Slowly, I Start to See: The Person I Want to Be

By John M. Schreiner

In 2013 my father fell seriously ill, as his life changed so did our relationship. As I watched his life slip away, I began to re-examine my own life. Thats when I decided to chronicle my journey through this period of change. The traps that I fell into while trying to live up to the ideals he had passed on to me. Feeling lost, I tried to buy happiness, only to find that I was caught up in a cycle of spending, debt, and deeper unhappiness. I was spiraling downward into an emotional abyss. Then, after years of riding this unhappiness cycle I realized that I had to reinvent myself. So I adopted a way of life that brought me peace and contentment and a way out of the unhappiness cycle. Only then did I realize who I was and who I wanted to be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Jun 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504358927

John M. Schreiner

John Marshall Schreiner, M.S., is an author and teacher. For years he lived as he had been taught to live, until he discovered he was trapped in a cycle of unhappiness. Through a series of self-revelations he reinvented himself and became the person he wanted to be.

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THE JOURNEY BEGINS

MY FATHER

''It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.''

--- Anne Sexton

D uring the depression fathers lost their jobs, families lost their homes, and parents struggled to even feed their families. Out of desperation, parents were forced to leave their children in the care of an orphanage where they were fed and sheltered, while their parents struggled on. My father was one of those children. After his parent's divorce, his father disappeared, his mother needed time to find a job and a place to live. So my father and his sister were left in the care of an orphanage in Ogden, Utah.

Although the matrons were strict and the living conditions were not warm and friendly, living in the orphanage meant three meals a day, an education, and a warm bed to sleep in. Since resources were scarce, nothing was wasted. At meal time any remaining food was distributed among the children who were still hungry. My father often told the story of one particular dinner at the orphanage. At the end of the meal one of the matrons brought out a small plate of what appeared to be mashed potatoes. Raise your hand if you want this the matron offered. My father loved mashed potatoes so he quickly raised his hand. The matron set the plate down in front of my father who dug in. It took only one taste for him to realize that what he thought was mashed potatoes was actually mashed turnips, and he detested turnips. He knew the rules, you had to finish everything on your plate, so he had to eat the turnips or risk punishment, so he forced it down. He struggled over each mouthful until he finished it all. He then asked to be excused, went outside and threw up.

After a few months, his mother found a job as a seamstress in a local ladies clothing store. After the divorce she had moved in with her mother in a small, one room house on the edge of town. So my father left the orphanage to live with his mother and grandmother. Growing up during the depression didn't allow for the normal pleasures of childhood for my father. His mother was absent most of the time, forced to work 7 days a week. During the day he was cared for by an aging grandmother who was not particularly happy raising a small child. With an absent mother and a reluctant grandmother, my father would say that he, raised himself. He spent most of his time exploring the woods that surrounded their property. During this time, he became a self-confessed loner, since the house was fairly isolated and there were few children who lived close by.

By the age of 8 he started working odd jobs to earn extra money to help his mother. Later he was offered a job delivering newspapers. Although it was hard work, still it provided a steady income. Though he gave most of his money to his mother, he managed to save enough to buy a second hand BB gun from a friend. With his trusty air rifle he hunted small birds and animals in the woods to supplement his diet. He recalled he always felt hungry, since there never seemed to be enough food to go around. Although most of the men in his family were six feet tall or more and well built, he stopped growing at five foot nine. Short and slim, he blamed malnutrition for his small stature.

As a boy, my father was an impatient student, preferring the outdoors over sitting in a classroom. He was bright, often completing his assignments before the rest of the class. When he turned in his assignment his teacher would tell him to sit quietly while the other students completed their work. Forcing him to sit quietly, with nothing to do but wait, constituted cruel and inhuman punishment for him. So he sat there, staring out the window at the beautiful, sunny day, wishing he could be exploring the world outside. But idle hands are the Devil's play things and the Devil certainly made use of his idle hands. It was during one of these idle periods that he was overtaken by youthful bedevilment, amusing himself by teasing the other children. One of his favorite tricks was to take a thread, tie a knot at one end leaving loose threads sticking out at the end. He would then lower the knot over the face of an unsuspecting classmate. At close range the thread appeared to be a spider dangling down at the end of its web. This prank was especially effective on the girls in his class who would shriek while jumping out of their seats.

All through his young life my father balanced work with school. By his senior year in High School he was working nights, catching a few hours of sleep, and then rushing off to school the next day. In the spring of 1941, war raged in Europe and soon America would join the fight. Old enough to be drafted, with no desire to be a foot soldier, he dropped out of school and joined the Navy. If America was headed for war, he wanted to be trained and ready before the conflict started.

After basic training, the majority of his classmates were assigned to ships as ordinary sailors. But my father had chosen to train as a signalman so he was sent to school in Chicago to receive his specialized training. Due to the training schedule he postponed his boot leave until after he finished his training. Afterward he returned to San Diego where he was given leave before reporting to his first duty assignment.

He rose early that Sunday morning eager to see his mother and Sister who had agreed to meet him at the entrance to the base. As he approached the guard station his mother and Sister waved to him, patiently waiting for him outside the gate. The guard rose to greet him but stopped to answer the phone. As he stood there waiting, he waved back to his mother and Sister, happy to see them. After putting down the phone the guard walked past my father and closed the gate in his face. It was Sunday morning, December 7th 1941. Pearl Harbor had been bombed and America was now at war. The base was placed on high alert and all leave was cancelled. Later he discovered that many of his friends from boot camp had been assigned to the Battleships Arizona and Nevada and lost their lives during the attack.

During a night patrol off the coast of North Africa, my father finished his late night watch and went to bed. Falling into a deep sleep, he dreamt that he was in his grandmother's room, standing next to her as she lie in her bed. Although she appeared to be ill, she smiled and told him she was still happy to see him. He asked her how she was feeling and she told him that she felt much better now that he was there. They talked a while and then she told him that it was time for him to leave, Your father's coming, so you must go. As he started to leave her side he noticed a figure approaching her bedside, the figure was wearing a uniform. He awoke from the dream feeling confused, wondering who was approaching his grandmother's bedside.

A few days later he received a letter from his Sister. She wrote that his grandmother had been very ill but had miraculously recovered. Reading the letter, he remembered the dream where his grandmother appeared to be ill. Had she actually contacted him through the dream? After his ship returned to port he received word that his father was there to see him. My father? What's my father doing in North Africa? He wondered. The answer came when his father arrived sporting the uniform of an Army sergeant. Too old to serve, his father had lied about his age and joined the Army to fight for his country.

This wasn't the first time these strange coincidences had occurred in his family. As a young boy he helped his mother with household chores such as washing and drying the dishes. One day he was helping his mother with the dishes. As she turned to hand him a knife to dry it fell from her hand and landed tip first, stuck into the wooden floor. He looked up from the knife to his mother who stood there staring off into space. She muttered Your Uncle Archie just died. He was shocked by this sudden revelation. Later that day they received word that his Uncle Archie had indeed been killed in an industrial accident. His Uncle's death occurred at the same time that the knife hit the floor.

MY MOTHER

"Being a mother is learning about strengths you didn't know you had, and dealing with fears you didn't know existed."

--- Linda Wooten

M y mother was the youngest of three children and her parent's only daughter. Of their three children, their second son was lost during the great influenza epidemic of 1918. My mother's surviving brother was eleven years her senior and though separated by age they still maintained a close relationship. My mother was a cute little blonde girl, a bit precocious but still respectful of her elders. Though you might expect that she would be doted over by her mother quite the opposite was true. My mother was daddy's girl and though her mother loved her she was the apple of her father's eye.

Born a year before the great depression she was too young to remember the hardships of the time, wanting for nothing, she was raised in a comfortable home by loving parents. She grew up just a few miles from Hollywood and the heart of the movie industry, where the numerous movie theatres allowed her to attend showings of the latest films. Watching movies was one of my mother's lifelong joys. She loved watching the actresses of the time dressed in their beautiful costumes, swept off their feet by a handsome leading man. As she watched the adventures of the glamorous actresses of the time, she pictured herself traveling to the same exotic locales. The movies filled my mother with a yearning for romance and adventure. She dreamed of becoming an actress and traveling around the world, experiencing life outside the confines of her sheltered life. By the time she married my father the extent of her travels took her only as far as Nevada, Utah or Colorado to visit her distant relatives.

She first met my father when he came to visit his mother who had recently rented the ground floor unit of my grandfather's duplex. At first she found him brash and a bit of a show off, as he sat on the front lawn shirtless, sunning himself in front of everyone. She wouldn't see him again until years later after the war had ended, this time my mother saw him in a very different light. Now a senior in High School, she was quite taken by this older and wiser veteran of the war. He too noticed her transformation into womanhood. They got to know each other over milk shakes at the local ice cream parlor. Soon they were going to movies together or strolling together along the pier. He escorted her to the High School prom for their first big date where he held her close as they danced the night away. It was that night my father realized he had fallen in love and so as they sat together under the stars he offered her a piece of gum, as she took it he smiled and said, Well I guess we should get use to sharing things from now on. This was his way of proposing marriage. At first she didn't understand but once his intentions were made clear she accepted.

She was willing to marry him but she insisted on a long engagement. This would allow her enough time to finish High School, attend Business College and then pursue a career. Later my mother recalled my father's impatience to get married and settle down. He was so anxious to get married that he pressed her to quit school. He saw her as a wife and mother so she had no need for further schooling or pursuing a career. He felt her time would be better spent caring for their children and tending to the house work. After all he had left School in his Senior Year to join the Navy and he was doing just fine without a High School diploma. As he became more insistent she agreed to a compromise, she agreed to marry him immediately after her graduation. Years later my mother confessed that she had not only been pressured to get married by my father she had also been prodded by her mother to trap that man as soon as you can. Although my maternal grandmother had worked outside the home when necessary during her marriage to my grandfather, she was still of the mind that a woman's primary function was to be a wife and mother. She goaded my mother into marriage with warnings such as, you don't want to be an old maid now do you?

But the pre-marital conflicts would extend beyond deciding on a date. Up until their engagement my mother had maintained a causal relationship with her future mother-in-law, now she tried to get to know her a bit better hoping to establish a friendship with her. But my grandmother was quite protective of her one-and-only son questioning whether or not my mother was good enough for him. These protective feelings led to heated arguments, one in particular involved the selection of the church for the ceremony, due to a limited budget it was suggested that they hold the wedding in a small chapel in downtown Santa Monica. My grandmother was outraged that the chapel was used for funerals as well as weddings. She complained that they would be married in a place where, they marry them on one side and bury them on the other. My poor father was nearly brought to tears while he attempted to reconcile the differences between them. Later he confessed that the situation nearly caused him a nervous breakdown and he contemplated suicide. My mother claimed that after one heated argument about his mother that my father went into the bathroom and threatened to drink a bottle of Iodine if they didn't reconcile their differences. But as time passed they managed to reconcile their differences and actually became rather good friends, much to my father's relief.

MY PARENT'S MARRIAGE

"The secret to a happy marriage is if you can be at peace with someone within four walls, if you are content because the one you love is near to you, either upstairs or downstairs, or in the same room, and you feel that warmth that you don't find very often, then that is what love is all about."

--- Bruce Forsyth

A fter all the fights and disagreements my parents were finally married in June of 1947, just a few days after my mother's graduation from High School. One day she was a naïve girl of 18, a recent High School graduate who had never been outside the United States, the next day she was the wife of a former sailor who had traveled around the world. After four years of fighting for his country my father's only desire was to settle down, buy a home and live a peaceful life. Whereas my father had spent the war years fighting around the world, my mother had just started her life looking forward to a career and independence and though my mother was not particularly distinguished academically, she performed well enough in her business classes to warrant a recommendation from the Girl's Dean to attend a business college in Santa Monica. She agreed to marry my father on the condition that they would wait to start a family. But as fate would have it she became pregnant during their honeymoon and nine months later my older brother was born, his birth, which came so soon after their marriage, sparked rumors that they had to get married.

My father was 25 when my brother was born, my mother just 19. My father had only been out of the Navy for a couple of years when his life was completely changed around. No longer free to do what he wanted and go where he wanted to go he occasionally felt tied-down by marriage and family life. During this time, he was struck down with spinal meningitis, to this day he doesn't know the cause but over the years he blamed it on the stress he felt over the conflicts between my mother and her new mother-in-law. The affliction left him bedridden suffering from high fevers and delirium, his doctor cautioned that he might not live through it, but my mother's care along with the help of family members pulled him through. Severely weakened by the illness he had to learn to walk all over again, steadying himself on a chair as he made his way back and forth through the house.

With the birth of my brother, my father was faced with the reality of raising a child. Changing diapers, late night feedings, and the additional cost of a family soon had him reassessing his plans. fatherhood meant that he was no longer free to go about as he liked and to do as he pleased. Shortly after my brother was born he suggested to my mother that one child would be enough to satisfy their parental needs, but my mother had other plans. She had been raised with a very large, extended family. Her home was often the scene of large family parties filled with numerous aunts, uncles and cousins. She embraced motherhood and she held my father to their original plan to have three children. Still it took eight years before my father agreed to have a second child.

My maternal grandmother was diagnosed with cancer in 1955. My mother discussed plans for a second child with her shortly after they heard the news. She urged her mother to fight the disease telling her that she had to get better so she could spend time with her next grandchild. But my grandmother would not know me in this life. She left her body shortly before my mother discovered she was pregnant. My mother cared for her day and night as her condition worsened, dutifully injecting her with Morphine as the pain increased. My grandmother passed away at home with her family gathered around her, after she passed my grandfather stepped outside. My mother followed him and for the first time in her life she watched as her father cried. Perhaps it was the loss of one life that convinced my parents to bring a new life into this world.

Although my maternal grandmother did not live to share the joys of a new grandchild, my paternal grandmother did, in fact I arrived on her birthday. She had also been diagnosed with cancer so she held me for the first time in her sick bed. She passed on before my first birthday. Sadly, I have no memories of either of my grandmothers, only pictures and some memories passed on to me by my parents and relatives. But as a child you have no concept of death or loss of life, with each new day's experiences I shared while basking in the warmth and companionship of my mother and my family, in particular with my mother's brother, my Uncle and Aunt and my cousins who lived very close to us.

The year was 1960 when two major family events occurred, first my mother became pregnant for the third and last time and we moved into a larger house to accommodate our growing family. For years after they married my parents shared the upstairs portion of a split level duplex with my mother's family. When I was born my crib was placed in my parent's bedroom. My brother shared the other bedroom with my grandfather. Although my grandmother was no longer with us, the impending arrival of a new baby spurred my parents into finding a new home. When my mother became pregnant with my sister my maternal grandfather decided to help my parents purchase a larger home so he presented them with the necessary funds for a down payment. In exchange it was decided that my grandfather would live with us. My brother and I would share one bedroom and our new sister would take up residence in a crib in our parent's bedroom. Rather than selling the old family home my grandfather decided to rent it out. The split level house where my mother grew up and our family spent many happy hours together was converted to rental property thereby providing my grandfather with additional income for his retirement.

My sister was born the next year completing my mother's plan to have three children including a daughter. Our family was now complete with two sons to carry on the family name and a daughter to share all those mother-daughter activities that my mother relished. Living with my grandfather worked out well since my father worked nights, my grandfather was there in the evenings to answer my questions and to help me with life's little lessons. For my mother, who had a very close and loving relationship with her father, having him around was wonderful especially when she needed help with any issues dealing with the house, someone to drive us around (although my mother was a licensed driver she was very nervous behind the wheel), and someone she could open up to.

It was during this time that my mother and father started experiencing their first marital friction. My father was quite frugal as a result of his childhood experiences during the depression. He would wear his clothes until they were beyond repair and he would select only the least expensive food items at the market. I can still hear him complain, We spent over twenty dollars and we only have five bags of groceries! God forbid that you didn't clean your plate or if he caught you wasting any food there would be hell to pay. But my father had one weakness, he loved new cars, and he was willing to scrimp on everything else as long as he had enough money to purchase a new car.

As a result of his frugality, he would pressure my mother to live within our means insisting that she make every penny count. Such was her dilemma as she begged my father for an increase in the household budget in order to purchase new clothing for their three growing children. It amazed and perplexed my father that we needed new clothes so often, so he decided that the solution to our ever growing clothing bill was for us to Grow into our clothes. So he would buy us the largest pair of pants that we could manage to wear, the pant legs were then cuffed and the loose waistline was kept from slipping by means of a good sturdy belt or suspenders. This way he reasoned that our clothes would last longer since we had room to grow into them. Fortunately for me I had an older brother so my wardrobe included hand me downs, clothing that he had outgrown but they were still in pretty good shape. At times when my father simply refused her budget requests my grandfather stepped in once again, coming to her rescue by slipping her a few dollars to augment her clothing budget.

Over the years my mother continued to struggle with my father's budgetary restrictions. I remember my mother complaining that there was never enough money left in the budget for her to even purchase feminine hygiene products, angrily repeating my father's suggestion that she simply wad up toilet paper and use that instead of the costly feminine products. She wreaked revenge on him by wearing his underpants during her monthly visit, justifying her actions with the rationale that lady's underpants weren't strong enough to hold back the flow. Unfortunately, as I grew up my underpants became less distinguishable from my father's so my mother would inadvertently wear my underpants instead of my father's. Therefore, when I went to put on a pair of so called clean underpants fresh from the laundry I'd notice telltale stains that even the strongest laundry detergent couldn't remove. To add insult to injury my mother would point out the stains and would chastise me for staining them while performing certain activities common to adolescent boys. It was with a great deal of angst that I pointed out to her that there was no way that I could stain the garments in that way. Are you sure you didn't mix up dad's underpants with mine? It was then she would giggle and say oops, sorry, you're probably right. We decided that it would be prudent for me to start labeling my clothing so she could separate them from my father's dirty laundry.

There was a palatable feeling that our family was getting smaller when my brother left for basic training. America was heavily committed to the war in Vietnam and my mother worried that my brother would be sent overseas to be hurt or killed in battle. This was my parent's first case of Empty Nest syndrome, feeling the absence of my brother they tried to fill the emptiness by spending more time with my sister and me, this was a new experience for me since I was used to being the middle child and the second son. I'd been left alone in my own little world but now I was encouraged to help my father out with man's work. At first I enjoyed the additional attention but as I found out the additional attention came with a price. My father began to place the same level of expectation on me as he had with my brother. Although I was only ten years old at the time, I was expected to pull my weight around the house. When my father found me playing in the backyard, he would complain that I was wasting my time, living in a world of imagination.

In 1968, after a short fight with cancer my grandfather passed away in his hospital bed with my mother and father in attendance. Although we all missed him terribly my mother's feelings of loss and grief were deep and lasted for a long time. She was very close to her father who was not only a parent but friend and confident. Whereas my father was her husband, her father was her Knight in shining armor, who was there to drive her to where she needed to go, fix any problems around the house, or give her money when she went over budget on the household expenses. With my grandfather's passing my mother inherited the old family home. Although she assumed the responsibility of a landlord, she gained the benefit of rental income. The money she inherited went into the family bank account which was controlled by my father, but my mother had full control over her rental income. As a landlord, my mother had an opportunity to operate beyond her role of wife and mother. It allowed her to take control and step out of her comfort zone, thereby increasing her self-confidence.

This income provided some financial independence from my father's restrictive budgets. However, her new found financial freedom created the first rift in their relationship. For years my father had worked nights, he would leave before dinner and work until 1 or