The change in me comes too late and I end up making a 1.2 grade-point average and being suspended from the school. Because of pressure from my father and his friend (the mayor of Duncan at the time) the suspension is lifted and I transfer to Central State College in Edmond, Oklahoma. Promising myself I would get my heart into studying, I say to the person in the registration office, “Just give me a second chance.” I realize that first I have to give my heart back to my first love, Jesus.
Mr. Pennington at Central State tells me, “Because of low grades thus far in college it is almost impossible to graduate from Central.” He adds, “You would almost have to make straight A’s.” The first semester I made a 3.4 grade-point average and then every semester after that. I graduate with two degrees in 1973, one in Psychology and the other in Sociology. I make it with grade-points to spare.
My roommate introduces me to his friend, Judy. We date for a year and end up getting married. But, it is a marriage for the wrong reasons. We just want to fix each other, and to prove that we can. This becomes obvious, even before the honeymoon is over. Pretty dumb, huh? I never met anyone so bankrupt of emotions. But then, at this point, I had not fully met myself, either. This confusion, and not believing in divorce, reminds me of the times back on Walnut Street when I had little to do but be emotionally mistreated. There had to be more in life, and I had to find out what it is all about. But, what is next for me, what lessons to learn? I forgive my wife and hope she forgives me of the things that happen in our bankrupt marriage. We always have much to learn about recognizing our true emotions, and a person cannot fake emotions. We start a journey to be ourselves, and to obtain self-integrity. We had two beautiful and wonderful daughters. That has to count for something.
Next, while still married and still filling a void, I invent a football board game. It gets a patent in 1981, a trademark, and then endorsed by a famous football coach. I feel safe at last, a ticket to be worthy of something. The game is SAFE football, short for Self-Adjustment-Football Examination. I can play the game alone when I have no one to play with. Get the picture? Safe and alone. My wife is not impressed, even when they do sell. I find that there are no substitutes for being in love, or for my wife’s lack of emotions. My search to be good at something continues even though locked inside a bubble of the dreaded thoughts of a dead marriage.
One day I got a call that my dad is in the VA hospital and dying. Judy and I live in Tulsa with a job I have after graduating college. We go to church that night. I am completely broken and excuse myself in an effort for composure. I go into the church bathroom. Once there, I look into a small mirror just above the sink. The mirror shows a crying and sad, desperate man with no hope. Not knowing what else to do, I pray and tell God that if my dad dies without spending more time with me I will never be right with no hope left. “Not now. We are just now able to have a real father-and-son relationship. God, I know this is a selfish prayer.” I then ask Him for forgiveness of this in me. Suddenly, as if by thunder, and what could only be described as the Holy Spirit, there is a shout in my ear telling me that my prayer is to receive an answer very soon.
The very next day I receive word that my father makes a miraculous recovery. My visit to his deathbed is to be put off. The next week my dad calls me to come down to Duncan to spend time with him. I will never forget his stamina as he boomed lumber while on top of the truck. It seems he is in the best shape of his life. We are in Ft. Worth one day buying lumber. Afterwards, we go to a filling station to receive service on the truck before heading home. While there I feel a strange yearning to go under an adjacent Texaco sign. Once under that sign I look back at my dad who is now under the canopy of the station. His head is in his hands. Suddenly, I feel caught up as if leaving my body and ascending. When this happens the colors of my surroundings seem to lose their hue. There is this overwhelming sense that I must never doubt what is happening; it can be described as total fear. Looking upward I see a figure dressed in white, instead of being dressed in a red and purple robe like when I am ten years old. The figure asks, in my mind, if I want to stay or come with him. He said this as I look to the north and see a casket with a body yet unknown. I respond that I want to stay on Earth and tell others. Suddenly, having second thoughts, I tell him that I want to go with him. He then tells me, in my mind, I must stay with my first answer. Immediately, I descend, and as I do the hue of the earth’s colors return. I reenter my body below. The painful feeling at this point I describe like a watermelon entering a small pop bottle.
On the way back to Duncan I tell my dad of the experience. He replies in his usual serious but funny manner. “Don’t be goofy, Son.” He then adds, “Never tell anyone what you just told me, they would think you are crazy. I believe you, Son. But no one else would.” I spend a few more days with him and Brenda before returning home to Judy in Oklahoma City.
My father, Don, lives nine more months and dies too young at 58-years-old in January of ’78. Part of me goes into the grave with him. It seems my mind stays there with him for thirteen years. Until I finally realize time and death waits for no man, and it can come at any time.
My next search for peace and self-respect involves a career in social work. I take the state test and make 80%. This high score surprises me since I don’t think I have any social etiquette and certainly don’t feel I could help anyone with anything. Giving it a try is perhaps what I need to give me social skills. I like my job very much, but even with all the concentration it takes with Food Stamps, Medicaid, Daycare, and Emergency programs, there is an emptiness in me. I still do not believe in divorce. Feeling alone, I find cold words to comfort me and decide to write words down on paper instead of saying them out loud. I end up writing a book of seventeen short stories including a western and a bedtime story called “Through a Dark Glass”. I write novels named Heavymist, which is about how depression feels, Somewhere on the Edge about me and my siblings’ plight, and Dead Letter Cases about a detective named Steve Branson who solves cases no one else wants. I even write a science fiction novel called The Replay Man that never sells like the others. The main thing is now my thoughts have an outlet.
In the middle of this new validation, and after twenty-three years of marriage, my wife wants a divorce. This devastates me as I am now feeling a renewed sense to make our marriage work. Again, I am too late and me trying so hard scares Judy. She just doesn’t care anymore.
The very next day I receive word that my father makes a miraculous recovery. My visit to his deathbed is to be put off. The next week my dad calls me to come down to Duncan to spend time with him. I will never forget his stamina as he boomed lumber while on top of the truck. It seems he is in the best shape of his life. We are in Ft. Worth one day buying lumber. Afterwards, we go to a filling station to receive service on the truck before heading home. While there I feel a strange yearning to go under an adjacent Texaco sign. Once under that sign I look back at my dad who is now under the canopy of the station. His head is in his hands. Suddenly, I feel caught up as if leaving my body and ascending. When this happens the colors of my surroundings seem to lose their hue. There is this overwhelming sense that I must never doubt what is happening; it can be described as total fear. Looking upward I see a figure dressed in white, instead of being dressed in a red and purple robe like when I am ten years old. The figure asks, in my mind, if I want to stay or come with him. He said this as I look to the north and see a casket with a body yet unknown. I respond that I want to stay on Earth and tell others. Suddenly, having second thoughts, I tell him that I want to go with him. He then tells me, in my mind, I must stay with my first answer. Immediately, I descend, and as I do the hue of the earth’s colors return. I reenter my body below. The painful feeling at this point I describe like a watermelon entering a small pop bottle.
On the way back to Duncan I tell my dad of the experience. He replies in his usual serious but funny manner. “Don’t be goofy, Son.” He then adds, “Never tell anyone what you just told me, they would think you are crazy. I believe you, Son. But no one else would.” I spend a few more days with him and Brenda before returning home to Judy in Oklahoma City.
My father, Don, lives nine more months and dies too young at 58-years-old in January of ’78. Part of me goes into the grave with him. It seems my mind stays there with him for thirteen years. Until I finally realize time and death waits for no man, and it can come at any time.
Mr. Pennington at Central State tells me, “Because of low grades thus far in college it is almost impossible to graduate from Central.” He adds, “You would almost have to make straight A’s.” The first semester I made a 3.4 grade-point average and then every semester after that. I graduate with two degrees in 1973, one in Psychology and the other in Sociology. I make it with grade-points to spare.
My roommate introduces me to his friend, Judy. We date for a year and end up getting married. But, it is a marriage for the wrong reasons. We just want to fix each other, and to prove that we can. This becomes obvious, even before the honeymoon is over. Pretty dumb, huh? I never met anyone so bankrupt of emotions. But then, at this point, I had not fully met myself, either. This confusion, and not believing in divorce, reminds me of the times back on Walnut Street when I had little to do but be emotionally mistreated. There had to be more in life, and I had to find out what it is all about. But, what is next for me, what lessons to learn? I forgive my wife and hope she forgives me of the things that happen in our bankrupt marriage. We always have much to learn about recognizing our true emotions, and a person cannot fake emotions. We start a journey to be ourselves, and to obtain self-integrity. We had two beautiful and wonderful daughters. That has to count for something.
Next, while still married and still filling a void, I invent a football board game. It gets a patent in 1981, a trademark, and then endorsed by a famous football coach. I feel safe at last, a ticket to be worthy of something. The game is SAFE football, short for Self-Adjustment-Football Examination. I can play the game alone when I have no one to play with. Get the picture? Safe and alone. My wife is not impressed, even when they do sell. I find that there are no substitutes for being in love, or for my wife’s lack of emotions. My search to be good at something continues even though locked inside a bubble of the dreaded thoughts of a dead marriage.
One day I got a call that my dad is in the VA hospital and dying. Judy and I live in Tulsa with a job I have after graduating college. We go to church that night. I am completely broken and excuse myself in an effort for composure. I go into the church bathroom. Once there, I look into a small mirror just above the sink. The mirror shows a crying and sad, desperate man with no hope. Not knowing what else to do, I pray and tell God that if my dad dies without spending more time with me I will never be right with no hope left. “Not now. We are just now able to have a real father-and-son relationship. God, I know this is a selfish prayer.” I then ask Him for forgiveness of this in me. Suddenly, as if by thunder, and what could only be described as the Holy Spirit, there is a shout in my ear telling me that my prayer is to receive an answer very soon.
The very next day I receive word that my father makes a miraculous recovery. My visit to his deathbed is to be put off. The next week my dad calls me to come down to Duncan to spend time with him. I will never forget his stamina as he boomed lumber while on top of the truck. It seems he is in the best shape of his life. We are in Ft. Worth one day buying lumber. Afterwards, we go to a filling station to receive service on the truck before heading home. While there I feel a strange yearning to go under an adjacent Texaco sign. Once under that sign I look back at my dad who is now under the canopy of the station. His head is in his hands. Suddenly, I feel caught up as if leaving my body and ascending. When this happens the colors of my surroundings seem to lose their hue. There is this overwhelming sense that I must never doubt what is happening; it can be described as total fear. Looking upward I see a figure dressed in white, instead of being dressed in a red and purple robe like when I am ten years old. The figure asks, in my mind, if I want to stay or come with him. He said this as I look to the north and see a casket with a body yet unknown. I respond that I want to stay on Earth and tell others. Suddenly, having second thoughts, I tell him that I want to go with him. He then tells me, in my mind, I must stay with my first answer. Immediately, I descend, and as I do the hue of the earth’s colors return. I reenter my body below. The painful feeling at this point I describe like a watermelon entering a small pop bottle.
On the way back to Duncan I tell my dad of the experience. He replies in his usual serious but funny manner. “Don’t be goofy, Son.” He then adds, “Never tell anyone what you just told me, they would think you are crazy. I believe you, Son. But no one else would.” I spend a few more days with him and Brenda before returning home to Judy in Oklahoma City.
My father, Don, lives nine more months and dies too young at 58-years-old in January of ’78. Part of me goes into the grave with him. It seems my mind stays there with him for thirteen years. Until I finally realize time and death waits for no man, and it can come at any time.
My next search for peace and self-respect involves a career in social work. I take the state test and make 80%. This high score surprises me since I don’t think I have any social etiquette and certainly don’t feel I could help anyone with anything. Giving it a try is perhaps what I need to give me social skills. I like my job very much, but even with all the concentration it takes with Food Stamps, Medicaid, Daycare, and Emergency programs, there is an emptiness in me. I still do not believe in divorce. Feeling alone, I find cold words to comfort me and decide to write words down on paper instead of saying them out loud. I end up writing a book of seventeen short stories including a western and a bedtime story called “Through a Dark Glass”. I write novels named Heavymist, which is about how depression feels, Somewhere on the Edge about me and my siblings’ plight, and Dead Letter Cases about a detective named Steve Branson who solves cases no one else wants. I even write a science fiction novel called The Replay Man that never sells like the others. The main thing is now my thoughts have an outlet.
In the middle of this new validation, and after twenty-three years of marriage, my wife wants a divorce. This devastates me as I am now feeling a renewed sense to make our marriage work. Again, I am too late and me trying so hard scares Judy. She just doesn’t care anymore.
The very next day I receive word that my father makes a miraculous recovery. My visit to his deathbed is to be put off. The next week my dad calls me to come down to Duncan to spend time with him. I will never forget his stamina as he boomed lumber while on top of the truck. It seems he is in the best shape of his life. We are in Ft. Worth one day buying lumber. Afterwards, we go to a filling station to receive service on the truck before heading home. While there I feel a strange yearning to go under an adjacent Texaco sign. Once under that sign I look back at my dad who is now under the canopy of the station. His head is in his hands. Suddenly, I feel caught up as if leaving my body and ascending. When this happens the colors of my surroundings seem to lose their hue. There is this overwhelming sense that I must never doubt what is happening; it can be described as total fear. Looking upward I see a figure dressed in white, instead of being dressed in a red and purple robe like when I am ten years old. The figure asks, in my mind, if I want to stay or come with him. He said this as I look to the north and see a casket with a body yet unknown. I respond that I want to stay on Earth and tell others. Suddenly, having second thoughts, I tell him that I want to go with him. He then tells me, in my mind, I must stay with my first answer. Immediately, I descend, and as I do the hue of the earth’s colors return. I reenter my body below. The painful feeling at this point I describe like a watermelon entering a small pop bottle.
On the way back to Duncan I tell my dad of the experience. He replies in his usual serious but funny manner. “Don’t be goofy, Son.” He then adds, “Never tell anyone what you just told me, they would think you are crazy. I believe you, Son. But no one else would.” I spend a few more days with him and Brenda before returning home to Judy in Oklahoma City.
My father, Don, lives nine more months and dies too young at 58-years-old in January of ’78. Part of me goes into the grave with him. It seems my mind stays there with him for thirteen years. Until I finally realize time and death waits for no man, and it can come at any time.