The Monster Laughs

It has been argued that the adults we become are shaped by the children we were. The life we live as grown ups is a result of our childhood. Too many kids have horribly abusive childhoods, and grow up to repeat the pattern. Many of those kids though turn their lives around, vowing to have a good life as an adult,and succeding what anyone would have imagined. On the flip side, many kids that have wonderful, priveledged childhoods grow up to ruin their adult lives. Our adult lives are shaped by the children we were, yes. This, along with events, our own choices and decisions made in the growing process, shape our adult lives.

As a kid, I lived a fairly normal life, at times. I lived in a small town, rode my bike to the school, played on our property with my brothers and cousins. I was not hungry, abused, or neglected. I had star wars bedsheets, race cars on my bedroom walls, and a go cart. I also had a father who lived 150 miles away, a step father who basically abandoned his family for a new life, and a mother who tried to make the best choices she was able to, for the most part. One of the choices she made, I feel was the most influential on forming the man and father that I have become.

I first met "Mark" when he came over for dinner one night. I did not know he was coming. I walked into the kitchen, and sitting in one of our dining chairs, long legs stretched out, was Mark. My mother introduced us. He seemed like a nice guy. I was a shy kid, I remember sitting at dinner with my brothers, mother, and Mark, not sure what to say or do. My step father had recently left for good. My mother had been so sad, and seemed so happy to have this guy at our table. He had just got off work from his job at a mill, and still smelled of grease. He had on the black and white striped heavy shirt most men in our town owned, as most were mill workers or loggers. His black hair was curly and I remember thinking I'd never seen such curly hair on a guy. I dont know what we talked about at dinner, but I remember afterwards he sat on our backporch with my mother, and watched as my brother and I attempted to climb our cherry tree in the yard. We showed him our playhouse, our barn, our fort we had made in one of our fields. Mark never left. Or so it seemed. One night he was there for dinner, and then he was there all the time, living in our house that the only father I remember living with had recently run away from.
Mark was great about fixing my bike chain, as it always seemed to pop off. He kept our go cart running through the fields. He let me stay up and watch scary movies. And my mother was not sad anymore. She was happy in the evening again. The stress that had lined her face was gone. Mark drove us to California, and took great delight at seeing my wonder at the Redwood trees. Life was good.
I dont remember when I noticed the changes starting. I remember certain events. Our cat we'd had forever had kittens in our barn. Mark was angry about more animals being around (we had a large dog and 2 cats). The kittens were about 2 weeks old when they began disappearing. there were 5, then 4. I asked what happened to the missing kitten. My mother said she didnt know, perhaps another cat had got in the barn and took it? I will never forget the look on Marks face when when he said to me "sometimes mothers cant save their kids". He said this with no emotion, no expression, just let it hang there in the musty barn as he walked out. Within the week, all the kittens but one were gone. I found the final kitten on a Sunday morning, his head had been crushed.
Mark began to get angry often, and for what I thought was no reason. One afternoon I left my bike in the middle of the garage that was used just for storage. He yelled and screamed that I couldnt take care of anything, that I was lazy. My bike was moved to a high shelf, I was not strong enough to get it down until he felt I deserved it back. I'd hear him yelling late at night at my mother in their room. He'd call her horrible names, and accuse her of things I did not understand. I knew the slaps I heard were him hurting her, but I pretended that I didnt hear anything. The next days though, I'd see my mom looking scared, or sad. Mark would act as if everything was fine. He'd tell me stories of when he was cop and people he'd hurt. He'd always end these terrible tales with something to the effect of "cops look out for each other, I'll never go to jail". As time went on, I beleived this more and more.
Mark was the father figure in our house for a short while. Then he was gone from our daily lives. He'd come by on occasion, the weekends, some evenings. Those times my mother acted afraid. He'd talk with her in her room, or in the yard. I'd watch as she'd tell him to leave, plead with him to go. He'd leave, but his truck would drive up and down our road over and over. One time my aunt came to get me out of class, and drove me to my mother who was waiting at the store. We drove to another town and stayed at womans shelter for several nights, as threats against my mothers life had been made.
To support her fatherless family, My mother began working a second job on the weekends at a local restaurant and lounge. She would be gone many nights until early in the morning, leaving a babysitter in charge. I remember laying in my bed late at night, the holly bush scratching at the house, my window open. Mark would be outside my window, whispering, "your mom is not comng home for a while. I'm going to burn your house down with you inside". Then he'd laugh. His deep, smokers laugh, sending chills throughout my body. Sometimes he'd call when she was at work to say "your mom is dead." Then hang up, chuckling as I'd start crying. He'd come to the door and let me know that my mom had been hurt, she was in the hospital, then laugh and walk away.
I'd come home from school to find an animal that had been run over in our yard. One particularly bad weekend my aunt brought me home to get some toys as my mother had hid us at her house for a weekend while she herself was in a safe house. There were two dead cats hanging on our front porch,and a small dog laying on our back porch. The cherry tree that I climbed in, some kind of animal was hanging from it, my uncle took it down before I could see it.
This terror went on for what seemed like forever, though looking back at the time frame could have been no longer than a year, from introduction to the day we fled my childhood home. School ended for the year, I came home and there was a caravan of pickups and cars in our driveway, loading everything up so we could move to another town, away from the monster that Mark had become. The house that I had rode my bike around the driveways, rode my go cart in the fields, made countless mud pies in the playhouse, had become unsafe for my mothers life. And a place of terror in mine. So, we moved away.

Fear can do many things to a child. My mother could not protect me from the fear of the monster that was very real. This was not a "scary monster in my closet". This was a man, hiding outside my window,laughing as he terrified me with his taunts. Fear can paralyze you. Fear can make you angry. Being laughed at while your being tormented and teased can make you hate. I hate Mark still. The fear he instilled in me still haunts my dreams at times. Some of the the worst nightmares I've had in my life are thanks to Mark, and I'm sure the ones he is not in are somehow influenced by him.
But going back to the beginning, how did this choice my mother make shape the man and father I've become today?
Its hard to say how I would have turned out had it not been for Mark. As a man, I've seen how to never treat a woman, or another person for that matter. Abuse is not okay, no matter who is on the receiving end of it. I know that things will not always be my way, or the rules be those I want, but there are limits to what I will do to get my way. Harm is not one of them. To instill fear in someone, to make someone afraid to not only go to sleep at night but also to dread wakeing up the next day, this is pathetic. I vowed that my kids or spouse would never be afraid of me. To see my daughter or son look at me, afraid of what'd I say or do, I could never handle. To see the person I love cower if I came into the room, unthinkable.
I'm feircely protective of my children. Not only their saftey, but their happiness and ability to enjoy their youth is my lifes focus. All else in my life is secondary to me giving my kids the best life I possibly can. My children deserve this. All kids deserve a childhood where they can be laughing, joyful kids, and not constantly be the coward bullied on the playground. The things I'm afraid of are very real- Sure, I dont like spiders, I hate ladders, and I'm not fond of being on a boat. My biggest fear is harm or illness to my kids. Nothing else can bring me to the verge of hysteria quicker than this thought. I've lived through terror and mind numbing fear. Noises outside in the middle of the night? I've seen what they are. The groaning monster in the closet is nothing compared to a laughing man lurking outside or calling in the middle of the night.
But for all the "good" lessons Mark taught me, theres a few on the other side. Its very hard for me to let others inside. My childhood trust in adults was shattered in a matter of months. People are not who or what they appear. They will turn on or hurt me. I have to remember that I am the only one who can protect me, and so I will, By keeping others out. And so, i have to be on guard. Even now, 26 years after we fled on that June day, I'm still careful about who I turn to and count on to be there. I dont allow myself to form close feelings or a true bond with people. I never know when I'll have to run, or when they will become someone other than who I thought. I have many many good and close friends; yet Sadly, I know that deep down, I dont trust those friendships. I can't. Bonds are meant to be broken. Its just a matter of time.
And finally, Mark taught me that when all else fails, when everyone around me is scared, broken, gone or unable to help, I've got myself. Through everything, I was my own constant. I lay in my bed, star wars sheet pulled over my head, listening to the laughter outside my window, smelling the gasoline Mark told me he was pouring on the wall to light on fire, a dead mother somewhere, sobbing in fear. And I was there by myself, only one around to pull me through. I would stay awake till the monster was gone, till the gas evaporated, till mom came home. If I could be strong enough, I could be safe. Mark and his psycotic laughter not only made me hardened, but a strong person, a viscious father, a man afraid of very few physical things.
And, yet I feel I won. And now it's my turn to laugh.