Hello to my eight loyal readers! I know it’s been a while since I posted a new chapter in my life I call BLACKSHEEP. I think I should jump ahead and let you all in on something about my time with George. It’s the horrible thing I did that was the final straw for him… enough to disown me and apparently talked most of the rest of his family into doing the same.
This was in 1986. It was right after my first year in public school. For the first time since I started going to school, I actually had some friends. Of course, I didn’t get an allowance. I guess I was expected to fund finally having friends on my own. George was cheap. He was also stingy and nasty about money. If you didn’t “earn” it, you didn’t get it. Earning it for me was usually wheel barrowing tires from the marsh. Someone had dumped all these tires into the marsh years ago before anything was on the property. I’d pull them up by hand, mud and crabs and all! I’d get twenty-five cents a tire.
So here it is. What I did that cost me my family. To turn me into the family Blacksheep.
I stole three hundred dollars from George when I was seventeen. Three different times I took the keys and went downstairs to the office where the days take from George’s laundromats was kept until it was counted. Each time I did it, I took around a hundred in ones. George had always insisted it was more like seven hundred total – Sorry, I’ll take the blame for the admiringly horrible thing I did, but not someone else’s. You see, I don’t think I was the only one else who dipped into the till those few weeks – Phyllis and Rad lived there too and I know for a fact Rad had gotten in trouble for stealing. Phyllis has always complained George wouldn’t give her clothes money for herself. We all had reasons – not to justify it, but to explain. I am in no way trying to make stealing a good thing, its abhorrent to take something that isn’t yours. A horrible act, especially when there are victims. Innocent victims I didn’t think about like Georges business partner and friend James Rowell. That was his money too. He was never vindictive and was always kind to me. Before and after the big theft. I’m sorry, Mr. Rowell.
Anyway, now well go back to little Barrett and his adventures. I hope that by the time I’m done telling my tale, it will make a little more sense why I did what I did. I hope that you’ll see I am not a horrible master mind thief with a thirst for dollar bills that I’ve been made out to be by some family members. I was just a naïve, scared kid who needed direction and real parenting. George was not only an ignorant racist and misogynist, but he was also anti-sematic. My own father figure racially stereotyped me on the fact that Jay, my real father, was Jewish. George was so dumb, he thought I was out for HIS gold or something equally ridiculous…I don’t know. He was a redneck, looking into facts wasn’t part of his way. He once said he was surprised I didn’t get a new social security card – what the fuck, George! I was just a kid in a small southern, religious town who wanted to be an actor when he grew up. I feel that George was never fully there for me. I don’t think he had any intention of being a good father to me. He was never my daddy, for sure. I was tolerated like a school pet hamster is tolerated. In his mind, I was always wanting something, to buy something – like a stereotypical “Jew” in his mind, I was greedy and if I didn’t “earn” whatever it was I wanted, I didn’t get it. Usually I wanted money to go roller skating, you know, horrible entitled child that I was.
As you can see I could go on forever…and I will! But back to 1975
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