Thanks, guys.
Sorry for being out of touch all week. Things got so busy with Labor Day shows, rest home birthday shows, and a 9/11 Tribute show. That, and I've had to replace a busted mouse and faulty phoneline chord on my computer.
So... basically, (and if my connection holds) here's how things went:
I decided to invoke my civil rights. I wrote out a 3-page
letter of grievance to my Dad and uncle, and posted it on my bedroom door. But... they wouldn't read it. I tried printing out 2 hard copies and placed them on the Main Living Room coffee table. Again, no luck. I tried posting the letter to their e-mailboxes. (They would
have to use their computers sooner or later.) Still no luck. It seemed they just assumed I was being overdramatic, and chose to ignore me.
So I invoked another civil right. I
went on strike. Fearful of losing the only home I've known for the last 20 years, but still angry and my Dad and uncle for the laundry fight, I spent all day Saturday, September 5th, attending to my show schedule and shopping for small groceries and other things I needed at home. I also dined out at the local Waffle Houses for breakfast, lunch and dinner, sipping coffee and using their bathrooms when I had to. My cell phone rang several times, but I refused to answer. I checked for text messages, read each one, but didn't respond. I could hold out as long as they could. They taught me everything I know-------including how to be stubborn. And about standing up for what I believe in.
So as the afternoon grew late, and I had chewed through all the possibilities I could think of, I picked up the cell phone and called the one person left I knew I could count on to answer without yelling at me or starting another fight: Our housekeeper (and Alzheimer's caregiver for Mom) Beth.
Good ol' Beth. Truck driver's wife, grandmother twice over, devout church lady (I forget exactly which denomination: Baptist or Methodist) and former singing partner of mine. Patient, longsuffering, and humble to a fault, Beth has long been a
civilizing influence on the rest of the family. And now, I needed her to be my
negotiator. I knew Dad and the others trusted her, and would listen to her if not me. So I explained the situation to her and asked the favor. A long drawn out (sometimes heated) conversation followed, but eventually she agreed.
With that settled, I instructed her to tell my Dad and uncle, that if I were to agree to come back home that night, and go back to living in their house, under their rules, like a good responsible son or nephew should,
this time it would come at a price. My
one condition: that they
read the blasted letter, and consider every word of it. If they wouldn't do that, I would have nothing more to say to them. I'd had enough. If necessary, I would check into whatever motel had a canceled room open for the night, and after the holiday passed, start looking for someplace else to live. Some small apartment maybe, for a month or two. (I can't afford much else.) They were my elders, yes. I
had to respect them. But after that fight, I was
through with not being respected in return.
Night came, and I had more work to do. I was helping out with a special UFO alien-themed summer trolley tour on Saturday nights, and this was the last one for the season. Afterwards, I checked my phone one more time. There was a text from Beth. She said everything was fine, it was okay for me to come on home, and that I didn't have to worry about my Dad and uncle pushing me around anymore.
I think I heaved a sigh strong enough to blow a catamaran across Pensacola Bay.
But I had little time to rest that night. The next Sunday morning I had to rise early and run out to meet a film crew coming into town to shoot scenes at the Milton Riverwalk. (I'll explain the details of that in a later post.)
For the rest of the holiday, things at home were pretty much touch-and-go. My dad and uncle never admitted to doing anything wrong, nor did they openly apologize to me for the fight, (figures...

) but their tone around me was quieter, and I did come back to eating dinner at the kitchen table with them. Generally we just went back to the way things were, and never spoke of the matter again. My uncle stayed through Labor Day Monday, then headed back to North Carolina early Tuesday morning.
But I couldn't help noticing, this time, that even Dad was glad to see him go. Not his usual custom, considering how close he and my uncle had been all these years. Alzheimer's? Dimensia? Senility? I couldn't tell, and Dad wouldn't say. If something was genuinely wrong with my uncle this time around, no one wanted to say what it was. I guess I'll find out the truth around Christmastime.
SO... in the words of the late Walter Cronkite: "...that's the way it is." I've still got my room, and a roof over my head. I placed a hand on the crucifix on my wall, and gave thanks. I'll have to thank Beth, too, next time she comes in to clean and feed Mom.
Still, things came awfully close. From this experience alone, I can tell the day's not long coming when I will eventually have to make a permanent move-out. I'm not getting the house after Mom and Dad pass away; the bank is. I could never afford to take over the mortgage payments, not on my limited income.
Thanks for the prayers, folks. But please, keep a few more coming where my future is concerned. I've an awful feeling things are only going to get tougher for me in the years ahead. I'm not a kid fresh out of college anymore. Still, I never got the chance to grow fully independent, like some of the rest of you have.
So in that respect, I'm still an overgrown college kid who never got the chance to strike out on his own and seek his fortune. I tried doing that down at Disney World (like I've said so many times before) but tragedy down there has put my home life on hold ever since.
All this and more I explained to Dad and my uncle in the grievance letter. If you want, I can post that next right here-----after I go back through it and remove all personal names and references. I need to maintain
some anonymity, for family sake.
