Date: Mon, 6 Oct 2014 11:22:24 -0500
From: Jake Stone <studbluecollar@gmail.com>
Subject: When Dad got out of prison, Part 1

My early childhood was a pretty happy one. Mom, Janice, was a housewife and
my Dad, Hank, worked on the Railroad as a Conductor. We had a nice house in
the suburbs of Houston, Richmond, and even though Dad was gone 3 - 4 days a
week he always had time for me. My name is Bobby and I was their only child
and yet I wasn't all that spoiled. I had chores to do and I took my role as
"man of the house" while my Father was away very seriously. My parents both
beamed at my maturity and self reliance.

Since we only needed one car and the house was modest but in a great
neighborhood my Father was able to pay the 30 year mortgage in 10 years. I
was twelve when we owned the house free and clear. It was 1972. This meant
that my Mom could trade in her 8 year old Pontiac station wagon for
something a little more modern. My parents decided on a Ford Torino. It was
pretty cool for those days and would later be made famous in the TV series
Starsky and Hutch. (I had the hots for Starsky, he reminded me of my Dad,
from the moment the show came on the air...but that's another story). Dad
also owned his family's home in Dayton, Texas. His parents left it to them
when they died in a car crash in the mid-sixties. The house was on a 5 acre
piece of property set off from the main road. There was a gas
station/garage in front of it right on a main road. It had all been closed
up once his parents were gone but Dad never had the heart to sell it.

My parents became pretty much like all parents did in the mid-seventies.
They threw their Friday night cocktail parties in our finished basement. It
had dark wood and a built in bar with a billards table. The theme was
basically fake spanish. Or as I like to remember it "excess spanish".
Complete with gold glass lamps and green crused velvet cushions on thick
dark wood benches. And off to the side there was a guest bedroom complete
with privacy and its own bathroom. Let's just say that the bedroom got used
as much as the rest of the basement did during their cocktail parites.
Usually by more than just two people. Yep, the seventies was a time to
explore one's self, my parents seemed to be doing a lot of exploring.

The drinking was usually only contained to the social gatherings. My Dad
had a beer or two while working on the yard but never really went beyond
that.

The seventies brought something else along with it. Cocaine. And my parents
were always the best hosts. Providing a little something extra at their
parties was just polite. By 1975 beyond the booze and the sex there would
always be a little bowl of powder at the end of the bar with the tinest
little spoon. The bowl was usually empty by the next morning but the
bedroom was full.

My parents tried to shield me from their parties as much as possible and
would make sure I was in bed by 10 pm before things really got out of hand.
Even at fifteen I would be faking sleep by ten. By midnight I would throw
on a pair of shorts and go into the back yard and peek in the basement
windows with the bushes as my cover. My favorite window was the bedroom
window of course where I got to watch all the action going on. Fueled by
drink and cocaine the party goers were getting it on with whomever decided
to come through the bedroom door. And the action wasn't limited to opposite
sex pairings. Three, four or even six people in a bunch on the bed
exploring each other like it was their first time.

As far as I can tell Mom only entered that room very rarely and usually was
paired off with one or two people. She wasn't much for the cocaine either.
Explaining why her inhibitions were not as lowered as the rest of the
guests. But Dad on the other hand. When he dove in he dove in the deep end.
Men, Women, it didn't matter and he made a stop at the bowl at the end of
the bar as much as anyone else did if not more. My old man would be up till
six in the morning sometimes having sex with who ever wanted to till
everyone was spent.

The next day things were always very quite around my house. Party attendees
would always be gone by eight am and my parents would sleep the day away.
My Mom always somehow made it up to their bedroom upstairs on the second
floor but Dad never left the basement usually till Saturday evening after
he woke up. He would usually just pass out naked wherever the last sexual
encounter was. This, of course, gave me chances to satisfy my curiosity and
check my Dad out pretty well. Once he was out there was no waking him for
hours. Dad was about 5'10", 180 lbs with olive skin and muscular. He had a
medium hairy chest with a treasue trail to his groin and hairy legs. His
cock was full and thick with low hanging balls. I would gaze at him for a
long time but never touch. I was too damn scared.

By 1976 or so the parties were winding down and were not as well attended
as they had been in the past. But other things were changing too. My Mother
was becoming very angry at my Father all the time and my Father seemed to
be zoned out and nerveous most of the time when he was home. I found out
later that the cocaine had become a bit of a habit with him. His drinking
was very under control almost non-exsistant at this point. But the coke was
another matter.

One night, fueled by coke, my Dad had enough of Mom being a bitch to him
and he stormed out. He was pretty high but not drunk. The next morning we
got a phone call from jail. Dad had had an accident and he caused another
person in another car injury. The injury was not life threating but it
would take a while for the person to heal. To make matters worse the cops
found a baggie of cocaine on the seat next to my Dad.

In 1976 the war on drugs had not made its way into the mainstream yet but
there was still stiff penalities for possession. My parents had enough
money to get a good lawyer. Dad was looking at a 4 year sentence with
10,000 dollar fine. The lawyer got it reduced to a 2 year sentence with 2
years probation and 5000 dollar fine. His fee of course was about 5000
dollars.

So right after my 16th birthday, and soon after my Dad's 35th birthday, my
father was sent to the state prison for his two year sentence. Six months
later, not being able to "cope" with a husband in prison, my Mother filed
for divorce. He did not contest it from jail. She got the house and the car
and as soon as the divorce was final a new husband. A widower from down the
street that used to come to the parties.

I was only able to write to my Dad as the prison was too far away and my
Mother refused to make the trip. It was the worse two years of my life. And
living with my mother, who had since become a devoted Christian, was
becoming hell for a teenager. I counted the days till my Father's release.

When I was 17 I had a part time job and was able to scrap enough money
together to buy a 1972 Pinto. It wasn't the best car around but it was
cheap and it got me around. Mom pretty much controlled when I was able to
drive it and where.
A few weeks after I turned 18 and about a month before I graduated I got a
letter from my Dad that would change my life. He was being released in
about a month. Right after my graduation and unfortunately he would miss
it. He said he was going to go ahead and live at the Dayton house and try
to open back up the gas station and work as a mechanic like his Dad did. He
couldn't get back on at the railroad now so this seemed logical. He also
asked me if I would come up and see him and maybe spend the summer with
him. Dayton was about 65 miles away and I would have to leave when Mom
wasn't around because I knew she wouldn't go for it. She didn't trust my
Dad anymore but I wrote him back right anyway and said I would do my best
to be with him over the summer. In four weeks I would be on my way to
Dayton, Texas.

Part 2 coming soon!

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