Taming of the Dude: One man's Journey with Jesus

Chapter 2 My Introduction to Porn

Chapter 2 My Introduction to Porn:

"A Message to Children Who Have Read This Book - When you grow up and have children of your own, do please remember something important: a stodgy parent is no fun at all. What a child wants and deserves is a parent who is SPARKY." ~ Roald Dahl

I think I started this story with how young my mom was when she separated from my dad. I figure that I was three or four when my mom moved to our second house. If my math is right, she would have been 26 years old. I know 26-year-olds today that are either still in school, or living with their parents. My mom was not living with her parents, or at least not yet, but she still was a child raising children. Unfortunately for us, she was not a quick study.

You also might remember that I had said one theory for my parents' separation was my mom spending way to much quality time with the border. Well, as it so happens, that border moved with us to our new home. The more I think about our situation, my dad might of been the victim, and not the one victimizing. Anyways, one might never know the truth, since the truth might hurt.

Back to the border: he, as I had said, was a university student, so he was not that mature either. He liked a good laugh, and on occasion, we were the object of that humor. On this particular evening, it was not me who is the center of the story, but my brother. My brother is the typical middle child. He tried to make both my sister and I happy, which, at times, could be very difficult. He also was probably the most gullible of the three of us. He believed in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, happy endings...the whole nine yards. You could tell him that it was raining while standing outside with him on a sunny day, and he would go and get an umbrella. In some ways, I think it was good for him because his innocence protected him most of the time.

On this evening, his innocence was going to betray him, and in a way, he was going to lose some of it. In time, most of our innocence was eroded or stolen from us.

On this evening, the boyfriend was in an odd mood. I cannot say why but he was having fun at the dinner table. He was being silly, and we were all laughing and having a good time. He made the potatoes rain down from the sky, as he tilted the beaters in the bowl. It was quite cool how food can be used for something outside of eating. He eventually stopped and then got really serious. He just stared at the bowl with an expression of shock and awe. We were not sure what to think. Then he told my brother that there was something in the bowl. My brother moved over to look in the bowl, and without warning, the boyfriend grabbed the back of his head and pushed it into the potatoes. We all laughed and moved on. We all still ate the potatoes. I would not find out until later that Scot hated the boyfriend from that point on. In fact, he did not find it funny at all, but was hurt- hurt deeply. Sometimes, we can be so wrong about reality. What seems like a small thing, can actually be the beginning of erosion. The erosion of love, confidence, faith in others, and for some, God.

Now back to me- as I had mentioned, mom was not going to have the police coming to the house to check on her kids. She was going to make changes. One of those changes was that we were to ask classmates if we could stay with them on weekends.

The task seemed relatively easy for my brother and sister. My sister had her long-time friend that she did everything with. She was the one who came to our house to a party or just hang out. It was no problem for her to go to her house, then leave and do whatever they wanted. My brother had a bit harder time, but we had a cousin that he connected with. They had a lot of similar interests, so he would go to his house. I, on the other hand, being the baby, and the youngest, I had not made a lot of connections. I did not have a long life friend, and well, we did not have a lot of cousins. We had one other cousin that I was close to, but he lived 2 hours away, so that was not going to happen. In desperation, I went to a classmate that I really did not know well. I knew that if I did not find a place to go, my mom would be disappointed and mad at me. I did not want to disappoint my mom. I went for it, and my classmate said that I could stay at his house. The plan was to go from Friday night until Sunday. It would be enough time for my mom to have freedom from the responsibility of parenting. It can be a lot of work trying not to care for three kids.

I packed up my gear and said my good-byes. I walked with my stuff to my classmate's house. My mom did not need to check out the house or the family. She trusted my judgment, that I was not going anywhere that would be dangerous. She figured that we could distinguish a good from a bad home, by the example that she had given us. The house had a front door, so I knew it was safe.

I walked in, scared and a little overwhelmed. I was a shy kid, and I tended not to like to be the center of attention. I preferred to be more of a wallflower. I liked it that way... but now, I was in a strange house, with strange people, and my comfort level was at an all-time low. I just wanted to be at home, which at this point. was empty. To me, an empty house was a far better option than a house full of people, asking questions, and caring for you. I did last the first night, but I did not sleep much. I do not know if it was the bath time, where I shared a tub with my friend or the smell of the house. I hate the smell of locker rooms, with a rotting tuna sandwich. Why do locker rooms have a smell of rotting tuna sandwiches? Another one of those mysteries that may never be answered.

The next day, I pretended to call my mom. I acted like her plans were cut short, and it was okay for me to return to the house. Again, the acting skills of our family must be pretty awesome, because my host bought it. I think if she was a good parent, she might have checked if my mom was really on the phone, but she seemed good with my word. I packed up my gear, loaded the plastic bag that was my suitcase, and headed home.

I felt pretty good that I was heading home to an empty house. I figure I could make peanut butter sandwiches if I got hungry. It was only for one day! I was sure 8-year-old boys could fend for themselves. I thought, in ancient times, I would be married and have two kids by the ripe old age of 8. So staying by myself should be a walk in the park.

Great plans of mice and men. Everything was going great. I was able to feed myself and had not burned down the house, but for some reason I got scared. I got scared really badly. It could have been being alone, the fear that someone would call the cops, or it could have been "The Ten Commandments" movie I was watching. It was a movie. The wrath of God can be a really scary reality. I think Jonathon Edwards had a similar response when he preached his sermon, "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God". For me, it was Cecile De Mils interpretation of Egyptians in the hands of an angry God.

I do not know why, but I actually had the number of the boyfriend where my mom was at for the weekend. I called the house and talked to my mom. I told her about my situation, and how I thought I could stay at home by myself, but then I became scared. I couldn't stay at home alone. I could tell that this annoyed her, but somewhere deep inside, she knew that she had a responsibility to care for me, even if it hurts her plans. It took them about 40 minutes to get to the house. I waited with the tv off. It would be many years before I could watch the full version of "The Ten Commandments". Even though I could not watch that movie, I could watch other movies that Charlton Heston was in. In fact, I would say that he was one of my favorite actors.

The ride back to the boyfriend's house was quiet. I was shown to my room, and I went to sleep.

The next morning, I do not know if it was because the booze had worn off, or they had a good night's sleep, but everybody was more talkative. The boyfriend even gave me a tour of his house. He had his own woodworking shop in the basement. He would later teach me some woodworking, and we would make things together. He also showed me his porn collection. He took me to a bedroom, and in the side table was books of porn. It was not magazines, but books that told a story. Most of them were told in the form of naked people moving from one scene to another scene. He left me in the room with his porn collection. I spent the rest of the day exploring the seedy side of life and putting behind me the awful thought of God and His Wrath. I mean, if you had a choice between wrath and writhing, what would you pick if you were 8 years old? It would be another ten years before I would revisit the concept of a sinner in the hands of an angry God. For now, I was learning about love and acceptance in porn. It was not a good teacher.