No, I didn’t forget #3, its not finished yet.
After the difficulties encountered in moving to a new State, City, and culture, a new challenge reared its ugly head much sooner then I would have chosen.
Without anyone telling me anything… I’ve got to stop for a second and tell you that I’ve detected a pattern developing in the Florida Scott Family… Let’s just do something and not tell Michael about it, we will let him figure it out on his own.
One day I came home from Freshman year of high school to find that my mother no longer lived with us. Apparently, the older boys had been forewarned, but Michael was left to his own cognitive skills to figure it out once again… as I said, a pattern. Dad was home, but no Mom… Oh, I had heard them fight before and it would come and go, but moving out, that was something new. Life went on somewhat normally for a month or two, then it was decided, and they actually told me this time, that Mom was moving back into the house and Dad was moving out… OK, not sure how that changes thing, with the possible exception and meals being completely different. Dad was the cook in our family, and he made really good food. Now we had to see what Mom had going on in the kitchen. Can anyone say TV dinners? For all intents and purposes, it would be Mom and I living at Cayuga Rd. All three of my older brothers were away at college in Miami, and my sister Susie was at the Marian Center in Opa-Locka and only came home on weekends, the same for my brothers… well maybe came home, it all depended on if they needed money and/or laundry done. So, during the week, it was Mom and Michael.
It wasn’t long before I started hearing the ‘D’ word… Divorce… that’s what happened to ‘other families’, not us, our faith didn’t believe in divorce, I’d spent 9 years in parochial schools already, so I knew the rules pretty well by now, especially the ones I kept breaking. When Mom left, I never knew why she left or where she went to live. But this time Dad moved into a motel in Lauderdale by-the-Sea, and was within walking distance of the house in Sea Ranch. Then started the compulsorily ‘Visits to Dad’s motel so we could spend some time together’. Talk about awkward, this was my dad and it all felt like we were strangers. I’d visit for a few hours, dad would make something to eat, (which I really appreciated given the decline in the quality of food at home, don’t tell mom) and we’d watch some TV. That was the sum-total of our father-son time. It wasn’t until years later that I discovered what this was really all about… living in a close-by motel was suggested by Dad’s divorce attorney, Mr. Lubbers who also lived in Sea Ranch, so that Mom couldn’t accuse Dad of being a non-existent father. It was all part of the game. This, you could say, was the beginning of ‘The messy and contentious Divorce’, little did I know that it would suck me into its funnel. I was a Freshman at Cardinal Gibbons High School, (for those of you who are non-Catholic, almost all parochial schools can be identified by a ‘catholic type name’. A priest, nun, saint, or someone in the hierarchy of the church, in this case Cardinal Gibbons. I played on the Freshman football team and I was adjusting to high-school fairly well, ever though the home life was an emotional roller coaster, not for me, but for Mom. I could always tell when there was a court hearing… I’d come home from school, Mom would be crying telling me all the bad things ‘your father’ said about her in court. Lots of name calling and bitterness, but I chose to just ignore it. I never told Dad what Mom said about him, or vice-versa, and before you ask, yes, they both wanted to know, but I wasn’t playing. I’d learned at a young age to not get into the middle of a fight, especially this one.
On one of the court days, I came home and got my ass chewed off by Mom… Something along these lines, Mon. ‘where were you last Thursday?’, me, ‘I don’t know why?’, Mom, ‘you told me you had a football game’, me, ‘oh ya, that was the game against Monsignor Pace in Miami’, Mom, ‘your lying to me, the football team didn’t have a game until Friday’, me, ‘Mom I’m not lying, I had a game in Miami… the JV and varsity play on Fridays. I’m on the Freshman Football Team.’ Mom, ‘there’s a freshman football team too’, me, ‘yes, mom’, Mom, ‘oh’. Oh, was the best I got, no I’m sorry for calling you a liar, no I was wrong, no I had no idea there was a freshman foot team. Just an ‘oh’.
I didn’t like much being called a liar, even though at times I was, but being accused when you were actually telling the truth is 10 times more egregious, or at least it feels that way. In my day one of the most difficult and scariest things for a young adult to do is to confront an elder… From a very young age, the phrase ‘children are to be seen and not heard’ was a common saying in our house, and especially when three boys precede you. I’d also add that, ‘being seen’ was to be kept as short as possible too. But this football thing just kept eating away at me to the point that 45 minutes later, I said to myself, ‘screw it’… I walked out the front door of the house and to the norther end of Sea Ranch, where the Lubber’s lived, I knew it from Halloween-ing. I walked up to the front door and pressed the doorbell without any forethought or hesitation, Mrs. Lubbers answered to door, she was a nice lady, but this wasn’t a time for being nice or social, it was a time for action and setting the record straight… I asked if Mr. Lubbers was at home, she looked real surprised, her eyes opened wider and she said, ‘let me get him’, she had left the front door open and I could hear her say to her husband, ‘someone is here to see you’… well here goes… Mr. Lubbers came to the door and said, ‘can I help you’ and I say, ‘My name is Michael Scott and you called me a liar today. I don’t lie. I play center for the Cardinal Gibbons Freshman football team and last Thursday we had a game against Monsignor Pace in Miami, call the school and ask the coach if you like. Only the Junior Varsity and Varsity play on Fridays. I don’t like being called a liar and I don’t like it when someone makes my mom cry.’ I turned around and walked off the porch, down the street, and home. I’ve never told anyone this story before, but there are times when, even at a young age, matters have to be taken into your hands, the truth has to be told, the story needs to be straight.
The next week’s visit with Dad at the motel was… well interesting. By then I had already completely forgot about my visit to the Lubber’s house. Dad and I did our usual routine, and were watching some golf on TV and he casually says to me, ‘I heard you visited Mr. Lubbers’, OMG, my blood ran cold, what was coming my way now, oh shit… I got into the f—ing middle… I said, ‘yes, I had something I needed to tell him’, Dad says, ‘oh, I heard all about it’, I’m not sure if it possible, but my blood got ever colder… Dad continued, ‘he isn’t my attorney anymore, he quit’, I said, ‘Dad I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to make trouble. He called me a liar and made mom cry’, Dad said, ‘its ok’, and that was the end of it. The whole episode still makes me shiver even today.
My favorite music group from the 60s was Blood, Sweat, and Tears and one of there hits became my theme song of sorts, its tag line goes something like this… ‘Rich relations will give you a crust of bread and such, but God bless the child who’s got his own, who has his very own’. This became a guide post for me.