age 11, sixth grade, October 1961

THE GREEK SAILORS
 

I take little pleasure in writing about my mother's promiscuity.  However, given the extreme damage it did to our relationship, something needs to be said. 

September 1961 was not good to my mother.  In addition to Hurricane Carla, she lost her job working for a doctor at a hospital in the Texas Medical Center.  She never said why, but I imagine her outspoken ways had something to do with it.  Making matters worse, her boyfriend Fred broke up with her at the end of the month.  Plus we had a new home.  Whenever Mom got too far behind in paying the rent, we would skip out in the night to a new apartment.  Given that we never stayed in one place long enough for me to make friends, if it wasn't for Terry I would have gone out of my mind with loneliness.  Meanwhile, now that Fred was gone, Mom went back to her bar-hopping strategy. 

Opa!  Mom discovered the Athens Bar and Grill down by the Houston Ship Channel.  Conveniently located close to the incoming merchant ships, the Athens Bar was a favorite hangout for Greek sailors.  From what I gather, this active nightspot was perfect as home away from home for Greek sailors.  This was a great place to let loose during their brief stay.  The Athens Bar featured good food, Greek wine, Greek music, plus an abundance of other Greek sailors in port to liven up the night with dancing.  Although my mother was plain, she had little trouble picking up men.  Mom would bring them back to our house at night, then drive them back in the morning or the following morning when their ship left. 

Regarding my mother's fondness for men, I was filled with resentment.  Practically every weekend I had put up with some new guy shacking up.  Where else was Mom going to take them?  I complained bitterly, but Mom didn't care.  She liked the arrangement.  She liked the fact that these guys would be shipping out.  Here today, gone tomorrow, make room for another guy next weekend.  After each tryst Mom would play music from Zorba the Greek on the phonograph all week long.  It helped get her in the mood for her next conquest. 

Shortly before my 12th birthday in October, Mom brought home a sailor named Kristos.  Cute guy, big shoulders, macho attitude, the perfect one-night stand.  Mom may have been plump and plain, but she never lacked for men.  Mom's attitude was simple.  She couldn't get pregnant and she liked sex, so there you have it.  Sunday morning when I woke up, Kristos was at the kitchen table drinking coffee with Mom.  Kristos spoke little English.  He knew enough to say he was from Yugoslavia, not Greece, but that was about it. 

Kristos noticed my chess board in the living room and beckoned to it.  Was I a good chess player?  No.  I played with classmates during lunch, but that was the extent of it.  I did not want to play this guy, but Mom insisted while she cooked breakfast.  Kristos advanced his pawns one space at a time until I was completely pinned back.  Kristos was so overwhelmingly superior, he did not even bother to take my pieces.  Instead his moves forced to me to constantly retreat until he smothered me to death like an anaconda.  When Kristos laughed derisively, I failed to see the humor.  Nice work, sailor boy, you just beat an 11 year old kid.  I was furious at being crushed to death by my mother's latest one-night stand. 

Angry, I stomped to my room, taking Terry with me.  The sting of that overwhelming defeat lingered for a long time.  However, this story had an odd ending.  Now that Kristos had demonstrated I wasn't nearly as good as I thought I was, I noticed a chess book for beginners at my school's Book Fair.  It was written for kids my age so I asked Mom for money to buy it as my birthday present.  This book really helped.  Once I taught myself the finer points of the game, I was able to beat the boys at school on a regular basis. 

Sorry to say, my skill at chess was the only good thing that ever came from Mom's parade of lovers.  I was not the most cheerful son.  For the most part I was civil, but I definitely had my bad days.  Thanks to a tendency towards depression, I was often moody and sullen.  A major problem was a glaring lack of respect for my mother.  I was outspoken on the issue of the men.  I complained frequently and talked back whenever I disagreed with what she said.  Nor was I especially obedient.  Sometimes my mother would tell me to do something.  If I was not in the mood, I replied I would do it when I felt like it.  And so the tension grew.

The constant moves to new homes and the occasional loss of electricity were tiresome.  However, nothing compared to the anger I felt from having Mom shove these drifters down my throat.  Most of the men came and went.  However, sometimes she let these losers stick around awhile.  Over a period of nine years till I left for college, there were eight different men that Mom permitted to live with us.  Can you imagine the stress of having unwanted strangers come to live in your home?  I could forgive Mom for a lot of mistakes, but her decision to inflict her miserable love life on me was intolerable.  When it was just Mom, me and the dog, life was okay.  However, sooner or later Mom would get lonely.  Sure enough, she would go to a bar, pick up some stranger, and bring him home.  Her worst mistake was feeding them.  Like stray dogs, the next thing you know, the guy was living with us.  Unbelievable. 

You cannot imagine the depth of hostility I feel towards my mother on this issue.  I told Mom I could live with the occasional one night stand, but please don't let them live with us.  Mom told me it was none of my business.   Without any say-so in the matter, I was forced to watch with disgust as her revolving door of losers came and went.  Unable to effectively express my resentment, I grew cold and bitter.  If my mother had just kept her constant need for men out of sight, maybe I would not have become so screwed up in later life.

age 12, sixth grade, October-NOVEMBER 1961

mom hits rock bottom
 

Needless to say, following Terry's Hurricane Carla escapade and the parade of Greek sailors, the frost that existed between me and my mother rivaled the Ice Age.  As usual, we never talked about it.  Talking about problems was not one of my mother's strengths.  Nor mine either.  We barely spoke.

Oddly enough, the Carla incident marked the last time my mother ever let Terry out.  I can only suppose she realized she had crossed the line this time.  I imagine she was just as surprised to see Terry survive the night as I was.  I guess she learned her lesson. 

Mom took it hard when Fred broke up with her.  The procession of Greek sailors did little to cure the ache.  Being out of a job was another nagging issue.  In November Mom began crying uncontrollably in her bedroom.  I would stand outside her door riddled with anxiety.  Here I am, 12 years old, 6th Grade.  What am I supposed to do?  I had no idea how to console her.  Nor did I have anyone to turn to.  There were no relatives, no close friends, no neighbors to call for help when Mom had one of her crying jags.  She and my dog Terry were all I had.  Consequently I spent much of my time in constant fear she would go off the deep end. 

Despite my terrible resentment towards the woman, if I lost Mom, my worst nightmare was getting stuck with my father.  There was no way he would let Terry come with me.  In that case, who was going to take care of Terry?  I had already figured out my father did not have a nurturing bone in his body.  However, the worst part was the witch.  That horrible woman had ruined my life and my mother's life.  Considering I hated Dad's former mistress with a passion, the thought of being placed in their home make me sick.  I was almost certain the witch would order my father to remove me from St. John's.  Considering my father already considered my school was a waste of money, that was a given. 

After that, the Jezebel would probably begin to poison me.  Then I changed my mind.  Why bother?  Seriously, no need for poison.  All she had to do was get rid of Terry.  I would have died automatically if I lost my dog.  My only hope was that my unstable mother would somehow pull through.  No matter how bad things were at home, it doesn't take much imagination why I strongly preferred to keep her around.  Mom wasn't much of a mother, but at least she sort of cared about me.  I had no similar illusions about my distant father.

Like me, my mother was prone to depression.  In 1961 it seemed like all year long something was wrong with her.  She never told me why she went off the deep end, but her dark mood just kept getting worse.  I prayed Mom would find a way to keep it together, but she wasn't inspiring any sense of security. 

On a rainy day in mid-November, Mom had a breakdown.  She just couldn't take it anymore.  No job, no boyfriend.  Nor did it help that her only child periodically despised her.  On the day she snapped, once Mom started crying, she did not stop.  Her door was closed, but the sound effects told me this was much worse than usual.  This went on for over an hour.  Recognizing that my mother was badly out of control, a real foreboding took hold of me.  It did not help that the world was made gloomy by torrential rain.  Suddenly Mom threw open her bedroom door.  Without a word to me, she rushed past my room and out the front door.  Frightened, I was not about to let her leave in that condition.  I told Terry to stay inside, then left to tail Mom.  I was so worried about her it never occurred to me to fetch a raincoat.  I was instantly drenched, but I wasn't going to let that stop me, not with Mom so badly out of control. 

As I followed Mom in the heavy downpour, I could tell she was deep in crisis.  Mom walked to the edge of a swollen bayou, then stopped.  She stared at the swirling water for a long time.  Meanwhile I hid behind a nearby tree and watched.  I trembled with fear that she was going to jump.  If so, I was ready to jump in after her.  After a suspenseful five minutes of debate, she changed her mind.  Instead she threw herself face down on the wet grass.

Covering her face with her hands, Mom sobbed her head off while I stayed hidden.  Her mind and soul were so wracked with pain, Mom did not care that she was soaked from head to toe.  So was I for that matter, but I was too paralyzed with fear to worry about it.  What should I do?  Should I try to comfort her?  Or should I continue to monitor the situation?  For fear of embarrassing her, I opted to stay hidden and keep watching.  However, if she moved one step closer to that dangerous bayou, I was ready to tackle her. 

Her crying jag lasted twenty minutes, but it felt like an eternity.  Finally Mom rose to her feet.  Soaking wet and covered in mud, Mom resembled a Swamp Monster.  Thankfully she seemed a little stronger.  Still hiding behind the tree, I was gratified to see her look back towards our apartment project.  After a moment of indecision, she began walking home.  The heavy rainfall washed most of the mud off her, so she didn't look quite so gruesome anymore.  Once I saw Mom enter the project, I assumed she was on her way home.  As a way to protect her dignity, I took a different route and sprinted ahead to beat her.  I was in the shower when I heard the front door shut.  I finished quickly because I knew she would want to take her own shower.  By hiding my wet clothes under the bed, Mom never knew I had been spying on her.  Certain she would not want me to know how forlorn she had been, I kept my supervision a secret.

Although my mother's life was in crisis, she never confided what was troubling her. However, it was not hard to guess.  Bills, loneliness, low self-esteem, problems finding a decent man, problems keeping a job, you name it.  She was overwhelmed.  Whatever she was doing, it wasn't working.  She could not seem to cope.  If I had to guess, the bill collectors were driving her crazy.  She was heavily in debt.  How could I tell?  Food was getting scarce.  Fortunately I had lunch at school to count on.  However, the empty refrigerator was a bad omen.

Mom had lost hope.  Who did she have to count on?  No one. She was on her own and scared to death.  Years later Mom told me she once considered suicide.  I asked what changed her mind.  Without hesitation, she said the thought of forcing me to live with my father was so abhorrent she could not bear to do that to me.  I believe she was referring to this incident. 

As a rule, Mom was not mean to me.  She was neglectful, but not hurtful.  Mostly she just took me for granted.  Although Mom was not much of a mother, she sure beat the alternative.  I alternated between concern for my mother and fury at her incompetence.  I fully admit I grew up twisted and bitter, but you know what, I had good reason.  The sad thing is that deep down we cared about each other, but were totally unable to express it in a healthy way.

December came and Mom did not pull out of her tailspin.  If anything, she got worse.  Mom was constantly full of despair.  She was crying all the time and could not seem to snap out of it.  I was very worried about her.  I was not old enough to know what a nervous breakdown was, but she had all the signs.  Unable to think of a way to help, I was almost as depressed as she was.  I have to assume the issues were loneliness, a sense of failure and a stack of unpaid bills.  Given that there was no hope in sight, I can see how the desperation she felt led to the most lethal decision of her life.

It was Friday, December 22nd.  That morning I had eaten the last of the cereal.  The refrigerator was practically bare.  So was the kitchen closet.  Ordinarily I had school lunch to look forward to, but this was the Christmas Holidays.  When I suggested a trip to the grocery store, Mom bit my head off.  She stomped to her room and slammed the door shut.  Late that night, Mom finally emerged.  At 11 pm she threw open my bedroom door and made a startling announcement. 

"Get packed, we are driving to Dick and Lynn's house in Virginia!"

I was instantly alarmed.  Dick, 34, was Mom's younger brother.  They were close in age and had been best friends growing up.  She loved Dick so much she named me for him.  In 1959 I spent the summer with Uncle Dick and his sweet wife Lynn while my parents finalized their divorce.  My aunt and uncle were incredibly kind to me, doing everything in their power to help me cope with the divorce.  As much as I would love to see them again, a shudder ripped through me.  This trip was a very bad idea!  For one thing, our ancient car was in terrible condition and Mom knew it.  I doubted our broken-down car could make it all the way from Texas to Virginia. 

As usual, I second-guessed my mother's decision.  "Does Uncle Dick know we are coming?"

"No.  It's a surprise."

My eyes bulged.  I quickly concluded my mother was so bad off that she intended to throw herself at her brother's mercy.  I seriously did not want to do this.  It was freezing cold outside, somewhere around 26-28 degrees.  Unfortunately we had the worst car imaginable for winter driving.  It was an unwieldy giant convertible.  The car was so big it resembled a German tank.  The thin canvas roof was hardly sufficient to keep us warm.  Even worse, the floor board in front of the back seat was rusted out.  There were cracks large enough for me to see the street pavement below.  Cold air blowing in was sure to make us miserable.  I was really scared, so I tried to talk my mother out of this.

"Mom, our car is in bad shape and it's freezing cold out there.  There's ice on the street.  Don't you want to rethink this?"

"No.  My mind is made up.  We are going.  Are you packed yet?"

"Mom, Christmas is two days away.  We will never make it."

"Yes, we will, but not if you continue to argue with me.  Get packed and get in the car like I told you."

What a shame I did not have a map available.  Maybe I could have used it to talk sense into the woman.  This was a trip of 1,350 miles in a beat-up car, little money, and freezing cold.

"Are you sure about this, Mom?  What is so important?"

"Richard, did you not hear me the first time?  Get packed before I lose my temper!"

My mother rarely spoke to me in a threatening way, so something was wrong, something was very wrong.  But what could I do about it?  Mom had a look of despair that said she was determined to take this trip despite the terrible odds against her.  Sick to my stomach, I reluctantly gathered every blanket in the house and stuffed them into the car.  

Mom said driving at night was the best way to make good time, so Terry and I jumped in.  We left at 1 am, Saturday, December 23.   Mom had a choice between going through southern Louisiana or northern Louisiana.  Just our bad luck, she chose the northern route.  We did indeed make good time, but that changed dramatically at 7 am.  The moment we crossed into Louisiana we saw snow flurries.  In practically no time at all, the flurries changed to heavy snowfall.  The roads were soon covered with snow and slush.  At this point I asked an obvious question.

"Mom, did you check the weather before we left?"

"No.  This was a snap decision."

Why was I not surprised?  Heavy snow does not fall in Louisiana very often.  However, we had run smack dab into the worst winter storm in the past twenty years.  A little foresight would have made a huge difference.  Given that a quick weather check would have revealed this oncoming storm, Mom would have had the sense to take the southern I-10 route.  Thanks to this surprise storm, we were in big trouble.  However there was a simple solution.  I suggested we turn around and head back to Houston.  When Mom refused to listen, a feeling of dread washed over me like nothing I had ever felt before.

As the snowfall increased, just then I noticed we were passing a roadside diner.  "Mom, I'm hungry.  We just passed a coffee shop.  Let's stop and eat."

"No.  I don't want to waste any time.  We will barely make it by Christmas as it is."

I stared at my mother incredulously.  Mom was determined to continue, even though the car had begun to skid badly on the sleet covering the highway.  I had never seen her like this.  Mom was in a trance!  She was behaving like she had lost her mind.  At this rate, she was going to kill us both.  Fortunately the early morning traffic was almost non-existent in this blizzard, so the danger of a collision was unlikely.  However I was really upset by Mom's inability to control the car.  Our unwieldy car with its old tires could not hold the road.  A straight line was a thing of the past.  Instead the car weaved back and forth, making a snake-like S-pattern.  The car frequently drifted across the median line for brief moments despite Mom's best efforts to control the vehicle.  The fact that Mom had so little control over the car scared me to death.  This went on for an hour and I was absolutely terrified.  Plus the visibility was terrible.  Now that there were more cars on the road, my eyes ached from straining to spot oncoming traffic through the thick snowfall.  I complained bitterly, but Mom would not listen to reason. 

Finally I couldn't take it anymore.  Every two or three minutes the car would briefly drift into the oncoming traffic lane.  I was afraid for my life, so I got in the back seat with Terry.  The moment I reached for the seat beat, I regretted my decision.  I had forgotten our front seat had seat belts, but not the back.  Too embarrassed to crawl back up front, I stayed put.  We had blankets, but they were not enough.  Soon I was freezing to death from the winter air blowing up through the rusted floorboard.  When I complained, Mom said the heater had stopped working.  The car was colder than a refrigerator icebox.  Freezing and frightened, I clung hard to Terry and shivered with cold and fear.  Every time the car skidded into the oncoming lane, I wondered if this was how I was going to die.  Or maybe I would die of permafrost instead.  My mother was taking an enormous risk. 

Mom started to cry.  She was scared.  Mom knew this was a bad mistake, but she could not force herself to stop or turn around.  I looked at the woman.  Poor Mom.  Her face was trancelike and white with fear.  Something had come over her.  Mom had gotten it in her head that this suicide march was something she had to do.  Hypnotized like a mindless lemming hurtling towards a cliff, Mom was determined to plow forward no matter what.  Unwilling to listen to reason, she lacked the presence of mind to quit while she still could. 

It was 9 am.  We had been driving in these blizzard conditions for two hours.  As huge snow drifts accumulated on the side of the road, the car got harder to control on the ice and slush.  Even though Mom was barely driving 20 miles per hour, one time we skidded much further into the next lane than ever before.  Seeing an oncoming truck, I held my breath at the danger we were in.  Mom was barely able to get us back in our lane before a giant truck whizzed past us.  The driver honked his loud horn to signal his anger over the near-collision.  This had been a really close call.  God only knows what might happen the next time.  Shouldn't this be warning enough?  Surely this close call was enough to snap my mother out of her insanity. 

I couldn't stand it, so I screamed, "Mom, will you please stop the car and pull over before it is too late!  This is crazy.  You cannot keep doing this; we will be killed!"

Mom shook her head no.  That is when I knew the woman was out of her mind.  Swerving into the other lane every four hundred yards or so, the car was a death trap in these icy conditions.  The only thing that saved us was the sparse traffic.  A few minutes later, we came to a small town called Rayville.  This was a perfect chance to stop, so I spoke up again. 

"Mom, I beg you to pull over and wait out the storm until the roads can be cleared!  Please do this!" 

Mom shook her head again.  Nothing doing. 

"Mom, what is wrong with you?  What is so damn important that you have to risk our lives?  Will you just talk to me?"

Mom did not say a word.  Staring grimly ahead, she just kept driving.  Her life had to be in serious crisis to take such desperate chances.  As she kept plowing ahead, Mom was determined to follow her dangerous path even though it meant risking our lives.  She was completely out of control.  As we passed through Rayville, I spotted a place to eat.

"Mom, look, there's a diner.  It's 9:30, time to eat.  I'm hungry, let's get something to eat.  Please??"

Nothing doing.  Mom just kept rolling down the highway.  My heart sank as the town disappeared in the distance.  I felt doomed.  With the heavy snowfall continuing unmercifully, the icy road was in the worst condition imaginable.  Our worn-out tires could not seem to grip the road for long.  As the car constantly weaved back and forth on the snowy highway, I experienced more fear than any kid should ever have to face.  This was D-Day fear, the kind of fear one gets when certain death is imminent.  I felt so helpless stuck here with this insane mother.  She was struggling as best she could to control this weaving car, but not having much luck.  I was certain we would be killed at any moment. 

And then it happened. 

Our car skidded and took us at a sharp angle across the road!

Seeing a giant oncoming truck, I was certain death was unavoidable.  We were right in its path.  I screamed bloody murder and squeezed my dog to my chest in terror.  Our car had so much momentum in the wrong direction, there was no time for Mom to regain control.  Thinking fast, she just kept driving in a straight line across the road.

My life flashed before me as our car passed directly across the truck's path.  This was an insanely close call.  Somehow the truck missed hitting the back of our car by inches. 

Unable to stop, our car plowed full speed into a ditch on the other side of the road.  Although we landed with a hard thud, the thick snow accumulation in the ditch softened the blow of the crash.  The car came to a stop at a 20 to 30 degree angle. 

Mom's gutsy move had saved our lives.  However, now we were stuck.  The car was face downward in a snow drift.  To my great relief, the motor was still running.  That meant the car had survived intact.  Now came the bad news.  Mom tried to back out, but there was no traction.  Try backing up at an angle in snow.  It was hopeless.  We were trapped.   Mom turned off the car, then broke down in another one of her miserable crying jags. 

I was crying too.  I was trembling uncontrollably at our narrow brush with death.  I did not know how we were ever going to get out of this mess, so I just sat there in quiet desperation.  Thank God I had my dog.  I buried my face in Terry's fur just like I used to when I was a little boy and my parents were fighting again.

Mom could not seem to snap out of it.  She just kept sobbing.  However, after ten minutes of crying, she suddenly stopped and turned to look at me. 

"Richard, I want you to get out of the goddamn car and go get us a tow truck!"

What??  Surely my mother wasn't serious... but she was. 

Scared, a sick feeling came over me.  "Mom, please do not make me do this.  We are stuck in the middle of nowhere.  What exactly do you expect me to do?"

"I expect you to do what I said!  Go stand on the side of the road and hitch a ride back into that town we just passed.  Get to a station and ask for a tow truck to bring you back.  Terry and I will wait till you return."

Despite my desperation, I half-snickered at my mother's promise to stay in the car.  Oh really?  As if the woman had something better to do.

"Mom, I'm scared.  I am just a kid and hitchhiking is dangerous.  I don't want to go by myself.  Why don't all three of us go?"

"Maybe it's time for you to grow up!  Get out of the car and flag down some help."

"Why can't all three of us go?"

"Because no one will pick up two people and a dog.  However, they might take pity on a 12-year old kid."

I did not agree with her logic.  I was fairly certain people would see we had an accident and would take pity on us.  But Mom insisted I go alone.  I stared at my mother as if she was out of her mind.  That's when I realized she WAS out of her mind.  Mom had been out of her mind ever since we left Houston.  I could not believe my mother was sending me out on my own like this, but maybe she was right.  I could not think of another solution, so on the spot I decided to do this.  I got out of the car and climbed up the ditch onto the road.  Then I stuck out my thumb just like I had seen Richard Kimble do on The Fugitive.

Mom was right.  A shivering kid on the side of the road in a blizzard is a pitiful sight, especially since the car in the ditch screamed emergency.  Sure enough, almost immediately some man saw me standing there and slowed down.  When he pulled over, the man seemed safe enough, so I accepted his offer for a ride to town.  Ten miles later I was in nearby Rayville.  The man dropped me off at some sort of Mom and Pop service station.  Pretty soon I was riding back in a tow truck.  I was filled with relief to discover this risky move had turned out a lot better than I expected. 

To my amazement, the tow truck was able to get our heavy tank out of the snow drift.  The truck took us back into town whereupon Mr. Fontenot, the station owner, checked out the car.  There was no damage.  Excellent.  We had finally caught a break.  However we were not out of the woods, not by a long shot.  Those tires were no good in these conditions.  Mr. Fontenot insisted Mom get some snow chains.  After what we had been through, Mom wasn't going to argue.  If there was any silver lining to the accident, my mother's trance-like defiance was long gone.  I suppose our white-knuckle close call had jolted her back to her senses. 

Mom did something dishonest.  She let Mr. Fontenot put on the snow chains without telling him she could not pay.  Keep in mind Mom did not have a credit card as an option.  Credit cards did not become common until the 70s.  She gambled the manager would be reluctant to take the chains back off once she told him the truth. 

You have no idea the look of anger that crossed Mr. Fontenot's face when Mom asked if he would accept a check.  The bill was $100.  That was a lot of money in those days ($1,000 adjusted for inflation).  Considering we were from Texas and obviously down on our luck, asking him to take a check was a big ask.  Keep in mind this was a service station in rural Louisiana.  From the looks of it, I doubt this place was rolling in dough.  Mom had asked a man who did not have much money to spare to take pity on an indigent stranger. 

Clearly upset, Mr. Fontenot said, "You don't have any cash?"

"What little I have I need for gas to get to Virginia," she replied.

"Do you have sufficient funds to cover the check?"

Mom could not look at the man.  She hung her head in shame and admitted she did not have enough money in the bank to pay the towing fee or purchase the snow chains.  Seeing the look of dismay on Mr. Fontenot's face, I cringed.  Until Mom spoke up, I had not realized just how meager our funds were.  My eyes widened further when Mom added we did not even have enough cash for meals.  Uh oh.  Now I knew why she had refused to stop for breakfast. 

"Look, Mr. Fontenot," Mom said, "I am dead broke.  But if you will trust me, I will write you a check.  Once we get to Virginia, my brother will give me enough money to cover the check.  You have my word.  All you have to do is wait one week before cashing it."

When I saw Mr. Fontenot shake his head, I was aghast.  Mom had really put him on the spot.  You should have seen the frown on his face.  Seeing that Mr. Fontenot was hopping mad, I had never felt more embarrassed in my life.  This man had gone to considerable trouble to help us and I did not like seeing him deceived by my mother's lack of candor.  My mother had a lot of nerve, but what choice did she have given the jam she had gotten us in?  Well, actually she did have a choice.  She could have said something first before he put the chains on.  Mr. Fontenot stared at my mother long and hard.  Fortunately, to my undying relief, Mr. Fontenot eventually nodded okay.  

I knew why Mr. Fontenot had agreed to help my mother.  When I first walked in, he had taken a shine to me.  Curious, he had asked me to explain what we were doing here in the middle of nowhere.  As he listened to my story, Mr. Fontenot let out a low whistle.  When he asked if I had been scared during the accident, I told him I had screamed in terror, then added I was still shaking.

"And you hitched here by yourself?" he asked incredulously.

When I nodded, Mr. Fontenot smiled.  "I am very impressed by your courage, young man.  I have a son your age and I cannot imagine asking him to hitch a ride all by himself in a storm.  You took a real chance, but then I suppose you didn't have much of a choice."

While Mr. Fontenot had been making up his mind about Mom's lack of funds, he had taken a brief glance at me.  It was a covert exchange that suggested he was asking me if he could trust my mother.  Standing behind my mother where she could not see me, I nodded imperceptibly.  With a faint smile of acknowledgment, Mr. Fontenot nodded back.  That is when he turned to my mother and said okay.  When Mom started to cry with gratitude, she got embarrassed.  Trying hard to retain some dignity, Mom excused herself to visit the restroom. 

In her absence, I took the chance to thank our benefactor.  "Mr. Fontenot, we are in great debt to you.  My mother is lost right now, but she is a decent person and I am sure she will make that check good." 

I felt a little guilty saying that.  To be honest, I wasn't sure we would live long enough to make it to Virginia.  However, if we did manage to survive, I imagined Uncle Dick would help her out.  At that, Mr. Fontenot did a crazy thing.  He pulled out his wallet and handed me a $20 bill.  He added in a husky voice, "Just in case."   When Mom returned, I handed the money to her and pointed to Mr. Fontenot.  Mom was so astonished, first she burst into another round of tears, then she impulsively hugged the guy.  Mr. Fontenot was taken aback, but he began to smile at my mother's heartfelt gesture.  Personally, I think he liked doing a good deed.  He could see that his unexpected act of kindness meant the world to my mother's flagging spirits.

She wrote out the check, adding $20 to make it $120.  She thanked Mr. Fontenot again, then said we had to go.  I shook his hand and thanked him as well.  He smiled at me and said, "You be safe now.  Good luck."

And with that, we were back on the road.  Mom resumed weeping softly, but I could tell she was stronger.  The trance was gone and a look of resolve had taken its place.  Without Mr. Fontenot's gift, I don't know what we would have done.  He could just as easily have called the cops.  Instead he decided to take a big risk.  His kindness had been a true blessing, a Christmas Miracle indeed. 

ONTO VIRGINIA

The snow chains made a huge difference.  We took it slow and there was no more weaving.  To my undying relief, we stayed in the correct lane all the way to Mississippi.  We stopped at a cheap motel in Vicksburg on the Mississippi-Louisiana state line.  That $20 bill was a Godsend.  It was enough to pay for the room and buy us a warm spaghetti meal at a nearby diner.  Given how hungry I was, that meal tasted better than anything I have ever had in my life.  Claiming I was still hungry, I asked for extra spaghetti.  When the waitress wasn't looking, I wrapped the food in some napkins and hid it under my coat.  Back in the room, I watched Terry gobble down his spaghetti.  I was beyond grateful to still be alive.  The three of us slept in the same bed.  I was so insecure I clung to Terry all night. 

It was Christmas Eve when we awakened.  Fortunately, the road conditions were much better in the morning.  The highways had been cleared and the snowfall was more flurries than anything else.  We no longer had to drive in constant fear for our lives.  After an hour of driving, Mom stopped at a gas station and had them take the chains off.  We were in the clear after that and started to make good time. 

Since there was no money left for meals, Mom drove straight through to McLean, Virginia.  We stopped twice for gas and some candy bars, but that was it.  Mom covered 900 miles in 21 hours.  Where she got her stamina I will never know.

We pulled into Dick and Lynn's neighborhood at 4 am on Christmas Day.  However, to Mom's dismay, her car could not make it up the steep hill due to the icy street.  She tried and tried, but the car kept sliding back down.  Disgusted, she parked the car and told me to get out.  Carrying our luggage, the three of us trudged up the snowy hill hoping the street above was the one we were looking for.  Thankfully, Mom had guessed right. 

Uncle Dick lived in a three-story house built on a slope.  One story, a basement, was hidden from sight.  Mom did not want to wake the family, so I looked around.  In the back of the house, I found an unlocked door to their basement.  The door led to a basement den.  After summoning Mom and Terry, we plopped down on a couple of sofas.  The warmth of that room was heavenly.  Ah, safe at last. 

Just then a plump, friendly dog came waddling down the steps to investigate.  The dog was a Lassie-lookalike who greeted us with her tail wagging.  According to her collar, this was Beauty.  She wasn't much of a watchdog, but Beauty was a great welcoming committee.  As for Terry, it was love at first sight.  Beauty was in love too.  She was so excited to have a boyfriend, the two of them began to romp around the den.  I had to calm them down before they made a racket and woke everyone up.

Seeing how happy the two dogs were, I rolled my eyes and said a sincere prayer of thanks.  I was not particularly religious in those days, but I had a strong feeling someone had been watching over us.  After what we had been through, that was the only explanation that made a bit of sense.  I was so relieved to be here I almost began to cry again.  This had been the worst ordeal of my life.  It was unbelievable to see it turn out well. 

Dick and Lynn never knew we were there till morning came.  Surprise Surprise!  It was Christmas Day and look who Santa put under the Christmas tree.  To their credit, the whole family greeted us warmly. 

We stayed at Dick and Lynn's house for a week.  I met my cousins Rick, Dale, Tami, and Todd for the first time.  Slipping effortlessly into a Big Brother role, later that day I organized the construction of an impressive toboggan run.

It had been Mom's plan all along to beg her brother's mercy.  As Mom hoped, Uncle Dick was incredibly generous to her.  He bailed her out of what had to be a serious financial jam.  In addition, Uncle Dick had some long talks with his sister.  I think those talks did her a world of good.  In addition to helping her financially, he restored her will to carry on.  I believe Uncle Dick saved my mother's life that Christmas.

While Dick was counseling my mother, Aunt Lynn was doing the same thing for me.  Lynn lavished me with attention.  For a lonely kid who was dying to be appreciated, it was more than I could handle.  I will be quite frank.  I was so vulnerable that I fell deeply in love with Aunt Lynn that Christmas.  This was the first time I understood what people mean by a mother's touch.  Lynn made me feel special, important.  Best of all, she cheered me up.  I will always love Dick and Lynn from the bottom of my heart.  They are the great childhood heroes of my life.

After the New Year, we drove back to Houston without incident.  My mother and I barely spoke on the way home.  A wall had grown between us that would never come down.  Back when the car was stuck in the ditch, my mother had screamed at me it was time I grew up.  So that's exactly what I did.  I no longer had a bit of confidence in my mother.  Between her thoughtlessness to let my dog run free during Hurricane Carla, her near-suicide at the swollen bayou, and now this homicidal death march to Virginia, things would never be the same between us.  Due to my ever-growing list of resentments, my mother's authority was gone forever.  If she asked me nicely to do something, I would invariably cooperate.  But the day had come when my mother could no longer order me to do something.  I had been forced to grow up much too fast.  We could be amicable, but from that point on I do not recall a single moment of genuine warmth. 

Mom was not the only one who was depressed.  I had left on this trip feeling more insecure than I ever had in my life.  So the question is what kept me from going off the deep end.

The act of hitchhiking into town and fetching that tow truck infused me with a confidence that continued to grow.   I returned to Houston ready to take on the world.

This was the Christmas I learned the power of a Simple Act of Kindness.  Thanks to Uncle Dick, Aunt Lynn, and Mr. Fontenot, they gave my mother and me a fighting chance to carry on.