As I came home fromt school one spring day in April,
a drastic change came to my little “normal” family.
Surprisingly, my dad was home that day, after being
gone for several days. Unknowing to all of us, our
home was surrounded by local and federal law
officers. As they arrested my dad, I had no idea of
what was taking place, and all the days ahead, and
what it would bring. To this little boy, I didn’t think it
was anything serious, since in my eyes my dad was
not a bad man. We thought it must be a mistake,
because my family never knew the other life he lived.
To me, he was the dad that we all loved so much.
I remember the difference in our town once news
began to spread of my dad’s arrest. Where once we
were just another family in the town, my family now
was looked upon completely different. Although the
town rumored about my dad’s activity, it was never
spoken out of fear. But once he was jailed, the rumors
and talk began to spread like wildfire. That little boy
that went to school and played with friends now was
treated strangely. Although I was a victim of
another’s sinful behavior, I never felt like a victim
growing up. This was just simply a means of survival
that drove my inner hurts and shame to be buried deep
within. I was completely caught off guard because
my siblings and I were in the dark about the lifestyle
my dad was involved in. In the final-outcome, my dad
would be serving two life sentences and a death
sentence for a reported history of criminal activity
consisting of over 50 murders and six to seven bank
robberies. These details serve only as a fact of the
great mercy of God’s love and powerful ability to
redeem the worst of bloodlines. We went from riches
to rags within weeks, with no help from our
community because of the crimes my dad was
arrested and convicted of. When school kids began to
talk of details they heard from their parents, I couldn’t
imagine the man they were describing was my dad.
As a father looking back, I now see the real hero was
my mother. The reason we never felt like victims or
were destroyed by the shame while growing up was
due to the fact that my mother bore all the shame
herself. She became our shield from the news, media,
gossip, and rejection.
I remember one particular incident when I was in third
or fourth grade. A boy I considered my friend came to
school and started to fight with me. I thought at the
time this was for no reason. Only to find out later, my
dad had been charged for murdering his father. That
was probably the first time I remember feeling the
shame for something that I had no part of. It would
take me many, many years to truly see the impact the
days of my father’s absence and lack of training
would have on my life.
My mother was supportive of her children and kept
the idea of a father in our lives by years of faithfully
visiting our dad in prison. My holiday traditions were
always spent in visiting rooms. It was never viewed as
a dread or bad thing. My mom saw to it that even
though my dad was in prison, he was very much
involved in our lives as much as possible. Dad still
showered us with his love and never let the visits be
about bad memories. Mom endured all the years of
shame, always putting herself and her own desires
aside in order to give her children a father figure, of
some sort as it was.
It was regular treatment to go to the town’s court
appearances only to have tires slashed while in court;
or treated with much less than hospitality in public
businesses once it’s realized you’re in town to visit a
prisoner. My mom never let us kids see she was ever
shaken by any of this treatment. My mom handled
those days this way not because she was “taking up”
for my dad. It was done solely for her children. She
never wanted us to take ownership of our father’s
deeds. As mothers can, she was looking years down
the road and doing her best to give the greatest chance
to her children she could.
Years passed and all us children became adults with
families and careers of our own. We all still lived in
the same community that had been so rocked by this
small-town scandal; yet never outgrew the dark cloud
that followed the family name.
I married at a young age and soon had a daughter and
son of my own. But never dealing with my deep issues
and the broken person I couldn’t see in myself, it only
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