Chapter Eighteen: Rooster – Time on My Uncle’s Farm

Chapter Eighteen: Rooster – Time on My Uncle’s Farm

Chapter 18 of the Autobiography... Letter R, Rooster.

Chapter Eighteen

Rooster – Time on My Uncle’s Farm

When I was growing up I spent a lot of time on the farm owned by my Uncle “Butch”. I was always excited when my parents planned to go to his farm to visit. He had dairy cows, beef steer, chickens, and even a goat in his front lawn at one point. As much as I grew up around people farming and whatnot, I still didn’t spend much time on farms outside of his. It was the one time I could go and explore the world on my own terms. I could get on his four-wheeler and take off to wherever I wanted to. He lived on a dirt/gravel road in the middle of nowhere outside of Marshfield, WI. So I could even ride the four-wheeler down the road as long as it was at a reasonable speed. Behind his farm property he owned some wooded land that he used during hunting season, and I would go exploring in during the non-hunting season. I could spend all day out there depending on the amount of gas I had in the tank. Worst case scenario, I’d just ride back and get some more. I got to ride on tractors, four-wheelers, three-wheelers, and even drive a truck once when I was really young. I don’t recall how old I was exactly when I did all of this stuff, but I know I had a great time. 

 My Uncle taught me how to milk a cow when I was pretty young too. That skill just kind of stuck with me and I’m glad for it too. Since then I’ve worked on a couple of different farms and had to milk cows on them too. 

 One summer when I was really young my Uncle told me that if I went out to the chicken coop and caught a chicken, then he’d give me ten dollars. So I went out there and was chasing chickens around for what seemed like forever. When I finally got one of them cornered I started to close in on it and it was hopping and flapping and scratching and squawking and screeching like all hell broke loose. I managed to finally close my hands around its neck, but not until after it had scratched and cut me up from head to toe. After that I took the chicken to my Uncle up by the house and told him I finally caught a chicken for him. He told me to go ahead and just set the chicken down on the ground and he’d pay me the ten dollars he promised. I argued right away that I had spent almost an hour trying to catch this chicken, but he stood his ground and asked me to put it down anyway. When I put it down he handed me a twenty dollar bill. Then I asked him why he gave me a twenty instead of a ten and he replied, “Well, that’s because you brought me a rooster.” Ever since then I paid more attention to the difference between a chicken and a rooster, and during that time, I realized how unbelievably mean his rooster actually was. I’m surprised I still have both of my eyes today. 

 Now, as much as I enjoyed spending time on my Uncle’s farm when I was growing up, I also had one of the worst memories of my life happen there too. It was November 21^st, 1997, and my Brother, my Dad, and I were all staying at my Uncle’s for deer hunting season. It was a Friday night and the following morning was opening day. It was a typical “guy’s night out” for those times. We didn’t have very many times that we were all hanging out together anymore since my Brother and I were growing up and had our own friends. So when the three of us would go out for deer hunting season, we would have as much fun as possible. Well this year it included us meeting at a local bar and having some drinks. But for whatever reason my Brother and I had been taking our time with meeting everyone there. By the time we had decided to go by there my Dad’s truck was gone from the bar. Instead of looking for him, my Brother and I decided to just go back to my Uncle’s house and call it a night. Shortly after that we were sleeping in the living room when I heard my Dad stumble into the living room and plop down in the recliner sitting next to me. When I asked him where he had been and he replied with some slurring nonsense, I knew something was wrong. I was dreading turning on the light, and when I did, I don’t think I could have been prepared for what I was about to see. He had blood running down his face, blood on his hands, and blood running down his leg. His pants were tore wide open and the little bit of his leg I could see on the inside was tore wide open. I immediately woke my brother up and then my Dad starting asking me where his truck was. So I had my brother look after him while I ran outside to see where his truck was, but all I could see was his foot tracks through the fresh snow. So I ran back inside and told him his truck wasn’t out there. He still couldn’t remember where it was either. My Brother and I agreed that he needed to go to the hospital so I ran upstairs to get my Aunt, and was surprised to find my Uncle in bed with her also. I had thought all along that my Dad was out with my Uncle and that the truck was wherever my Uncle still was. Now things got confusing for me. I told them that my Dad had walked back to the house and was covered in blood and we didn’t know where his truck was, but I needed someone to give him a ride to the hospital. My Aunt told me she’d taken a prescription sleep aid, and my Uncle had been drinking, neither one was able to drive him. I’m unsure exactly how my dad got to the hospital after that. I think I was somewhat in a form of shock. But I think my cousin came by the house and drove us there while my Brother went out looking for my Dad’s truck. 

  When we were at the hospital they were asking all kinds of questions about how he had been hurt and no one had any answers. No one knew anything about how it had happened, yet. Next thing I knew a couple of Sheriff’s deputies walked in looking for my Dad. I didn’t know what to think at that point. All in all they told me he was involved in a high speed chase with a civilian, had crossed the center line, exceeded one hundred miles per hour, driven through some people’s front lawns and finally ended when rolling his truck a number of times into a corn field. No one found either him or the other man who was originally seen in the truck, until then. By now it was November 22^nd, my fifteenth birthday, and I was so scared for my Dad at this point. I didn’t know what was going to happen after that. It became a turning point for my Dad, but unbelievably it didn’t phase me into even considering the least bit that maybe the same thing could have happened to me when I would drink and drive after that. I consider myself a lucky person today and will never forget my fifteenth birthday for the rest of my life.

Chapter Fifteen: The Oaks – Camping In My Teens

Chapter 15 of the Autobiography... Letter O, The Oaks.

Chapter Fifteen

The Oaks – Camping In My Teens

   Located about 3 miles south from my family’s home is a small campground on a private lake. This secluded place is named The Oaks. I started camping here with my family nearly every weekend from Memorial Day to Labor Day every year. We came across this campground around the time that I was twelve or so. In the beginning we camped in a little pop-up camper that my parents bought. It was enough to get us through the weekend in comfort. I remember going exploring all around this place. There was a small sandy beach on the side of the maybe 4 acre lake, a floating raft in the middle of it, and only non-gasoline-powered boats were allowed in it. I wandered all over the place finding a great deal of other kids about my age too. There were some trails located in the wooded area at the back part of the lot too, and at the back of those trails were some kids in a tree house that obviously all knew each other somehow. When I was walking by they got my attention and said hello to me. So I stopped and started talking to them. 

  There names were Jenny, Matt, Steve, and the rest of them I don’t remember so well. But they were all smoking. I thought to myself, “Wow, more kids who smoke like me” and from then on out, I decided to be friends with them. They gave me the grand tour after that. There was a huge “clubhouse” in the middle of the campgrounds. Inside of it was a ping pong table, arcade machines, vending machines, restaurant style booths and tables, and separate sex bathrooms with sinks, toilets, and showers in them. Around the back field where all of the weekend only sites and tent sites were, there stood a thirty foot fiberglass Paul Bunyan statue at the end of the field. I spent so much time over the next four or five years hanging out with my three new friends. I’m still friends with all of them today. There were a number of others who I befriended along the way, but there stays in the campgrounds were usually for a short period of time, so they were forgot about shortly after their stay. 

  Years later, this very campground now sits empty and unused. It has passed through quite a few owners over the years, and none of them seem to be able to get it back on it’s feet and open again. 

  The majority of my early years of drinking and smoking marijuana were at these campgrounds, but these aren’t my only memories from there. I remember the late nights staying up, sitting around a campfire telling stories, talking about nothing in particular sometimes even. We didn’t have a care in the world at this point in our lives. I also spent a lot of time during these years fishing with my Mom and Dad too. There are so many good memories during these few years that I could write a book about them by themselves. Where good memories are though, are usually some bad memories as well. These years at The Oaks were also through the peak periods of my Dad’s drinking also. Thankfully, he put that behind him during this time too. 

  There isn’t anything I wouldn’t give to go back and relive those years again. I had so much fun! Hopefully someday someone will come up with the financial ability to reopen the place as I’d love for my children to be able to have the same experiences there that I did with my family and friends.

Chapter Thirteen: Mother – My Mom

Chapter 13 of the Autobiography... Letter M, Mother.

Chapter Thirteen

Mother – My Mom

  My mom’s name is Jo and she was born in Beloit, WI on March 20^th, 1959. Her parents stayed married, although her dad is deceased. She grew up in a small house outside of Clinton, WI before moving into town when she was four, and she is the youngest of four children. Ever since my mom was young she was a hard worker, just like her mother. She did excellent in school, getting straight A’s in all of her subjects except for Physical Education. She was a typical book worm. As far as I know, her and my dad were raised completely different and they themselves were of two opposite polarities. She was such a good girl. She never got into any kind of trouble and always held a decent enough job to survive. Not long after high school, her and my dad married in 1978. They didn’t have an extravagant wedding or anything, but instead were annulled at the local courthouse. The funny thing to me is they went to my Uncle’s farm and my dad went squirrel hunting on their “honeymoon”. I still can’t get over that today. 

  Although my mom grew up with her father drinking heavily, she did not inherit the gene that made her an alcoholic. She never drank heavily or got involved in drugs either. She’s always been the foundation to our family. She’s so strong and has so much willpower. She worked full-time at General Motors building trucks from 1986 until 2008 when they shut the assembly plant down. She took an early retirement then and decided to return to school to study in the medical field. While working at G.M. she would also attend all of our school events such as band concerts and she even traveled to Washington D.C. with all three of us kids when we had our 8^th grade D.C. trips. When she returned to school she soon realized how much she loved it. She told me how much she wished she had continued in college after high school but she needed to work to help support our quickly growing family. Since returning to college she’s gotten a degree in phlebotomy and has since decided to continue getting her degree in Medical Administration. She is still attending college right now and has two more semesters to go. She’s the type of person who enjoys school so much that she would probably continue attending if she didn’t have to pay for it. 

  When she isn’t attending college she enjoys gardening both in the vegetable garden and her flower garden. Sometimes she even goes to my sister’s house and helps in her garden and to my grandma’s house to help in her garden too. She also spends lots of time with my niece and nephew, her only two grandchildren. I consider her to be the example of the best mom someone could be, and that’s not because she’s my mom. I’ve always been able to talk to my mom about anything and she’s always been there for me. If you ask her for her honest opinion about something she will give you exactly that, her honest opinion. But she’s always been a loving, warm-heart and caring person. No one could ever replace her. I’ve done some pretty awful things in my life and I’ve had a lot of people turn their backs on me because of who I’d become, but she stuck by my side through everything. She has always been there to help me when I needed help.

Cinco de Mayo, Still Fear of Freedom

Journal entry...

5-5-2011

Day 18

  Today is Cinco de Mayo. Which tends to be a big drinking day for me. I know last year it was a non-stop party that day. It almost ended in a lot of people I know getting into trouble too. It’s sad to say, but I’m probably one of the few who is glad that I’m locked up on days like this. At least I know that if I’m in here today, I’m not getting into any trouble. Outside of here, everyday is unpredictable. Even though I’m confident I’ll be able to stay sober, I still fear my release date. Everything is so much easier to manage in here. I don’t even have to think very much in here. One day I hope this fear of freedom will go away. When I earn my freedom, I want to enjoy it.

(Counselor Note - Other than partying, how’s this day important to you?)

~J.Doe