Читать книгу My Life / His Way - Gloria Florette Vogel - Страница 17

Born of a Christian mother and a Jewish father, my siblings and I were raised as Christians. My mother believed in God and went to church once in a while; whereas my father never mentioned God or his religion. When asked where he would want to be buried, his answer was, “Just throw me in the river.”

My parents were middle class working people. Mom worked the years when my sisters and I were in school. To pick up some extra money, Dad would bartend at the Fraternal Order of Eagles. That was pretty much up his alley, as when he was outside our home life, he was an entirely different man. He was joking and making people laugh, drinking too much and being the life of the party. He appeared to the outside world to be a “great guy.” Unfortunately, this” great guy” could not bring it home. Looking back on the life my parents gave to us children, and I am just speaking for myself and not my sisters, I believe dad was not the type to be settled down with the responsibility of raising a family. Later on in years, my younger sister thought that he was an alcoholic even though he did not drink everyday; there are various patterns of alcoholics, i.e. drinking daily, only on the weekends or every Friday night, etc. I am sure there are more but this is just the ones I am familiar with.

My grandfather on my dad’s side was an alcoholic, owned a Butcher Shop plus a Horse Riding Stable and beat up my grandmother and left her with three young children; the youngest six months old and never to be seen again. My grandmother made a living being an excellent seamstress. She could make any garment without using a pattern. Gram definitely had a God given gift.

My Mom was more of an introvert; did not talk much and kept everything that disturbed her within herself. She was the oldest of six children and when her mother died she was only twelve years of age. My grandfather had to work to support his children and because he did not have the finances to bring someone in to help take care of them, they went to stay with different relatives. All except my mom who was put into an orphanage until my grandfather could bring her home when his life became more settled. I do not know how long she was there but eventually she and my Aunt Ethel, my mom’s sister and my godmother, went to live with a relative in New York.

I remember when I was in my teens, mom was very sick at times, even put into the hospital with duodenal stomach ulcers. I believe that dad added much tension, stress and heartache that helped create this problem within her. My mother’s sister, Aunt Helen, told me that my father used to beat her up. All that mental and physical abuse from dad caused her to have a mental breakdown. She was put into a hospital; I do not know for how long. Later on in life I learned when my mother became pregnant with me, my father was not happy and did not want her to have this baby. I cannot honestly say this all happened at the time when she was in the hospital; but it sure makes me wonder.

When my Uncle Al was around, my father knew to watch his behavior; as my uncle served in the Army and my father was not in the best of shape to fight against a trained military man. At family gatherings there was drinking and one time there was a fight between the two of them and my dad’s arm became broken. Uncle Al was my mother’s youngest brother and was also my godfather. I knew he loved my mother very much and did not get along with my father as when dad drank, he turned into a very cruel hard to handle person. I believe when my uncle was around, dad dared not do anything to physically hurt her but he sure turned on the mental abuse. That can be worse than physical abuse.

When dad wanted to go do his “own thing,” he would pick a fight over the most minor issue toward my mom, get so angry and just leave our home. That was his out, or it could have been his own indifference to run away from his responsibilities just to have another fling. He had left a few times in my younger years. I was really too young to understand the rhyme or reason of his thinking until I started putting things together as I matured.

During one of his “get a ways” I recall him bringing my siblings and myself ice cream. That comes to my remembrance as I was probably around ten years old and it was in the summertime. Thinking to myself why are you now bringing us ice cream, you never took us out for ice cream before or took us anywhere and all of a sudden here you are bringing us ice cream? How come now? Where were you when we needed you? Where were you when my mother needed you? Now here you are trying to buy our love with ice cream! It had been quite a while since we had even seen him, so did he feel in his mind ice cream will take away any hurt or rejection that he might have caused us? Or maybe he was trying to get on the good side of my mom so she would let him come back home. I had so many mixed emotions regarding him; love, hate, resentment and what kind of father/person are you? He never made me feel loved or wanted. His favorite expression was, “Children should be seen, not heard.” Consequently expressing my feelings to anyone was always difficult for me. I did not have that privilege or freedom of doing so while growing up which allowed me to communicate how I felt. What my father said was the bottom line. I knew better than to question or try to reason with him. Living in a home where conversation was limited and many times not even done on a daily basis. The most I heard my father speak was get me this, get me that. He would not even get up to get himself a glass of water. I remember being a constant gofer for him. He needed a personal maid more than he wanted a daughter.

Because of his uncaring attitude toward his family, I believe at this early age of ten and even when I was five or six, the Lord had given me the Spirit of Discernment or supernatural understanding, 1Corinthians 12:10 To another discerning of spirits. God showed me spiritually through guidance and thoughts when to keep quiet and stay out of the way for my own protection.

Dad grew up without his abusive father, raised by a loving mother so he was too young to have seen his mother being mentally or physically abused. I believe we inherit our traits which are passed down through the genes.

All the stories I heard about how horrible my grandfather was, so was my very own father. A chip off the old block, as the saying goes. To this day I believe his nephews would deny what I am writing regarding Unc. They called him Unc for short and adored him. When he was with his side of the family, then that “great guy” personality came out. Yet they did not live with him or never knew what went on behind closed doors in our home. My father was literally a Jekyll and Hyde type of person. Maybe he picked the wrong vocation. I believe acting would have been more appropriate.

After graduating from grammar school, my parents took me to a carnival. Dad and I went on the roller coaster and I will never forget that when the roller coaster came to the top and then started to go downhill, the force pushed me upwards and coming down it pulled me back into my seat. My father never grabbed me to hold me down; to make me feel safe and secure. To this day, I cannot even think of ever riding on a roller coaster again.

When I went to the proms in high school, never did dad come away from the television set to meet my escorts or see me all dolled up in the gowns that were bought for me; nor when a boyfriend’s father took me out to dinner when his wife was sick in the hospital and his son was away in the service. I was all excited and felt so important that my boyfriend’s dad wanted me to go to dinner with him. Wouldn’t you think he would want to meet the man who was taking out his daughter for dinner? I always wondered, doesn’t this man, my biological father, love me or care about who I’m with or my safety? I know back in the 1950’s everything was much safer than it is today but this is your daughter, where were your parenting skills? Why it was nothing to you when I worked so hard to become a cheerleader and you never came to a game to see how well or bad I did at the one thing I loved so much and worked so hard to become? Why did you pay for my siblings weddings and I did not even get a present? Why, why, why? I guess I will never get an answer to any of my questions. I do remember one of my relatives on my father’s side of the family said that it was the best wedding they ever attended. Thank God today I live by faith and because the Holy Spirit lives within me, the pain and hurt are in the past. As it says in 2Corinthians 5:17 Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature; old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.

Frank, my fiancé, and I went to my cousin’s engagement party in Brooklyn, NY. Billy and Sandy were getting married one week after us. We made arrangements to meet up in Miami as we were all going to Florida on our honeymoons. My father was also at this party. Again he was separated from my mom. My dad’s real name was Solomon and his nickname was Buster. Believe me he did not let that name go to waste. He lived up to the image, probably came from his behavior growing up. Dad came over to Frank and myself and started to tell the story about his father leaving his mother many years ago. This was quite a surprise or rather a shock to me as he never in all my years growing up ever mentioned my grandfather. He went on to say when his father was in the hospital; he called him and said that he wanted to see him. My dad did not go to see his father and it was right after that his father passed away. This was the only time in my life that my dad ever sat down and had a conversation with me. As life has its many turns, it would be the last talk ever between us. Why he chose to tell us that story, I do not know. As you read along in the chapter Losing A Father, this plays itself over again but with a different ending.

I remember only once he took my mother away on vacation. All of us girls were married when they went to Niagara Falls. My mom looked so happy and rested when they returned. I never saw that radiant look again on her face. She truly loved him and put up with all his nonsense and antics because of that love. One fight that I remember in my teens was over his hamburger being too thick. So when dad was fighting and not talking to my mom, he would not talk to any of us kids either. His fights always had a reason, itchy feet. Another gene he must have inherited from his father. The only difference between my grandfather and my father was his father never came back to his mother and my mother always took him back. When whatever he was chasing was over, he would come home and my mother was always there waiting. My grandfather would say after my mom took my father back from his “adventures,” “She can’t live with him and she can’t live without him.” Thinking back, I can remember saying to myself that I never want to love anyone like that. You just don’t hurt people you love.

I never heard my mom say a bad word against her husband all the years of growing up; even when he left her again after all us children were out of the house and married. When he passed away, they were separated. After the funeral, I heard my mother cry, “Who is going to hold me now?” He must have held her in the privacy of their bedroom as I never saw him hug or kiss her or show any open affection to her, ever.

The first time I heard my mother say I love you to me was when I was in my thirties. I remember it as if it just happened. My children and I had moved into a new home and I told her that I thought that there were mice in the house. She looked at a place I pointed out to her and said, “That looks more like rat droppings!” We were talking about it and I looked at her and said, “I love you Mom.” She in turn said, “I love you too.” We were really having a conversation; something that hardly ever happened. She always called me Glor Kid. That was her nickname for me. It brings tears to think that if I had known then about our Lord and his abundant love for his children, I could have helped her more emotionally.

All this sounds so negative, and it was… but when I found out why Jesus died and the love he has for me, all that negativity that was inside of me gradually started to disappear.

One night I took my Mom to a healing service, Singing Grace and Vessels Healing Ministry where she received Jesus as her Lord and Savior. That was the best gift I could have given her and her to me. John 3:3 Jesus said, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. This gift from God and knowing that one day we will be together again, without all the pains, hurts and rejections that we went through during our earthly lives, brings immense joy to my spirit.

While standing by my couch one afternoon recently, I heard the Lord speak to me, “Your father came from the tribe of Judah.” I became so thrilled; my heart was jumping for joy. If nothing else, my father gave me the best DNA anyone could ask for. That is the direct lineage of the Lion of Judah, where Jesus Christ, our Yeshua was born. I just received the greatest present of my life. Hallelujah! Amen.