You’ll Never Amount to Anything
It wasn’t the worst childhood a boy had ever had. Not by a long shot. School had come easy and summers were full of play outside in a neighborhood full of independent children. David and his siblings clung to each other though, because they didn’t have parents to cling to. Oh, they were there: Sometimes at least. Dad was gruff, even by gruff standards, and spread that around town evenly, not leaving a lot of time at the house. Growing up poor, he had learned early to take advantage of every situation to make a buck or earn a meal and he continued that pattern until he dropped dead from a massive heart attack at 61.
David was 12 at the time. Dad had married Mom on his third go-round in his mid 40s and they knocked out three kids in between the fights. The first two wives had gotten tired of playing second fiddle to the music and rhythm of his work and left him, taking half of everything he couldn’t hide. They were smart enough to take the money and run.
With Mom, he hid the money well. So well, that when he died, even his life insurance was made payable to his sister June, who’d been married to a local bank president and presumably used to dealing with money. His aunt grudgingly doled out a few dollars here as her nephew and nieces grew on Christmas and birthdays, always lecturing their mother on her low aspirations while she sat and enjoyed the fruits of her own husband’s good planning before his death.
Aunt June had picked cotton as a teen and used that fact to tell the world how hard she’d had it growing up and how far she had come from those red-dirt roots. Dad had scoffed every time she recounted the tale in front of him. “Damn, June. You were so bad at it, they told you not to come back after two days. You said “work isn’t for me” and went and camped out at Jamie Morris’s house until his mama invited you in and told Jamie to take you out. The only work you’ve ever done was getting his suits dropped off at the cleaners every Wednesday.”
When times were extra tough, Mom would steel herself with a few drinks before she headed over to ask for money. Usually, those few drinks turned into a few too many which led to another reason for June to withhold from the kids, “for their own protection.” Of course, June had new cars every two years which were paid for in cash each time.
In that neighborhood full of kids, in a home with an ostensible parent, and loving family like June close by, they grew up alone together, holding onto each other, pushing each other through love and competition to be better as they didn’t have anyone else to do it for them and it had worked through some combination of luck and perseverance.
In their aunt’s eyes, it was a miracle none of them ended up dead or in jail, though none had come close to either and they all took perverse delight in asking her about her own children at get-togethers, the ones her kids couldn’t attend because their parole office wouldn’t let them leave Florida except for very few occasions.
“She’ll live forever. The evil ones always do,” Mom said. None of them could disagree based on the fact she was pushing 90 with no signs of slowing down. David knew she still had a lot of the money. It had been a big policy from dad’s job and she had Uncle Jamie’s stash to rely on as well. For all his faults, Dad had worked hard and he probably thought June would do right by his kids. Oh well, he’d been wrong about a lot of things when he was alive. Why should dying make him any smarter?
