
a relationship, when, my son, Scott, his wife and two-year-old son came to
visit me for the Fourth of July in 1994, and I asked to sleep on the floor in
her room so that they could use my bedroom.
Here we are, thirty years later, Denise has her own room, and she shares my
home with me. We have had conflicts, and she has wanted to leave, but, having a
severe learning disability, there’s no place for her to go.
It is necessary to do
everything for her, as she is unable to read or write, and, as much as I would
like to get rid of her, sometimes, I don’t have the heart to ask her to leave.
I have never met anyone so helpless in my entire life, and it has taken enormous
effort to let her live as normal a life as possible.
She has her own income
(S.S.I.) because of her mental incapacity, and with my help, she has her own
bank account, which she overdraws on more often than I would have ever thought
was possible. She depends on me for transportation, and I fill out forms for
her whenever they are required. Exploitation???? Who is exploiting who????
One of the times when she
wanted to move out, I invited my “first love”, Anita Cutler, from Newfoundland
to come and stay wth me. She had a six-month visa, and much to my delight, she
accepted.
As soon as the word was out
that Denise was “free”, she got calls from a dozen guys that wanted to “rescue
her. One of them was Steve East, formerly married to my cousin, Diana, who
passed way in 2003.
He was already having a
relationship problem with Kimberly Connor, and Denise invited him to come and
rescue her, warning him that he would have to sleep in her bed, with her.
Undeterred, he arrived and
spent the night, where Denise chose to sleep with me, rather than him. He left,
disappointed, and a little angry, alone, the following day.
Later, after resolving the
problem with Kimberly, it became necessary for him to terminate his feigned
friendship with me to avoid discovery. He accused me of trying to get Denise to
“jump into bed with him”, “wrong on so
many levels” was his response when I inquired why I hadn’t heard from him in
quite a while. I think he will get away with shifting the blame to me, but
think of the effect on his conscience, if he even has one.
I have done things which appear
to be immoral, or unethical, without any scrutiny whatsoever, and this is
causing enormous problems with my only remaining son. His opinion would be
drastically altered with minimal discussion, but we are unable to converse, as
his feelings for me are adversely affected by the wrongful accusations of
others.
This, coupled with our
inability to agree on so many subjects, has damaged our relationship to the
point where it may never be repaired. I feel a heartbreaking lack of respect,
partially facilitated by our difference of opinion, which compels me to discuss
a few words, especially in the light of the ongoing pandemic, which I consider
people like my son to be part of the problem.
A FEW WORDS;
RESPECT
My big thing, at this moment,
is respecting the rights of others. I am fully vaccinated, but I continue to
wear a mask, and practice social distancing, out of respect.
I live with a person who was
reluctant to be vaccinated, but has been, recently. There is a danger we could
infect each other. Fortunately, she is very careful to wear a mask, and
practice social distancing, and she disinfects generously.
I do respect her right to
choose, but am relieved she finally made the wise decision. People who refuse
the vaccine are part of the problem. If the pandemic is to be defeated, it will
require participation by a large majority of the world’s population.
There are people that refuse
to wear a mask, and practice social distancing, out of a total LACK of respect
for anyone, including themselves. I despise you! And to those who try to
convince others to do the same, I doubly despise you. I have NO respect for
you.
My son accused me of “spewing
hate”. I am airing grievances and expressing my opinion. That’s still OK, isn’t
it? There is no “HATE” involved unless you confuse “despise” with “hate”.
de·spise
/dəˈspīz/
verb
1. feel contempt or a deep repugnance
for.
"he despised him for being
disrespectful"
Similar:detest loathe abhor abominate execrate
hate
/hāt/
verb
1.
feel intense or passionate dislike for (someone).
"the boys hate each other"
Similar:loathe detest dislike greatly abhor abominate despise
They are similar, but not
interchangeable. I don’t hate anyone, and if I do despise you, it’s usually
because our opinions differ, and I am reasonably certain that I am correct,
backed by scientific fact. You are entitled to your opinion, and I respect
that, even though I may not respect your opinion!
I try to tolerate people that
claim to be religious, but, scientific evidence negates all religions. I have
no respect for people that believe in “thousands of years old documents”, but
will not accept scientific evidence, verified by multiple sources.
When I talk about,
“respecting the rights of others”. I am talking about all living things. My
attitude on this subject has run full spectrum, from small game hunter and
trapper, to one who is reluctant to kill a spider.
It has been necessary to
euthanize my beloved dogs to end their suffering, but I loathe people who
mistreat animals under any pretext. Even food animals, (especially food
animals) deserve humane treatment, and respect.
LOVE
All of my life, I have
struggled with one word! LOVE Born into a religious family, I was
surrounded by people who were instructed to “love thy neighbor”, etc. etc. I
had a definition for “love” at an early age, and I was made to feel loved, by
my definition.
As the years passed, I
noticed that we really didn’t love our neighbors, and I started to question our
feelings about each other. According to my definition of “love”, one never
gives up on the other. No matter what happens, if you love someone, they can
always count on your support.
My first marriage was a work
in progress. I can’t say I was “in love” with Pam when we married. We were
SLAMMED together by a tragedy in her family whereby she was rendered homeless.
I had a one bedroom apartment which we shared, and appearances were important
during this time, and we were obligated to marry. I grew to love Pam very much.
She was a good partner (wife), and good friend, good mother, good housekeeper.
It was difficult to show my true feelings for her. I worked such long hours to
provide for my family, we rarely saw each other. Thanks to her I enjoyed those
rare moments enormously. I think it bothered her that I stopped wearing my wedding
ring when I started working around machinery. I was, forever, snagging my ring
on stationary objects, but I started my machine shop career, anyway, wearing my
ring. We worked on aircraft that carried paratroopers, and occasionally they
would come back from a mission with a ”ring finger” hanging from one of many
protrusions around the jump area. I STOPPED wearing my ring immediately after
seeing a few things like this;
Something made Pam stop loving me, and I lost her August of 1985 to her
boss where she worked. I never stopped loving her and I hoped she was happy. As
one of the finest humans I ever had the good fortune to meet, I will always
cherish the twenty-three years she gave to me. I still miss her terribly.
You can make me “stop loving
you”. But you must NOT love me, in order to do that, so, what’s the use? The
people I love don’t have to worry. I will never give up on them!
HONESTY
I can’t say that I have
always been honest. As I get older, honesty becomes more important to me. I
never had a problem fabricating a cover for a wrong-doing or an embarrassment.
Now, it is easier to take a hit, rather than depend on memory to keep fabrications
in order.
Recently, a close friend chose a path which bore no adverse consequences, other
than, perhaps, to offend another close friend. Rather than taking the hit, he
decided to throw me under the bus, and discontinue our friendship. At a time
when friends are scarce, I prefer losing a friend rather than trying to
continue a relationship with someone who would do that.
Even more recently, I was
wrongly accused of inappropriate behavior by a woman I befriended, and treated
her and her family with respect. This creates a very dark cloud over the “ME
TOO” movement. I wonder what the percentage of “false accusations” really is.
SUCCESS
How to measure success? I
have acquaintances from all walks of life. Some have risen to the top, and have
become “well to do”, so to speak. The ones that appear to be the most
successful are the ones that seem to be unhappy most of the time.
My ex-step-brother in law,
Jon, is the best example. We were very close when we were married to
step-sisters. We did everything together. I was a lowly hourly employee, and he
was a very “successful” man in the electronics industry, upwardly mobile as he
moved from job to job.
We used to talk about being a
millionaire back when a million dollars was a lot of money. His favorite thing
to say was, “The one with the biggest pile of toys was the winner”. When he
passed away, he certainly did have the biggest pile. Sadly, though, he was one
of the unhappiest people I know.
I had the opportunity to be
just as “successful”, but it would have required me to step on others to
achieve this, which is something Jon admitted to me that he did, many times.
The man that married my
cousin is thought to be very successful by almost everyone, another one of the
most unhappy people I know. He provided my cousin with everything she could
possibly desire, except love. She called on me many times for comfort when her
husband was travelling.
How can someone who has
everything be unhappy? Is this the success of which we speak?
My son has achieved, well above
my expectation, and is another one who seems unhappy. We don’t communicate, so
I don’t know what is happening there. Are unhappy people successful?
How to measure success? I
have always done everything I ever wanted to do, while respecting the rights of
others to do the same. I wouldn’t say I was happy, exactly, but I certainly was
satisfied.
I made a decent living and I
was highly respected by my colleagues. When I no longer had family obligations,
I proceeded to enjoy life on MY terms. I was exhausted from trying to please
other people. Without scrutiny, my actions may have appeared to be less than
scrupulous.
Accused, by family, of
“having a HISTORY of substance abuse”, I must say, in my defense, I don’t have
a HISTORY of anything.
I have never been arrested or
been in any kind of trouble of any kind!
There is absolutely NO documentation of abuse of any sort, anywhere,
ANYWHERE!. As a reformed drinker and smoker, (both legal, by the way!) I am
judged by others who are satisfied with the drudgery of unaltered
consciousness, if only y’all would lighten up.
My altered consciousness kept
me from killing idiots, (which is ILLEGAL, by the way) and knocking the fuck
out of dumbasses!
I have always treated others
well, and now, in the autumn of my life, I can truly say that I am happy. I
live comfortably on social security, and I love my little “farm” which my
partner and I have created with our own hands, without help from anyone.
There are things I would
change if I had “do-overs”, but what is done is done, and I live with some
regrets, but I consider myself to be successful.
I suffer from several medical
issues which cause me unimaginable pain. I am hopeful to pass from this earth
naturally, but other avenues are highly likely. Other than that, I enjoy
excellent health, and I consider myself to be very fortunate.
It is amazing how many people
are living in conditions which most of us would not survive. My heart goes out
to them. Their condition could be improved by the people that have more than
they need, but I don’t expect to ever see that happen.
It won’t be long before we
are all in the same boat. My generation caused great damage to the world, and
my children and grandchildren don’t seem to be concerned enough to make any
sacrifices to improve the situation.
The good life we are enjoying
will not last forever. I foresee natural disasters, and global epidemics which
will affect every living thing in the very near future, and I think it is too
late to prevent any of this. It’s possible that enough people will survive to
start over, after the planet has had time to cleanse itself of our disrespect.
There is no positive way to conclude this
dissertation. I can only hope that we are more respectful of one another, and
more concerned with the welfare of each other!
END
v
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END