Dad was hurrying us as I left my almost new portable radio cassette player on the trash heap of household items (we were unloading ourselves of near and dear worldly goods for which there was no room in the car) in the alley behind the giant lemon tree. How I loved that tree, with it's yearly weighty load of large yellow fruit. I trailed my fingers across its emerald leaves and golden Autumn globes, said goodbye to it and clambered into the back seat of the 72 Ford Torino Squire Wagon. I think we were entitled to the 'Squire' part from the name because of the magnificent vinyl wood panelling to be found sweeping both the driver and passenger sides of the car, as well as its tailgate; but the Torino I was never quite as certain of - was it a reference to the city in Italy? To their football club? Doesn't seem likely, does, it... I doubt I shall ever know.
It was late afternoon in Yuma as we drove out of that city as a family. Dad headed us north along the old highway through Quartzite, and as dusk fell, Mom began the rosary. I slumped into the shiny brown stamped vinyl of the backseat - an upgrade I'm sure - and closed my eyes, somewhat resentful as I mumbled the words of the Hail Mary. Which decade were we saying? I don't know now, and I didn't know then. As the light started to fall in the Arizona sky all I could think of was that our lives were slipping off the map, and that our sanity was following swiftly.
I don't know who first decided that evil spirits were following us that evening, but the ratty torn shreds of clouds were dark and menacing, backlit in the last light of the day, and it was easy to imagine fearsome forms lurking within them and all about us. I felt the last of reality fall from my grasp and succumbed to the fear that was generated by my devout parents that evening. This fear would last for many years before I was again able to achieve any sense of proportion regarding religion and its place within my life. I was twenty-two years old, it was 1980 and my personal hell on earth was in full swing.
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First, let me say, that at twenty-two, one would think that the clutching grasp of parental beliefs would have already been loosened by some experience out in the world, a bevy of close friends and peers and certainly one's own explorations of reason and sex. Yet, no, my family's values, strongly taught and deeply felt, held sway well into my late twenties.
We were Roman Catholic, but very conservative R.C., and the fear of God had long outstripped for me any personal truth in his or her love. After all, we learn of God's love through our parents, particularly our fathers, and my relationship with my father was fragile and shaky, and had been, for some years. My Mother's faith dominated our lives, from the many pictures and statues of saints and angels and Jesus, through our almost daily rosaries and Mass; through special events such as the 'Weeping Madonna' we hosted in our home to the financial support my parents extended far beyond their means to every Catholic charity one might imagine. I had more than one 'sister' and 'brother' supported monthly by Mom and Dad in far flung places such as China and its Catholic missions, and closer places such as New York City, where street kids were given shelter through same such donations.
At times, as a child, it was painful to be denied art lessons while the money for them went to other children I did not and will never likely meet. Yet, to feel this way was utterly selfish, I knew, and I bore the heavy weight of my guilt sometimes in angry tirades, but more often as a silent resentment. Did they not understand the importance of my painting? Could they not love me as much as 'Ying Yang Sue'?
I believed, in fact, they could not love me. There was no degree. That I was indeed wholly unlovable, and in part because all my priorities were wrong; but more so because of my secret, the secret I was sure was known to them and yet was hated and hateful, horrific in every way. The secret no one would ever speak of with me. The secret that would damn me to eternal hellfire, for in the middle of a nocturnal emission at 12 years old Satan himself appeared to me and said, laughing: "I will destroy you through sex, Donnie. I know your secret!"
TO BE CONTINUED...
