The Robinson Family Memory Hole

Wake and Bake!!

2005-06-27T11:35:00.000-07:00

23_24A
Originally uploaded by Wrikzilla.

Just got back from the desert!! The Marriott Desert Ridge Resort in Phoenix that is! It was ostensibly a reunion for the Frankfurt American High class of '80, but I am good evidence that, hell, they'll just let anyone show up!! :D

I've never been to the desert before so this was quite a shock. I was expecting hot like I've suffered under in Florida; but this was hot like I've never felt. It felt good...great really. Kind of a thin heat because of the zero humidity. You walk out the door to the various pools and it feels tingly all over like a massage.

more later......
-rick

"La joie de vivre!"

2005-06-18T09:13:00.000-07:00

Every young son holds a secret wish deep in his heart; to do good and make Daddy proud. I was no different. I have strived from my earliest memory until the fateful singular moment in which I wrote that 1991 letter to do good and make Daddy proud.

The effort made me the man I am today; whether that is good or bad I have to leave to my friends and family to answer. Trying to impress my unimpressable Dad has led me down many paths I may not have taken otherwise. The Army, flying, these were enriching activities in my life. The Army gave me the male-oriented guidance I had always lacked. In a sense the Army became my Dad. Through my interactions with my buddies, and the leadership of my NCO's I became a man. (finally!) With flying I faced my worst fears (I've always had a fear of heights) and conquered them!! I found that there is a joy of life that cannot be found without taking a risk, facing a fear, and overcoming it. It's called living life to the fullest. Actually the French have a better word for it: "la joie de vivre" (hell, they have a better word for everything!)

Lately my quest for joie de vivre has led me to purchase a motorcycle. Now I know what you're going to say; mid-life crisis right? Well that may be more true than not, I'm too close to the subject in order to be objective about it. However, back in South Florida from '82 to '92 I had a little Kawasaki CSR305 belt driven bike. It was a good bike and very fun to drive, but it was tiny. I always wanted a "real" bike; you know a big Harley Road King or something but I always kinda wondered if maybe I couldn't handle all that weight and power. Maybe I was a little bike guy. So here again was another fear. Well, I have decided to get that big bike and settle the question. So I just purchased a 1999 Yamaha V-star 1100cc cruiser. It looks like a Harley and handles like one too; but since I can't afford a Harley this is the best I can do. I've had it out a couple of times now, and I'm awfully rusty!! The wife and kids think I'm gonna kill myself! Well, the rust is coming off of my skills quite nicely and it looks like I might live after all! The big bike is way more fun than the little one ever was! Thus again the axiom proves itself; living life to it's fullest includes, but is not limited to, facing your fears and beating them to a pulp! ;) So now I'm a big bike guy.

What FUN! Why did I ever give it up? Oh wait, I remember; kids, wife, responsibilities! Well I'm old now; Karina is grown, April is soon to be a teenager....my life insurance is all paid up....time to have fun again! Joie de vivre!! Happy summer everyone!!

Carpe diem!
-Rick

99yamaha

2005-06-18T09:12:00.000-07:00

99yamaha
Originally uploaded by Wrikzilla.

My new bike!! Yeah baby!

82kawi

2005-06-18T09:11:00.000-07:00

82kawi
Originally uploaded by Wrikzilla.

My first bike!

Karina Graduates!!!

2005-06-14T05:48:00.000-07:00

kinigrad
Originally uploaded by Wrikzilla.

...or how did a total geek like me help create a kid this cool? Ahh, it's a mystery for the ages I guess! (That, or she just takes after her mom!)

It's so hard to believe that she's all grown up now. I know she's going to have a great life; she's as smart as she is beautiful. Wow, now I feel old!

-Rick

Jan's "new" car!

2005-06-06T06:17:00.000-07:00

Jan's "new" car!
Originally uploaded by Wrikzilla.

It took me two months worth of shopping Ebay to find the right car for Jan. I then had to fly from DC to Atlanta, then Atlanta to Akron to pick it up. I got it $200 below Edmund's "trade-in" price which is damned good! The car came with VW dealer certification which means a 2 year/24,000 mile warranty!! All that a full $1,500 below what one would expect to pay a private seller, and almost $3,000 below usual dealer retail price. In other words, it was well worth the roadtrip and flights.

Hey, I called Bart!

2005-05-27T06:22:00.000-07:00

I have gotten lazy about updating the blog. Once I decided not to send it to the Houston branch of the family after all it seems to have lost it's reason for being. But all in all, these things needed to be said, to be placed into a record of some kind. That's now been done, and perhaps someday it will be read by those whom it was intended for. Who knows?

Anyhow, right after I mailed that last letter to Carolyn I called Bart and tried to invite him out to party with my Frankfurt friends in Phoenix the weekend of June 24th thru 26th. He seemed friendly on the phone, but declined to come out because he's just too busy. Well, at least he has my phone number now, and knows I'd like to hear from him. I guess that's all I can rightly do. As of the present I haven't heard back from Carolyn, but if I do I'll post it here. I doubt I'll hear from her again, and it makes no difference to me. Even if we could have reconciled, she'd still be an uneraseable negative memory...I don't need to dwell on her anymore. Good riddance to her, she's old and near the end of her life...if she wants to die with this unresolved it's her decision. I tried. When I face my own judgement day at least I'll be able to say that I tried.

In the meantime I have one hell of a busy summer planned! I don't think the Hawaii trip is going to happen, but something really cool is in the works! Life is good!

-Rick

My reply to Carolyn's letter.....

2005-05-17T05:39:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Dear Carolyn,

I had thought that you were open to talking about some of the issues that we obviously have with each other. I was hoping that I would be able to sit down with you and talk about things. Honestly, I think that all the unpleasantness of the last 28 years and more could have been rather easily dealt with had we all merely communicated openly with one another. Over the years I tried intermittently to get my dad to talk with me about what happened between Holly and me back in '76, but he never wanted to and I didn't push it. So when Jan told me you were open to a reconciliation I thought that meant that we could talk things out and perhaps, as a result, put it all in the past where it belongs.

I am sure that we both harbor many misconceptions about each other; it's a predictable result of our lack of personal communication. One of your own misconceptions was apparent in your letter. You think I didn't want to be in Houston back in '76, but I did, very much so. If you remember, I was quite happy that summer and early fall. Dad and I took Bart to his football games. Bart and I built and flew really interesting kinds of paper and wire airplanes. We went skeet shooting with dad. Bart and I even hunted all over the neighborhood for the car that killed poor scooter because we both were mad that that driver’s negligence had hurt Holly so badly. There were of course many sibling issues that Holly and even Bart had with me, and I with them, but these were not abnormal in a step-family. These types of issues are common and with a little communication can be resolved, sometimes easily. Instead of positive action you and dad put me on a bus. I haven't seen you or anyone else since.

Hence, I have always assumed that you wanted me gone, and took our sibling issues as a pretext to seeing me onto that bus. I am willing to admit that I could be wrong about this, but 28 years of silence from you and zero contact with anyone other than my dad seems to bolster my earlier conclusion, a conclusion made in the absence of any other relevant information.

As for my dad and myself, I had spoken to him and written to him several times since '76 and prior to '91. I was thrilled and surprised when he came to my wedding in the UK, and hoped that it meant we would have more time together in the future. In order to make him proud of me I even earned a pilot's license and did a 6 year term of Army service. (I'm glad I did those things even if they did fail to impress him much) In any case, I had hoped over the years that there would be some contact with you and my siblings someday. But year followed year and I got used to the fact that invitations for holidays and such with the family would not be forthcoming. I didn't really understand it though. I wasn't a teenager with teenage troubles any longer, and yet you and dad still never invited me back for even a brief visit or holiday.

Well look, I've said more than I wanted to. My whole idea of contacting you was to try and get your help in contacting Kristin, Holly, and Bart. You're right though; I can do it without your help. But if they have built up defenses or biases against me formed over all these years of no contact, then your help would be invaluable. As it is I have no idea how to break the ice....but as you say it is up to me and them I guess.

I do hope that whatever transpires, or fails to, between you and I will not impact April's status with you and your end of the family. She only wants to know her family, and has little idea of what caused the split in the first place. As you can probably tell, I didn't say a negative word to her about dad and you. She's a clean slate, and a good kid. She’s going to want to come back and see you all if she’s welcomed.

As for me Carolyn, I have no deep dark desire to heap blame upon you. Nor do I have an urgent need to forgive you and dad. I don’t really feel anything anymore. I honestly think it would have been nice if I could have come to visit you, talk this stuff out with you, and come to a mutual understanding. It would have been healthy, and who knows, perhaps we could have even been friends? When I look through old pictures of me as a child with you holding my hand, I wonder why it all had to work out this way. I had thought you could help me figure that out.

That letter I wrote back in ’91 was born out of years of frustration and rejection. Dad telling me I was not welcome to come to my grandmother’s funeral was just the trigger. In the final analysis it was psychologically easier for me to finally reject you and dad, than it was for me to try and figure out why you both had rejected me.

I’m not your enemy Carolyn, nor am I your friend. I’m just an ordinary guy who would like to be re-introduced to his brother and sisters, and you are someone who could help if only you wished to. I hadn’t asked you this before, so I thought it couldn’t hurt to try. Well I tried, I was hopeful that you might be open to the suggestion. You weren’t, but like I said, it didn’t hurt to ask….

Have a good rest of your life Carolyn, I won’t bother you again. If you ever change your mind you know how to reach me.

(signed)
Rick

"If it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?"
--Alexsandr Solzhenitsyn

Paraskevidekatriaphobia

2005-05-13T11:50:00.000-07:00

13thsmall
Originally uploaded by Wrikzilla.

Paraskevidekatriaphobia is a morbid, irrational fear of Friday the 13th. Therapist Dr. Donald Dossey, whose specialty is treating people with irrational fears, coined the term. He claims that when you can pronounce the word you are cured.

Paraskevidekatriaphobia is related to triskaidekaphobia, the fear of the number 13.

Superstition about Friday the 13th may well be the number one superstition in America today. The number 13 is considered especially unfavorable though it was considered a lucky number in ancient Egypt and China. There were 13 people at the Last Supper. And several mass murderers have 13 letters in their names: Charles Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer, Theodore Bundy. Of course, millions of people who haven't committed any murders, such as Richard Cheney and Robert Redford, have 13 letters in their names, too. As far as I know, nobody has studied how many dinner parties with 13 present went off uneventfully. Witches, perhaps to clearly oppose themselves to a Christian superstition, sometimes have groups of 13 known as covens.
(Hat tip; skeptic's dictionary)

There's something different in the air today......

2005-05-11T10:47:00.000-07:00

plane-alert
Originally uploaded by Wrikzilla.

I share a very cool office space with five other guys. We have 6 windows on the 2nd floor facing out to 21st Street NW. In the late spring time it's hard to get any work done around here! We have an unrestricted view down M street looking towards Georgetown from 21st, and can always see the air traffic turning onto an extended final approach to Reagan National. Earlier today we heard air force jets punching holes in the sky, and briefly saw them. (my PC screens face the window, so I can catch alot with my peripheral vision. Usually we'll hear and see fighters as they climb away from doing the missing-man formation out at Arlington for a funeral. (sadly, there's been quite a few)

Anyway, today when we heard them we didn't think too much about it, then the news started their alert coverage of a small plane violating the ADIZ! The fighters were actually up protecting the city today! We haven't see that happen since 9/11/01.

I feel real sorry for the dunce that was flying the C-150,..he's got problems now. Here's what the Washington Post has to say about it.

It's a wonderful city to work in and live near, there's alot to do and see. It's easy to forget all that's here until something like this happens. I feel for the guy, but if he's stupid enough to violate the DC/Baltimore ADIZ he should not be a pilot.

-Rick

Welcome!

2005-05-05T07:36:00.000-07:00

I've had a lot of mixed feelings lately about what I'm thinking of doing with this blog. I do wish I knew what the right thing to do was. But it's not so easy to tell. Therefore, feeling as though I needed some really good advice from caring and mature people I went out onto the internet to find it, and like with most other subjects, the web once again has provided the answers. You just have to ask the right questions. During my search I Googled the words; step, family, & therapy...and the ever faithful search engine spit me out into the message board of a website aptly called "Life in a Blender." The people I've found there so far are smart, sensitive, and have direct experience in dealing with step-child, step-parent issues from both sides of the fence. Exactly the kind of people I've been looking for!

I sent them a link to this blog, namely the "Big Picture" post, and they have been sending me back the encouragement and advice I've been lacking. To any of them who may be reading this; welcome to my nightmare! I'll be picking your brains in the coming days and weeks. I hope you will each tell me frankly what you think about my situation. Don't go easy on me, if you think I'm being unfair to Carolyn I want you to say so, and tell me why. I truly do not want to dump the blog in the laps of my sisters and brother as I think that would likely kill any chance I may have to get to know them. The blog concept has always been my last resort. But another part of me recognizes the fact that there really isn't much to lose here to begin with. There is, and has been, no relationship at all with them for 28 years! I feel that at the least if they read my blog they'll know something about me, and isn't something better than nothing? As far as I know, the blog may last forever here amongst the flotsam and jetsam of cyberspace. My brother and sisters can come here any time they wish and have a peek into my life. Who knows? Maybe they will.

I have to date written Carolyn a total of 3 letters in response to hers, but still am not happy with the result. I can't be too terribly honest with her because she'll freak, and that'll be it. I can't be too terribly circumspect about it because that wouldn't be honest! After reading my three attempts I can truthfully say my problem is in being too honest with my feelings. I seem incapable of crafting a properly humble response. Jesus wanted us to "turn the other cheek" but it's so much harder than it sounds. My whole being is crying out for justice and here I am trying to write a contrite letter to a heartless and self-centered creature that has done her level best to wreck my life.

(sigh)
-Rick

Back to the issue at hand....

2005-05-03T10:04:00.000-07:00

The Big Picture gives an overview of the raison d’être of this blog. If you have recently stumbled upon this space, or have forgotten while lost amongst the mental junk, please go there and read it. Just over one week ago my step-mother Carolyn sent me a terse letter which basically said "get lost". I've been lost, I'm looking to turn that around.

I've written her a total of two long letters in reply to hers, yet have mailed exactly none. I can't send the ones I've written because they're just too...real! Also, the two letters I sent which prompted her reply have got her defenses up, and they were written in the most innocuous language I could devise! If I'm to really try and establish a dialog I've basically got to beg her in the most humble manner for her help. Doing so will be the hardest damned thing for me, but when she shoots me down yet again it will be painfully obvious to everyone in the family that this has been my reality all along.

She has cost me so much, and I have dealt with her poorly and ineffectively. I was raised to look for the good in people, but with her I'm still looking. Well, at least for another month that is.

More later,
Rick

Lucky Friday :)

2005-05-03T06:34:00.000-07:00

I took a much needed four day weekend! Friday because Jan had a gig at a post-tournament luncheon for the celebrity guests/players in the Fran O'Brien Memorial Golf Tournament. Fran, who died in '99, was one of the "over the hill gang" Redskins of the late 60's/early 70's. Coaching great George Allen's troops, the guys who fell just short of a Super Bowl ring in '72 leaving the Miami Dolphins in possession of the only perfect NFL season record to date.

Jan was backed by a 5 piece band of excellent jazz musicians, so the entertainment was top-notch. Fran's son Marty, now owner of Fran O'Brien's Stadium Steakhouse in the DC Hilton, provided a real feast! Meanwhile I got to hang out with 15 or so ex-NFL stars including Rickie Harris and Pat Fischer, who treated me like one of the gang. A real treat!

Later, after the luncheon they held the drawing for the grand prize; a limited edition Redskins signature football which was signed right there by all the ex-players in attendance. They were selling chances for the prizes @ $5.00 a ticket, or 5 for $20.00. Sadly I only had 5 bucks on me, so only had the one chance to win anything. Then, when all other prizes were taken they drew for the ball...and called my number! I had my picture taken with Rickie Harris as he presented the ball to me. (When I get my copy I'll post it here)

All the other guys who spent $20.00 and over were secretly hating me and casting covetous glances at the ball! Then April took it and wouldn't give it back...oh well! ;) What a great way to kick off a 4 day weekend!

-Rick

And now a non sequitur....or is it??

2005-04-28T12:22:00.000-07:00

Mr. Flood’s Party

OLD Eben Flood, climbing along one night
Over the hill between the town below
And the forsaken upland hermitage
That held as much as he should ever know
On earth again of home, paused warily.
The road was his with not a native near;
And Eben, having leisure, said aloud,
For no man else in Tilbury Town to hear:

“Well, Mr. Flood, we have the harvest moon
Again, and we may not have many more;
The bird is on the wing, the poet says,
And you and I have said it here before.
Drink to the bird.” He raised up to the light
The jug that he had gone so far to fill,
And answered huskily: “Well, Mr. Flood,
Since you propose it, I believe I will.”

Alone, as if enduring to the end
A valiant armor of scarred hopes outworn,
He stood there in the middle of the road
Like Roland’s ghost winding a silent horn.
Below him, in the town among the trees,
Where friends of other days had honored him,
A phantom salutation of the dead
Rang thinly till old Eben’s eyes were dim.

Then, as a mother lays her sleeping child
Down tenderly, fearing it may awake,
He set the jug down slowly at his feet
With trembling care, knowing that most things break;
And only when assured that on firm earth
It stood, as the uncertain lives of men
Assuredly did not, he paced away,
And with his hand extended paused again:

“Well, Mr. Flood, we have not met like this
In a long time; and many a change has come
To both of us, I fear, since last it was
We had a drop together. Welcome home!”
Convivially returning with himself,
Again he raised the jug up to the light;
And with an acquiescent quaver said:
“Well, Mr. Flood, if you insist, I might.

“Only a very little, Mr. Flood—
For auld lang syne. No more, sir; that will do.”
So, for the time, apparently it did,
And Eben evidently thought so too;
For soon amid the silver loneliness
Of night he lifted up his voice and sang,
Secure, with only two moons listening,
Until the whole harmonious landscape rang—

“For auld lang syne.” The weary throat gave out,
The last word wavered; and the song being done,
He raised again the jug regretfully
And shook his head, and was again alone.
There was not much that was ahead of him,
And there was nothing in the town below—
Where strangers would have shut the many doors
That many friends had opened long ago.

-Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935).

Afloat in the stream of consciousness.....

2005-04-27T12:21:00.000-07:00

I wrote my ”Big Picture” post in one sitting as a stream of consciousness. There was only the vaguest notion of structure, so it rambles on in places. It passes over the horrific abuses of a cruel Chandra, as well as the alcoholic Clint. These guys were my own personal boogie men during my childhood. They scared the crap out of me; as well their actions should anyone. Both were dangerous men in their own ways. Things could have ended very badly for my mom and me had we not managed to break away. Carolyn I will readily admit was not dangerous, yet she is the only one of the three C’s of my childhood that has managed to do lasting damage. Hers’ is truly the gift that keeps on giving.

Carolyn’s thing wasn’t physical abuse, it was psychological/emotional. Here is one particularly memorable breakfast in Wichita; Carolyn is cooking the eggs. We kids are around the table. She asks us each how we want our eggs. Holly asks for scrambled, Bart gets the same, but I think he was too young at the time to really say what he wanted. I was the oldest and I knew that I wanted “over-easy” eggs. (I liked sopping up the runny parts with my toast, still do.) But I didn’t know the right words. So I said “runny” instead. Carolyn asked “well how runny?” Then I said the word that I really shouldn’t have. I chose “raw”. So she brought out everyone’s breakfast to the table and handed me a drinking glass with a raw egg in it. She told me to eat it (or drink it as it were) or I could not leave the table. I told her I didn’t really mean “raw”, it was gross! But she made me sit at that table for a long, long time before allowing me up without any breakfast. I may have been as old as 5 or maybe 6. That was 40 years ago, but I still remember it as clear as day. It was just one of many such incidents. I never really put it all together until I got older, but Carolyn really hated me. Not for anything I’d done, (I was too young and innocent to have done anything at that stage), but for what I was; a reminder of the sins of the past.

Clint and Chandra scared me to death and hurt me physically, but neither one actually hated me. Clint made me drink a half bottle of rum to celebrate my 13th birthday because “now you are a man!” He amused himself with my drunkenness, and when I almost choked to death on my own puke that night I had to pretty much save myself. He didn’t really care one way or the other, and I could deal with that. It was overt, and honest, he never feigned love while secretly hating me as Carolyn did. He didn’t care enough to hate me and neither did Chandra. To him I was just inconvenient. I’ve found that even the worst overt physical abuse is easier to handle than the easily hid and deniable psychological kind. The kind of thing Carolyn did made me feel as if I were going crazy. It literally destroyed my sense of self-worth, and it was all so wonderfully deniable. She did her “best” with me, you see. I simply “didn’t really want to be here” (with my dad). Yeah Carolyn, that’s why I’m spending hours pouring my soul into this blog 28 years later. I didn’t really want to be loved by my dad. My time in the US Army wasn’t spent in order to make him proud of me, nor was my pursuit of my pilot’s license.

I loved that man with all my heart, he was a giant to me. I still remember riding on his shoulders and asking him how cameras work. (At the time I thought they radioed the pictures straight to the drug store.) He always explained everything to me in that wonderful made-for-radio voice of his. I wanted him to love me back, and I think maybe he did, or he could have had his wife not hated me so deeply.

I believe that in my now infamous letter to dad after grandma Rose’s death I related to dad that Carolyn had abused me physically. (The hairbrush-handle beating was what I was thinking of when I wrote that part.) Later when I told my mom about it she said; “No, back in the mid-60’s it was quite common to use a hairbrush handle on a kid.” So, I do regret putting that charge into the “letter”. In fact I regret writing the damned thing at all! I was not thinking ahead, I was merely reacting in an emotional rage. She has hung it over my head ever since as justification for my banishment. Carolyn asks if I don’t think I’m partly to blame, and I know she’s right. Of course I made mistakes, but I never stopped loving my dad. I lost him in the most incredibly stupid of ways over 15 years ago,…no more than that really. In the last 28 years I’ve had roughly 3 days where I saw him face to face. They were good days, one was my wedding day, but when I tried to tell him about Holly and Carolyn and me and what happened back in ’76 he would quickly change the subject.

My dad didn’t like to talk about deep or painful stuff. I remember our last face-to-face conversation in Fort Lauderdale. This would have been sometime in the summer of ’87. (I’m guessing here….it always feels like summer in Lauderdale you know.) The very last thing he said to me was in relation to my job. He left me with; “Well it doesn’t matter what you do son, if you’re just a garbage man then be the best garbage man you can.”

Can you believe that!? My last conversation on earth with my own father ended on an expression so trite that it’s embarrassing to remember. (I was a communications network engineer, not a garbage man. He had no inkling of what a network engineer was back then in the pre-internet days, few people did.)

We had so much that needed saying, so much which needed mending, and so little time. How sad that makes me, I have no words to express. I lost him long ago, and all of you just recently lost him. But you can think of him as having “shuffled off this mortal coil to join the choir invisible” of looking down on you with love from Heaven. I never got to employ such comforting illusions. Dad hadn’t shuffled off anywhere except to Katy, Texas. He wasn’t looking down on me from Heaven, or up at me from Hell. If he thought of me at all I have no evidence of it.

If Carolyn says she only hates me because of the letter I sent, she is lying. Think about it for just a minute and put it into perspective. What letter could you send your mom and dad to make them never want to see you again? How big would it have to be Holly, to make them disown you? How many bad words would you have to use Bart? Short of sending an anthrax letter, I can’t even imagine any parent writing off their first born child simply on the strength of one stupid angry letter!

Here’s a bit of perspective folks. In 1995 Dr. Debora Green of Kansas City, Kansas poisoned her estranged husband with ricin. It nearly killed him. He went through 4 surgeries, 3 on his heart and one on his brain and somehow survived the effects of the ricin poisoning. (It’s very toxic stuff.) Later, Dr. Green burned down the house she had shared with her husband. She burned it down with their 3 children trapped inside. One child escaped, the other two died horrible deaths. Dr. Green is now serving a “hard forty” sentence in the Topeka, Kansas State Correctional Facility. Her ex-husband brings their surviving daughter to the prison once a month to visit her mom. Why? Because he thinks it important that she know her mom. Family is family after all.

I wrote one letter. Dr. Green murdered, or attempted to murder, her entire family. Now ask Carolyn again about that letter. But keep Dr. Debora Green in your mind’s eye.

More later, I can’t seem to stop writing after getting Carolyn’s letter. Yet if I tell her all this stuff right away she’ll shut me out for sure! I have to be careful not to push her buttons in my letters to her. I’m not going to give her any reason to reject me now, she doesn’t need one anyway. Her irrational and hostile reaction to me is the only objective and observable proof I have to offer. I’ve thought about this a great deal. I have to tell my story now or not at all. If I waited till Carolyn died this blog would be an unsupported and undebatable character assassination. As it is she is alive and able to offer rebuttal if she cares to. I make no claim to perfection of memory. It’s been many years and I’m sure I’ve made a few mistakes here and there, but this is the truth as I know it to be. I swear before God and everyone that I have not knowingly described anything in this blog that did not actually happen directly to me.

It’s spilling out of me like a fountain. I have no idea if any good will come of this stuff, but I can say I’m feeling better all the time. I need to let go of it, and I finally am.

-Rick

Saddam's Throne

2005-04-27T10:42:00.000-07:00

onsaddamsthrone
Originally uploaded by Wrikzilla.

Old Frankfurt friend Cliff Crawford. From Cold Warrior, to Hot Warrior! Currently slumming it in Saddam's palace. Way to go Cliffy!

-Zilla

It's 2am.....

2005-04-26T02:19:00.000-07:00

Can’t sleep, there are too many thoughts running around my brain. Carolyn asked me some really great questions in her somewhat terse reply to me. They boiled down to two main thoughts; “why?”, and “what do you want?” Here are the answers as they stand now; at 2am on April 26th, 2005.

Why?

For my family, April wants to have a relationship with her cousins, aunts, and uncle. She doesn’t understand what lies just beneath the thin veneer of Carolyn’s “love and acceptance”. If she ever stays with Carolyn long enough to find out what really happened, what my Robinson half really thinks of me and why, it’s going to be very tough for her to take. She’d try to defend me and without facts to back her up it’d be an exercise in frustration and despair that would be snake-bitten from the beginning. I’m working to de-fang that snake right now in this blog. I have started by asking Carolyn repeatedly and humbly to hear me, try to understand me, and forgive me. After all that I’ve been through with her, humbling myself before her and meaning it has been the hardest part. I’m too proud and stubborn for such a thing to come easy. Also, I don’t give my word to anyone without meaning what I say. Especially this is true when I take the time to make such promises on paper and in my own hand. Would I have visited Carolyn, listened to her and forgiven her while seeking the same from her? Indeed I would have. In fact there is still time as of this posting. If my next letter to her elicits a favorable response, or even if she simply answers one of the issues I put to her in that letter, we could go forward. It is obvious to me that this is a non-starter, but I will keep trying until that conclusion is objectively obvious to even my most unsympathetic reader. One way or another by personal communication, or public exhibition, my story will finally be told.

What do I want?

Justice. It can be obtained in many cases simply by having people hear you. I don’t expect to accomplish any great thing by writing this blog, all I expect is that I will be heard by the Robinsons of Houston. That is enough for me, if that’s all there is to this project then it’s enough. I cannot help but hope to hear from Kristin, Bart, or Holly once they have read this blog. If you want to flame me you can feel free to vent right here on the site. I’ve opened the comments section and will never censor comments unless they are from an internet troll, or are abusive. (Even then I will only edit for obscenities) If you wish to contact me directly with private comments you may send them to Rikzilla@hotmail.com. I will respect your wishes and keep comments sent to me at this address strictly private.
(I made no such promise of privacy to Carolyn regarding our snail-mail correspondence in case you are wondering.)

I have already written my reply to Carolyn. The text of it will be posted at a later date along with her reply if there is one. If not I will wait one month after this next letter is posted, and then will proceed to disseminate the web address of the “Memory Hole” to everyone. I hope I’m doing the right thing, but how can bringing a long buried series of wrongs into the light of day be a bad thing? At the least there will be closure. I just hope April and her cousin Carl will forgive me. They’ve both tried so hard to put things back together again, but neither of them had any idea how intractable the damage was.

If you must all go on disliking or even hating me because of your love for your mother and grandmother I completely understand. This blog will be here for as long as I live, or until blogspot goes under. I will continue to update it with my thoughts and activities into the future. If you want to know what’s in my mind then come here and read whenever you want. You can always contact me through the comments section at the end of each post whenever you like.

If nothing else let me wish each of my estranged siblings, niece, and nephew a good life. I hope you are all happy and successful and I wish you nothing but good. I hope to hear from those of you who may want to speak to me. As the rappers love to say “keep it real.” There is no longer any need or wish for fake sentiment. It’s been 28 years, let’s all say what we mean and mean what we say. I’m a big old boy, and I’ve got pretty thick skin.

With love and respect,
-Rick

Carolyn responds!

2005-04-25T12:37:00.000-07:00

Wow! Just when I thought I had this all figured out, she surprises me! Just looking at her letter in my mailbox made me nervous. My heart was beating too fast and my hands were trembling as I opened it. My mind raced with the possibilities! I thought, "gee maybe she's going to prove my perception of her wrong after all!" Overlaying these emotions and thoughts was a kind of sorrow that just when I got the hang of creating a decent blog and giving life to a truly original idea, I'd have to scrap it. Ahh, but then I read her letter. Actually I could have closed my eyes and written it for her. With every word she validated so many assumptions I've made. Nothing is her fault. Her "conscience is clear". I am "wrong", but there is no evidence that I actually am wrong beyond her opinion. There is plenty of circumstantial evidence though that my logical model based on her past actions is accurate. She is above all predictable. The only surprise was that she responded at all.

Here now is a posting of our coorespondence to date:

Text of my first letter to Carolyn; February 14, 2005
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Carolyn,

Thanks so much for making April and Jan feel accepted. I appreciate that all this is not particularly easy for you. I was sorry to hear of my father's death and tried to write you a condolence letter. However I could simply not find the words. I hope that you did not infer malice in my silence, but silence was all I had in me. After I learned of his death I bought a spiral pad and pen and then spent several hours alone on Melbourne Beach writing.

I wrote many pages and the act of writing helped me deal with the reality of his death, sadly it did not help me write you a coherent letter of condolence. So please forgive me for not writing.

Jan has told me that you really seem to want to reconcile the family. She's a perceptive woman and I trust her judgment as much as I love her, and that's a lot. If you really want this, then so do I.

But if we are both really serious about doing this then we need to do it right. We've spent alot of years in confrontation or indifference, but what you and I have never once done is sit down together and talk about our feelings and perceptions.

You and I share a painful past and it goes very deep. If we just agree to not talk about the bad times we'll be putting up a front, a meaningless veneer over a nasty wound. That would fail to be a real and lasting reconciliation.

If we do this, let’s make it deep and real. If you and I could feel free to really tell each other how we feel about what happened in the past then perhaps we'll come to understand each other. We'll be able to put our all old bad feelings in context. Perhaps we could even end up as allies working together to mend our family's rift.

I'd really like that.

You and I have a lot of bad stuff to get over. But honestly, before we can get over it we need to come to understand each other, only then can we really put it all into the past where it belongs.

Personally, I'm excited to think that we could really accomplish this. I can't help but think that it would make my father happy that we would even make the attempt.

So let me know what you think. It won't be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is. We're both getting too old to keep doing the same old nothing. There's just nothing positive in it. On the other hand, you and I have a great deal to gain.

I look forward to hearing your response. Thanks again for taking care of my girls.

-Rick

PS: I had Jan read my letter to you and she was concerned that you might misunderstand and think that I wanted a confrontation. Please rest assured that that is the farthest thing from my mind.

I also understand that this is just as strange for you as it is for me…more so really because you are still in mourning, so I will understand if you want to take some time and go slow. It’s been 28 years since we’ve last seen each other, so there’s certainly no hurry.

So please take your time, when you’re ready let me know. Reconciliation to me means open communication, not confrontation. I’d like nothing better than to normalize our relationship. I’d like to know my brother and sisters….I’d like to meet Kristin.

So let me know what you think.

-Rick

(Note: My work e-mail address, cell phone number, and home address were included as footnotes.)

---------------------------------------------------------------------
Text of my second letter to Carolyn; April 2nd, 2005
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Carolyn,

I wrote you a letter back in February. But since we haven't had any direct communication for so long, perhaps you were unsure how to respond.

Let me say again that I look forward to having a "heart-to-heart" with you. Not a confrontation, but merely an exchange of information, done with an eye towards understanding not recrimination.

I guess maybe you are wondering why after all these years I'm making this attempt? The loss of my dad has caused me to reassess my standing (or lack thereof) with one half of my family. I have a daughter who is desperate to know all of her relatives. April is very loving, innocent, and wants only to put our family back to rights. (As does Carl it seems.)

I guess it just finally struck me that my dad was utterly lost to me, but that I also have a brother and two sisters that I would like to know.

The only way, the only sure way, back to them Carolyn is through you.

With your blessing we could remake this family in a spirit of understanding and hope. Without it I have little choice but to live out my life as the family pariah. As for myself, I can take even that as the hand that fate has dealt me. But I don't want this handed down for my children to have to bear as well.

Please drop me a note and let me know you got this.

Regards,
-Rick
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Carolyn's response; dated May 21st, 2005 (sic). Recieved; April 23rd, 2005 (April 21 postmark)
The letter was typewriten and contained no actual signature, just her typewriten name.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Rick,

I should have answered sooner but frankly, I didn't know that you had issues with me.
Perhaps that is not really true, because I do recall that Bill had received a letter from you that said some very nasty and accusatory things about several people including my sister and me. As I remember, that was when our precious Rose died. That is the last time that I know of that Bill had any communication with you. I don't really know what you want from me. I am not and have not been a part of your life for many years. Now that Bill has passed away I don't see any reason that you would want a relationship with me. It seems that you want to blame me for the loss of your relationship with Bill, but to me it seems that had very little to do with me, and much more to do with Bill and you. I understand those many years ago that you did not want to be here. You were a very difficult to deal with as a teen, but I did my best. You think that this is the hand that fate has given you but don't you think that just maybe you had something to do with it too.

If you will tell me what your issues with me are and whatever it is that I did to
you, I will certainly address them and try to answer them, but my conscious is clear
about the way I treated you. I would have preferred that we got along and had a loving relationship, but the choice was yours not mine.

As far as my children and grandchildren are concerned, it is totally up to them and
you, to resolve what ever happens between you. They know that they always have my
blessing. Frankly they don't have a problem. They met April and Jan, and so did I, with open arms and nothing but love. They love April very much and thought that Jan was just super in every way. In fact, no one knew that there was going to be questions of some kind of mistreatment raised about me. Everyone assumed that April would be coming back often. We just loved them and accepted them and everyone tried to do the best we could to make them feel wanted and loved. You are wrong. I don't have to be a part of your relationship with my children. Perhaps it would even be better if I am not, after all, Bill is not with me now and I should not even matter to you one way or the other.

-Carolyn

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Please note how Jan and April are now spoken of in the past tense. She's already pushing them towards the great memory hole. Old habits are hard to break I guess. Bad habits. Habits that hurt people. What has April done? She knows nothing of my past with Carolyn and Dad. She knows absolutely nothing about this blog. Yet she is the very thing that cannot be acknowledged. Like me, her crime ocurred in the delivery room on her birthday. I'm sure Carolyn likes her, April is a very gregarious, bright and likeable kid, but she can no more stop being my daughter than she can walk on water.

So now I'm in the process of answering this letter of hers. Since she has asked me what I want of her, and has invited me to tell her of the issues I have with her I will tell her. I will tell her in the nicest way I know how. She will, true to form, rebuke me or ignore me. I know that now and expect it like I expect the sun to rise in the east. That is why I created this blog, to make public the realities and effects of my step-mother's irrational hatred of me.

Stay tuned, it won't be long now....
-Rick

This one's a little dark

2005-04-23T11:51:00.000-07:00

Jan's Gig 004
Originally uploaded by Wrikzilla.

It's myself, wife Jan, and daughter April. Taken about one year ago at a gig Jan got singing jazz.

You'll notice Karina's still missing. I need a pic of her to post, but since she's a teenager she doesn't like spending much time with us. I hope she comes out of it soon...at least before April disappears into her own teenage funk.

-Rick

Three Sundays ago....

2005-04-23T11:27:00.000-07:00

Three Sundays ago....
Originally uploaded by Wrikzilla.

A perfect spring day and the big sky beckons! Of course the Washington area ADIZ is a large pain in the butt to get around in. There are flight plans to follow, entry and exit windows, discrete transponder codes, and lots of busy controllers to talk to! This pic was taken @ the new airport in Stafford, VA. We just flew in from Freeway airport near Bowie, MD. Nice to be south of the ADIZ!

-Rick

http://www.doav.virginia.gov/PDFs/Airports/Stafford%2004.pdf

Sprucing up the blog with a pic or two....

2005-04-23T11:00:00.000-07:00

april911
Originally uploaded by Wrikzilla.

I am currently experimenting with Flickr in order to post some photos here. This is my favorite picture of April! She was the bearer of the flag during the dedication of the 9/11 memorial in Prince William County, VA. We lost 22 neighbors at the Pentagon on 9/11. Several kids at April's elementary school lost parents. This picture ran in the Washington Post.
-Rick

Some thoughts on current events....

2005-04-19T08:04:00.000-07:00

Lately the news has been dominated by the death of John Paul II, and the election of a new Pope. Although I'm not Catholic it's easy to recognize that JPII was an important leader on the world stage and a fine human being. I remember thinking the same thoughts on the deaths of Mother Theresa, and Princess Diana. Just last summer I spent 7 hours of quality time with my daughter, April, sweating in line to view the lying in state of President Reagan. Here was a guy I hated in my idealistic youth, yet who became a man whose wisdom I came to respect in the wake of the fall of the Soviet Union.

During my 3 year tour of duty with the Army in West Germany I worked as a communications technician for V corps in Frankfurt, and had temporary duty attached to the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment in Fulda. I've stood next to the border with East Germany, and have seen the guard towers and mine fields. All these obstacles designed with an eye towards keeping their own people captive. No one was beating down their doors to get in! I also was lucky enough to have ridden the duty train from Frankfurt into West Berlin twice on leave. I've seen Checkpoint Charlie and the Berlin Wall. It was sobering, and felt wrong just to look at. People died just making the attempt to escape, even in 1981 there were tales of escape attempts both successful and unsuccessful every few weeks. It gave me a political lesson I've never forgotten. Flowers in the Snow is an extremely well written piece by Pat Sullivan, a fellow "Frankfurter". He was 17 in 1979...I was 19. We were in Fulda during the same time. His story really illustrates, better than anything that I can write, the impact of visiting the Fulda Gap.)

We're all very lucky to be alive during this time in history. Each time we've lost irreplaceable moral or political leaders, others have stepped up and risen to new challenges. These last few years the changes and challenges have been monumental. On the morning of Sept 11th 2001 I stood on the roof of my office building in DC and watched the Pentagon burn, a place I had the privilege to work in for the last 8 months of my Army service. We lost over 3,000 people that day...irreplaceable people,...friends. Yet ever since more have risen to the great challenges of our era. People as patriotic and committed to duty as Pat Tillman who turned down a 4 million dollar NFL contract to face combat and ultimately death. People as compassionate, tireless, and selfless as
Marla Ruzica. And everyone in between.

Pat was born November 6th 1976, weeks before my big blow up in the family. Marla was born a little more than a year later on New Year's Eve of 1977. She was killed just two days ago by a roadside bomb in Iraq. Pat lost his life in combat in Afghanistan on April 22, 2004. Marla and Pat were political opposites, yet both followed up their beliefs with action and courage. They represent the best of both the right and left in America. Their remarkable lives, all the varied good that each has accomplished, has taken place within the span of my estrangement from the family. 28+ years is a long time, in many cases a lifetime. So much has happened, the whole world has changed. I'm writing all this in the hope that we Robinson's can change too, if only a little.

Since last August I've had to face the fact that I'll never see my Dad again. In a strange way it was a relief. At least now there was a reason for his absence that had no bearing upon my standing with the family. My Mom used to tell the administrators of the various schools I attended that my Dad was dead just to avoid the stigma of divorce that was prevalant back then, so I've had a great deal of time to get used to the idea. I lost him so long ago that I shouldn't feel a loss, but I do just the same. It's made me think about the whole situation from the perspective of my daughters, and someday my grandchildren. This never ends for them, a rift in the family remains a rift in the family forever unless it is mended. It's a wound that I've found time can't heal. Time only tends to complicate things further.

I've lost my Dad. My girls have lost a Granddad they never had a chance to enjoy. But that's only the beginning. I stand to lose forever my only brother, two sisters, a nephew and a niece. But that's still not all. You guys are missing out on knowing us too. Jan, Karina, April, and me...we're family, your family, and family still means something to us. It always has. I imagine it always will.

I feel like some of you will hate me for this blog. I have no idea what your mom has told you about me Kristin,...I have no idea how you Holly, and you Bart, remember me. I'm not trying to vilify Carolyn, I'm just trying to be understood and to be understood means telling you the whole truth from my perspective. This is why I'm taking 6 months to plead with Carolyn and make her an ally instead of a foe. This blog is only a way around her in case I fail. It's a way for you all to know me, and hopefully understand why I've been away. No matter what has happened in the past I don't want to fail with Carolyn. I don't want her to die without resolving this. It's not good for her soul,...or mine for that matter. I want to forgive her, or to at least understand her reasons why she doesn't need or want my forgiveness. Above all I want to be forgiven and accepted too,...but nothing can happen without even a basic dialog. Without communication there is no relationship. There's only the ever-present memory hole.

As of this posting I'm writing her letter #3. Maybe she'll write or call this time? I guess if you are reading this she hasn't.

More later,
-Rick

"No one can heal the wounds that have been inflicted; you just have to recognize that people have been harmed." -Marla Ruzica (Born: Dec 31,1977; Killed by roadside bomb in Iraq: Apr 17, 2005)

As Steve White, Navy SEAL and family friend (of Pat Tillman) stated; "1976-2004, that one little dash in there represents a lifetime. How do we spend our dash?"

Catharsis

2005-04-08T14:18:00.000-07:00

Wow, I finally did it. I put it all out there like I should have done years ago, and on the internet no less! After completing my "Big Picture" post I had a feeling like a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It's done now if only in the form of a thumbnail sketch. If I drop dead tomorrow at least I can do so knowing that my tale has been told. It's a good feeling; my only regret is that I did not do it years ago while dad was still above ground. Then again, blogs are a fairly new phenomenon, and I may just have invented a whole new and original use for one? I don't know. Maybe there's another blog out there being used in this way, but I haven't seen it yet.

Being ignored by Carolyn is not new for me, but being able to do something effective to combat it is. Then again, who knows? Maybe she'll look into her heart and make this little project of mine become moot? I doubt it though; otherwise I'd have never bothered to start. But hey, hope springs eternal right? The lady might have a surprise for me yet. Two unanswered letters since February does not automatically mean she's shutting me out, but almost 30 continuous years of non-communicativeness does seem to suggest at least the possibility. :) Or am I just a pessimist?

I'm very new to blogging so I'm not sure how I should proceed. I feel like I have alot more to tell my audience, whoever you all are. My early family life leaves alot to be desired. It was a really rocky start, but I'm glad to say it hasn't all been a nightmare. I've been very lucky. The news is full of people who’s’ lives have been utterly ruined and devastated, I'm glad that I somehow escaped being one of them. It amazes me really. I've been lucky indeed.

I plan on indulging my wannabe literary self here. I have lots of interesting real life stories to tell, and not just familial horror stories either. ;) I hope that I can both entertain the random visitor, and provide some insight into myself for my half sisters and brother. Kristin doesn't know me at all except for what dad and Carolyn told her. She's got to be nearly 30 now; I'd sure like to meet her. I'm nervous about that though; God only knows the things she's been told about me! My wife Jan says she looks just like our daughter Karina, only a bit older. My brother Bart was always a good kid, and we got along well. His only flaw was in being a joiner. We had alot of fun together, but in the end it was easier for him to go along with Holly's harassment. He never took any apparent joy in it though. I sure wish I knew him now too.

By now I'm sure the reader will doubtless imagine that I've had a bellyful of Holly. You'd be quite right. I've had to think on this a long time, and I've come to the realization that Holly was going through a difficult phase. Adolescence is in many ways harder for girls than it is for boys. It's more complex psychologically. Without getting into it too deeply, I've found through experience with my own daughters that the age Holly was during the summer-winter of 1976 is one of the most difficult times in a girl's development. I need to forgive her, and I do. She was a kid, so was I. She needed positive direction from her mom and dad, what she got was a distracted dad, and a mom who appears to have used her own troubled daughter as a lever to pry me out of their home. I forgive you Holly; I just hope you don't bear any further animosity towards me. Even if you do though, my forgiveness of you is unconditional. We were the kids, it was the adults who were in charge.

-Rick

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." -Martin Luther King Jr.

The Big Picture....

2005-04-06T12:48:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about how to approach this story. It's a touchy situation because it's a tragic story, yet I don't wish to dwell upon the specific wrongs that were done. I'm well past whining about all this. However, the purpose of this page is to enlighten those members of my family that know little or nothing about me. I have no idea how Carolyn has explained me over the years. I believe that where possible she has not explained me at all. Therefore I must approach this story from the beginning.

There will be many other sections and essays on this site before I am finished with it. Although this is published in the blogosphere I feel confident that few people other than the family members I'm writing this for and to will access it in any meaningful way. Obviously I won't be directing any of them to this site until all other methods of getting through to them has been exhausted. As of this date I'm still very much engaged in that process.

So, let's begin. I was born to an essentially single mother on October 18th,1959. Instead of my father, my grandfather was in the delivery room holding mom's hand. That's how I came to carry his name...as well as my father's last name. He was Edwin Richard Thornton, I became Edwin Richard Robinson.

During my mom's pregnancy my father was having an extramarital affair. He left mom some time prior to my birth. I don't know exactly when that was. My mom doesn't like to talk about that time, not even now. It's just too painful for her still.

Mom was adrift for many years and I lived with her off and on throughout my childhood. I spent even more time growing up in the stable and loving atmosphere of my grandparent's home. It was there that I was called "Ricky". Since "Ed" was how my grandfather was known, I used my middle name. It has always been so ever since. My mortgage company (and other such entities) refer to me as Edwin...but I'm Rick to everyone else. I spent some early time with my dad's family too, but I don't remember too much of those days. Time with my dad was infrequent and sporadic.

My mom had three other marriages after my dad left us. One was an Indian called Chandra Chandrashekeria. He was a brilliant guy with a PhD in nuclear science. He was also an old-school Indian, and as such was bigoted and horribly abusive. A mysogynist from a very class-sensitive and mysogynistic society. He treated mom and me as possessions, not a nice guy in the least. When I was 10 he hung me by my ankles off the balcony of our apartment in Montreal. I don't remember why, I only remember fear. He took to beating up my mom so often she finally called the police, but in Canada, since Chandra's name was the one on the lease, they kicked us out instead. Mom tried to take money from the checking account, but Chandra got there first. (A lesson learned the hard way, don't be the last one to the bank!) I had $12 Canadian dollars in my own saving's account. We used that for a hotel room and some bags of snack food. Then my mom begged a housekeeping job from a nice old Jewish man. Mr. Kaplan was hard on mom, but he was our savior back then and I won't ever forget his kindness in taking us in. Mom swallowed her pride and worked hard as his housekeeper. A housekeeper with a Master's degree in psychology.

After that I spent more time with my grandparents, by then they had become very dear to me. Don't get me wrong, I loved my mom very much, but her life was a whirlwind of chaos and my half-sister Rosie and I only rarely lived together during these periods. I'd be sent to our maternal grandparents, Rosie would end up with her real dad's family. Occasionally I'd spend time with my dad's family, but only in fits and starts. I think at first dad tried to integrate me into his family, I know he wanted to make it work. I remember him as a kindly man who seemed to love me, yet never really talked to me about anything of importance.

Another of my mom's husbands was Clint Wallace. Here was a truly impressive man. He was 6'2" and looked almost exactly like Clark Gable during the filming of GWTW. He too was a brilliant guy. He moved us all to Brevard County, FL in 1969. He was an engineer who managed and inspected the team of McDonald-Douglas Corporation engineers who installed/tested the avionics for the Apollo Command and Lunar modules. We lived well at first. Rosie and I were together again and that was wonderful! We had a home instead of an apartment. We had a nice car and even a motorboat. Clint even introduced me to Jim Lovell, the astronaut who had just returned from his trip around the Moon on Apollo VIII. (He later famously commanded ApolloXIII, and was played by Tom Hanks in the movie.)

Life was pretty good, but soured fast. Clint was an alcoholic, prone to violence when drunk. He put my mom through a wall once, and I hid in my closet and cried. An act of cowardice that haunts me still. Rosie ran away,...later so did mom and I. Our time with Clint is kind of a long and scary story that I really don't need to touch much further on. His marriage to my mom endured on and off between 1968 and 1976. During that time my mom gave birth to my half-sister Trish. (1972) She also survived at least two very serious suicide attempts that I witnessed, and countless beatings. How we lived through the worst days of those years I just don't know. It was hard, and to add to the misery I was becoming a teenager.

In '76 I lost one of my closest friends to a motorcycle accident. It was just before the bi-centennial celebrations. It catapulted me into my sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll stage. Mom was busy disentangling herself from Clint. She simply couldn't handle me at this point. I was sent to my dad's home in Houston, in the hope that removing me from the bad influences of my circle of equally screwed up peers would somehow straighten me out.

So sometime in the summer of '76 (to the best of my memory) I ended up at 7611 Candlegreen Drive in Houston, Texas. It was a lovely "A"-frame with a vaulted ceiling, stone fireplace, and loft overlooking the living room. I was welcomed there by my dad, Carolyn, half-sis Holly, half-brother Bart, and new baby sis Kristin. We had a good start together. Bart and I were roomies and he didn't seem to mind sharing at all. He seemed to like having a new big brother. Holly was a different story, she didn't seem to mind me at first, but she was a very insecure kid. She made a point of reminding me that she was daddy's favorite, that daddy bought her this or that. The message was as clear as it was childish and needy. She was scared that I would usurp her place in dad's heart. (Not that such as thing was actually possible) This attitude would become more and more pronounced as time went by, but in the beginning it was hardly noticable.

Little did I know that my status was that of honored guest, not long-lost son. There's an old saying about guests and fish. After enough time goes by they both start to stink. To the Robinson family's credit, my welcome took a couple of months to wear out...but wear out it did. Of course the truth is that I should not have been seen as a guest in my own father's house...that was wrong. But it was a fact of life. I was a sensitive and troubled teenager, and was being told daily that my father had less love for me than for his other kids. I had an acne problem that embarrassed me to no end. It is a painful fact that most kids suffer with acne at just the time when they are trying to assert their independence. Appearance was so important to me, and I was awfully touchy about it. So imagine the horror I felt when my step-mother accused me of an act so disgusting, thoughtless, and trivial that the mention of it still apalls me.

She asked me if the white spots on the bathroom mirror were from me "popping your pimples on the mirror". This accusation came right out of left field. I wasn't ready for it. I had dreaded that anyone might mention my acne, and even deigned to hope after awhile that no one had noticed. I think my mouth must have dropped open in horror. I remember being speechless. Only later did it occur to me that if one leans toward the mirror while brushing one's teeth it's quite easy to see what makes the little white dots on the mirror, but at the time I went mute. The incident was a early window into what Carolyn really thought of me, a nasty kid capable of gross and thoughtless actions.

I remember that moment as troubling, embarrassing, and weird but I didn’t realize at the time that it was merely a foretaste of things to come. You see, with Carolyn there was mostly only a bad vibe, the most obvious problem was with Holly. Her hypersensitivity and neediness to be number one with dad was the real killer. Day in and day out she never failed to find an opportunity to claim that dad loved her more. It went on literally for months. When I ignored her she would act out in ways that would demand my attention. One particularly memorable tactic of hers was to hang my underwear around the house to embarrass me.

Later I would attempt to get away from her by locking myself in the room I shared with Bart. The room did not have a lockable door, so I would prop my leg against it, lock my knee, and keep her at bay that way. It worked well until one incident when Bart came through the door and I didn’t have my leg locked. He got one leg inside before I locked my knee and smashed his leg in the door. He wasn’t badly hurt, but the incident gave Carolyn the idea to move me out of Bart’s room and into the loft over the living room.

The loft was used as an office/library and had no door, no walls, and hence no privacy at all. This was a disaster for me in my efforts to avoid Holly’s harassment. The writing was on the wall at this point, I was on my way out. Carolyn made no effort to curb Holly’s behavior and my dad was like a man asleep at this point. He was away at work most of the time. When he came home he was busy and distracted. Even if he had sat me down and tried to get to the bottom of what was going on I doubt I’d have told him. I didn’t want to make waves, but the waves were getting higher anyway.

The big crisis that ended everything happened soon after. I don’t remember the exact date, it was either late November or early December. I don’t think we had a tree up yet in any case. It was afternoon, I was in the loft and Carolyn and Holly were in the house. I can’t remember Bart being there though he may have been. A Christmas package came in the mail for me. It was from my maternal grandparents, you know the ones who helped raise me for so many years, the ones I love beyond measure. For some reason the fact that I had received a package galled Holly. It upset her sensibility about being the most loved child. For my part I took delivery of the box and trooped upstairs to the loft where I could open it in peace.

But there was no peace or privacy to be had. Holly followed on my heels up the stairs. By now I had come to understand that she had some intractable, pathological need for attention. A need to be number one always. I had no door, no way to keep her out. Carolyn was downstairs in the kitchen and could not help but to have heard the entire incident. But there was no relief from that quarter, and none expected by that time.

Unable to keep Holly off my back I opened my package under a torrent of her verbal abuse which I had trained and steeled myself to ignore. Funny, but I cannot now even recall what was in the box. Likely it was just the usual bunch of shirts and pants that my grandmother loved to send, and is every kid's disappointment to open on Christmas day. As I peeled off the tape and opened the flap I recall Holly’s words. I hear then even now, exactly as she said them in a whiny sing-song voice. I guess she had decided to step up the insults since I’d been so good at ignoring her earlier ones. She said in a loud and clear voice: “Your grandparents ain’t nothing but a couple of faggots anyway!”

About a fraction of a second after that hateful thing came out of her mouth I hit her as hard as I could right in the mouth. I didn’t punch her, it was a slap. But it was a hell of a slap that knocked her right to the floor. Holly let out a blood curdling scream which signaled the end of my time with the other half of my family. I think Carolyn made some threatening remarks from the bottom of the stairs after Holly had run to her. I remember telling her that if she came up those stairs I’d send her back down them on her ass. Such was the ending of any direct communications between my stepmother and me from late 1976 to present. So far it’s been 28 years, 4 months. That goes for Holly (then 15 or 16), Bart (then about 13, as an estimation), and Kristen (who was a tiny baby) too. I’ve been persona non grata ever since.

Dad came home that night half drunk. In his defense I have to say this was a rarity, he’d been at an office Christmas party that night. (You know, back when they actually called it a Christmas party instead of a “Holiday” party.) He came home full of good cheer, and ended up having his night ruined. The next day he apologized to me as he put me on the Greyhound bus back to Florida and my mom. He told me, and I’ll never forget it; “If it were just us guys we’d have been fine, son. Things would have been different.” That was the closest we ever came to having a meaningful conversation about what had happened.

By 1978 I was in the Army, stationed in Frankfurt, Hoechst West Germany at the 32nd Signal Battalion.

I wrote to my dad then, but he never wrote back. I wanted so badly for him to be proud of me, but I didn’t know whether or not he knew I’d joined up. Later, after I’d ETS’d out of the Army I even started taking flying lessons at a local airport primarily because I thought dad would be proud. (I may have started flying in hopes of pleasing him, but in the end I earned my pilot's license simply because I truly love to fly. I guess that's the extent of my paternal inheritance.) But all this time I had no contact with him. When I invited him to my wedding in England, I didn’t really expect him to come. But then he did! His presence made the day even more special, and it wasn’t just that he was there that day. There was a promise in the air then that perhaps now, in my adulthood, I’d have the normal relationship with my father that I’d always wanted.

I saw him again after that, but only once when he came the next year to visit us for a few hours in Ft. Lauderdale. It was 1987, and our daughter Karina was about 6 months old. It was the last time I ever saw my father face to face. I remember trying to have a heart-to-heart with him about what had transpired in Houston and my hope that we could get past it, but he stopped me. He talked of trivial things instead and I got the message. Sore subject, don’t go there. But we needed to go there. We needed to heal, and healing is not possible without words and understanding. Without even acknowledging the problem, how could we fix anything?

I didn’t speak with him again until the spring of 1991. Grandma Rose had died. Bart called me at home, the first time we had spoken in nearly 15 yrs. He gave me a number where dad could be reached. I was told that it was Carolyn’s sister’s home in Arkansas, and that the arrangements were being made there. I called the number Bart gave me. A lady answered the phone, I asked to speak with Bill Robinson. The lady asked who was calling. I replied, “I’m Richard, his son.” She then said; “But he doesn’t have a son named Richard.”

It breaks your heart when you finally see that the dark place you’ve been living in is actually a memory hole. It kills your soul to find out that you’ve become an “unperson” ala Orwell's "1984". It came out of left field, completely unexpected. Then came my dad’s voice. He spoke well as he always did in his wonderful, intelligent, and charming way. But what he was telling me was infuriating. His mother, who had never once forgotten me. My one unbreakable connection to my “Robinson” family, the sender of cards and letters was dead, and my dad was telling me that I was not welcome at her funeral. Hell, we'd just taken Karina to see her in Missouri little more than 3 months prior to this. She was my grandmother, and she loved me. She loved her little great-granddaughter and my wife as well. I know this because she told me so every chance she got. She meant a great deal to me, yet I was clearly not even welcome at her funeral.

Thus the final schism. I got the message; Carolyn’s family was not to know about my existence. It would be too embarrassing for her to acknowledge that she had not only had an affair with a married man, but that she had taken this man from a pregnant young wife, a woman who she had not only known but who had once been a friend, and left a fatherless child in her wake to boot. Embodied in my presence at a funeral attended by Carolyn’s relations was scandal. It became crystal clear to me then that I would never be allowed to have a relationship with my dad. Carolyn was too vindictive and controlling, dad was too weak to stand up for me. It was easier to cast me adrift. So to ease the pain of rejection, I rejected them.

I wrote a letter to dad. A scathing letter. A missive full of all the pent up rage and emotion that I’d never allowed myself to express. I never spoke to him again. I never intended to.

Now with his death comes another funeral I was not allowed to attend, but at least this was not an unexpected shock as grandma Rose's had been. I was not even told of his illness and death. Had it not been for my youngest daughter’s curiosity I would still not know. She wrote a letter to Carolyn which was answered by a call from Carl, Holly’s 18 year old son. That call was how I learned my father was dead. It was mid August 2004. It had been 13 years since that final phone call. His life was over. After some time I came to realize that although the family schism no longer had any power to hurt me, it was already starting to hurt my kids.

My daughter April and wife Jan later flew to Houston to meet the Robinson half of my family. They were unfailingly nice to both April and Jan, and even gave April a “Welcome to the family” present. I appreciate this very much, don’t get me wrong. I’d like nothing better than to put this unhappy business into the past where it belongs. But the problem is that nothing was ever resolved. I make no claim to fully understand Carolyn and dad’s past actions, and I’m willing to bet Carolyn won’t fully understand mine unless/until she reads this blog.

I’ve learned how to ignore the fact that I’ve been dumped into the memory hole, but now that my girls are in danger of being dragged into it as well I have to speak up. The only way to mend our family is to actually make the attempt to mend it. I’ve been making that attempt since Jan got back from Houston and told me that Carolyn would like to reconcile with me. I have to date sent her 2 letters, the text of which I will eventually post here. So far I have received no reply.

I wrote this blog so that there would be some way of reaching my fellow Robinson family members without having to go through Carolyn. She was my first choice and best shot though. If I had succeeded in gaining her trust and understanding there would be no need to go around her. There’d be no need for this blog.

That’s all I’ve got for now. As of this posting I’m still trying to get some kind of communication going with Carolyn, but so far it doesn’t look real promising.

Thanks for listening...
-Rick

Hello

2005-03-30T06:43:00.000-08:00

I have a great deal to say. Much that has been repressed over a great number of years. The words, though hard to form now, will eventually come tumbling out. For now I can only say that I have begun...and that is at least something.

Who controls the past, controls the future. Who controls the present, controls the past.
-George Orwell, 1984

It struck me the very first time I read Orwell's 1984, that my own family had constructed a "memory hole". they dug it deep too before they cast me into it. Stupid me, I had no idea. It was only later that I found that my stepmother had orchestrated a complicated fantasy in which I no longer even existed. My father, an affable, smart, and charming man was not a strong person. He could not, or would not stand up for his first-born son.

It's a sad story that will spill out upon these electronic pages. A story prompted by my father's death, and another family funeral in which, again, I was not deemed worthy of.

You see, in the darkness of the memory hole, the black sheep blends into invisibility. Now if only he'd keep his mouth shut....if only.

-Rick