Franky's Story

Uncle Frank grew up with no restraints whatsoever.

His mother felt guilty for not ever being able to let him meet his real father, so she spoiled him instead. She let him do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted to do it. Imagine a kid growing up with no restraints. The picture that leaps to mind is one of a wild animal.

He was brash, bold, vulgar, indulgent, and violent, and quite willing to take whatever he felt should belong to him. That's how Frankie grew up. He didn’t complete his education. He was unable to hold a job for very long. He was untrustworthy, up all night with the girls and asleep all day, and completely dependent on his mother for his welfare.

My grandfather, Frankie's step-father, had no say-so whatsoever in his upbringing. Both my grandmother and Frankie would tell him, "Well, you're not his real father, anyway." Imagine how my grandfather felt. He loved his wife, but distrusted his step-son. And they left him out in the cold. He eventually crawled under a rock when he saw his wife and her son together. He never said anything to them about anything. And he never talked to me about Frankie even when I asked him. He always just shook his head "No." And always he looked away at something that was never there.

My mom hated Frankie. She fucking hated him. For blood. She still does. Ask here where she thinks he is, and she'll tell you that she really doesn't care. She'll then add that she hopes he's dead. I quit asking her about him when I realized her hatred for him that I saw in her eyes. None of my sisters or brother ask her either. It's dead.

My mother did the best she could when she raised my brother and me. She didn't want us to be like Frankie. She didn't have any trouble with my brother. He never showed as much wild, dangerous independence as me, he was quieter, more pensive and thoughtful. I, on the other hand, had a different personality. I wanted to do more. I wanted to go out more and have more freedom. I spoke louder and with more emotion. I played harder and got dirtier than the others. As it turns out, this is exactly what Frankie did. And I believe that this scared the shit out of my mother.

So she did the only thing she knew how to do with me. She raised me exactly the way she thought Frankie should have been raised. She discouraged all types of strong and physical behavior in me. No yelling. No fighting. No dirt-bike races. No dirty shoes. No rough play. No matches. She did everything she could to make sure that I didn't grow up like him. And my father let her. And I remember fighting them both damn near every inch of the way. I hated being held down. I hated not being able to go and do things. I resented not being allowed to be who I felt I really was. Many times I felt like a caged animal, like the ones you see in a zoo. I felt like they had put me in a cage.

Finally, when I was 15, I put all these real feelings inside me so as to not cause more problems in my head and went to drugs and alcohol. I didn't want to care about it any more. I was tired of the problems of not knowing who I really was. I found out that it was easier to get high than to slug it out with the cagers. I had let them cage me.

When I moved out of my parents house, (21 years old), I exploded out of their front door. I only took my clothes and my books. Even though I had a lousy job, I left them knowing that I would never return. I didn't even speak with them for the first year. When I did finally call, I just asked to borrow their vacuum cleaner.

It was at this time I sat myself down and spent the time just finding out whom I really was. All that I'd been holding inside me was finally able to come out. With no more cages holding me in, the only thing I had to worry about were the police! (To this day, I still don't like the police...)

During this time of discovery, I thought I was different than the rest of my family and parents.
I had found out that I was a hell of a lot smarter than most people. I found out that I was an intellectual that also happened to like wrestling, fighting, sports, playing in the dirt, and just about anything else physical. I found out that I am especially fond of physical contact. It makes members of my family nervous but it relaxes me. I am more active than anybody else in my family. I like adventures and am very much a risk-taker. They aren't so much.

The difference between Frankie and me is that I am fiercely independent of my parents. Frankie never was. His mother never encouraged independence in her kids. She wanted them to be dependent on her, and Frankie took the shortcut and let her have her way. My parents had to let go of me the minute I moved out of their house. There was no other way.

The most important and influential discovery I ever made in my understanding of my Uncle Frank is this. He was mentally abused by my grandmother. She never taught him how to be a man. She held on to him, she held him down, and never let go of him. While she was independent herself, she never taught it to him. She kept him like a bird in a cage, and that messed up his head. I don't think she ever did her best with him. But that's one thing I guess I'll never know the whole truth about.

The most important and influential discovery I ever made in my understanding of my parents is this. They did their absolute best they could do with me. I realized that the minute I decided to have children. My parents did their best with me, just like I am doing my best with my own. Even though our methods might be different, we are still doing our best.

And that's a HUGE discovery! I'm not really at all that different from my own parents. We're each doing our very best. And, in an odd little way, I suppose find that thought very comforting.