Memoir of Lost Privilege

As a son of a nuclear scientist, mine is a story of lost privilege. Some say that it is all my fault. Well, how can I argue? They are correct! I was not the throwaway child. I threw it away when I ran away. It’s all my fault, but what could anyone expect from a 12-year-old who could not or would not fit in?

It all began on a hot summer Saturday back in 1972. The divorce agreement stated that I would only visit my mom on the even weekends. This was an odd weekend, and I had to stay at home with my dad and his new Mormon family. Marilyn was my stepmom. Her children always called my dad, Dad, but I would never call Marilyn, Mom. She would always be Marilyn to me. I was the son of another cigarette smoking, cocktail drinking mother who hung out on the wrong side of town, and there was no room in my heart for two. Toni was Marilyn’s oldest daughter, a little younger than me but pretty cool for a Mormon girl. Jimmy was her little brother, an ideal boy who would grow up and become a Mormon Missionary. Jolyn was not even old enough to attend kindergarten, but she never annoyed me at all. Then there was Stacy, the baby.

My dad’s new family were all good people. It wasn’t their fault that they were spoiled by my dad’s scientist salary. They were righteous Mormons, but their super-goodness made me feel so out of place. Worse, however, they didn’t like Lad. I know it seems immature, but Lad was like my little brother, and I loved him as much. Sorry! What can I say? Shame on those who come between a boy and his dog!

To make the weekend even worse, I would not be able to hang out with Lad in the back yard. My dad had a plan to take the family on a picnic to a desert oasis far away from town. I didn’t want to go on the picnic, so I pleaded with my dad to let me stay with Lad, but my dad, like always, had to remind me of family obligation, “But son, Lad is a dog. He is not a part of the family, and this will be a family affair.”

Lad’s my family, I thought, but I didn’t complain. I obeyed my dad like always.

When it was time to go on the picnic, we all got together and climbed in the car, my dad, his new family, and me. I don’t remember whether I had fun at the picnic, but upon returning to town, Stacy, the baby, started spitting, and I complained to my dad.

“Dad, Stacy’s spitting again!”

Marilyn, the momma bear, grunted and whispered something into my dad’s ear. Suddenly, my dad stopped the car, then turned his head and looked at me with fury in his eyes.

“GET OUT!” he demanded.

Like always, I obeyed my dad, I climbed out of the car, slammed the door behind me, and watched my dad drive away with his new family, leaving me feeling like an unwanted stepchild left on the side of the road.

It was a hot June afternoon in the middle of the Mojave Desert, and I was starting to think what I had been feeling for so long, time to ramble on! So, I ran into the desert, hid behind a hill, and watched my dad return to the spot where he left me. I knew he would not leave me out in the desert. He only wanted to scare me. However, when he returned for me, I was nowhere to be found. I knew that he would be in big trouble if I got lost or something happened to me, but my passive-aggressiveness began to grow. And so, I ran into the desert and kept on running, painstakingly escaping a stable life of privilege.

With the hot summer sun beating down on my bare back, and the taste of the desert scorching my throat, I felt myself slipping into a memory. I remembered a time before the divorce when my dad and I had gotten lost on a hike in the high Nevada desert. Thirsty and weary, I felt like dropping dead. Then my dad looked at me and said, “Son, we need to find some water. Follow me!” We climbed up a high hill and looked down at the valley below. Off in the distance my dad pointed to a spot of green in the valley below.

“Look, son! Do you see the green in the distance?”

I looked, “Yes, dad!”

“Let’s go get us a drink of water!”

I followed my dad to a watering hole. The surface of the water was covered with scum.

“Slowly swoop the scum from the surface, reach down and fill your hands with fresh water, then drink,” he told me.

Like always, I obeyed my dad and drank until my belly was full of scummy water. It was the best thing I had ever experienced. Those were the good times, just me and my dad.

Snapping back into reality, I felt like I was about to wither away of thirst. So, I looked all around and saw a hill in the near distance. I must climb the hill and find some water, I thought. But nighttime was near, and the hill was high. Nevertheless, I hopelessly climbed the hill, knowing that it would be too dark to see any patch of green leading me to water. By the time I ascended to the peak, darkness had fallen all over, and I could not see anything except a light in the far-off distance. I thought that someone over at the light might give me a much-needed drink of water and let me use their telephone to call my mom and tell her a story about how my dad had abandoned me in the desert.

I descended the hill, scurrying through the dark desert, hoping not to step on a cactus or a rattlesnake until I arrived at a house with a porch light on. I knocked at the door, and an old man opened the door and listened to me beg. “Please sir, can I have a glass of water, and can I use your telephone?” Again, I filled my belly with water, but it was not as good as the scummy water I drank with my dad on the hiking adventure in the good old days.

The old man did not own a telephone, but his neighbor, the wife of the sheriff, was willing to let me use hers. I called my mom and told her my manipulated side of the story. My plan was to create an excuse to leave my dad’s home and live with mom in the trailer park. That would be the best thing for me, I thought.

The sheriff was helping my dad search for me in the desert. When his wife told him that I was at their house, the sheriff returned with my dad, and we returned home. My dad apologized for leaving me like he did, and I forgave him like I always did. I did not tell him that I had told my mom anything, but I knew she would demand that I come live with her.

The next day, my mom, another momma bear, showed up at my dad’s house with the boyfriend she had met in a bar and demanded that I come live with her. That was the plan all along. My mom kept legal custody of me after the divorce, but I was allowed to choose which parent I wanted to live with. I could not tell my dad I didn’t want to live with him. That would hurt his feelings, but my mom had already hurt his feelings by demanding the divorce. It was all my mom’s fault that I had to leave my dad, I thought. Again, I was wrong!

As I climbed into my mom’s car, I looked at Lad and said to him, “Lad, we need to find some air conditioning.” At my mom’s pad, Lad was allowed to come in the house, and I was finally free from the stable, privileged life of the son of a scientist who married a Mormon woman and lived happily forever. Oh well! I guess it was time for a change, anyway. And that change would lead me to a new and even more complex set of circumstances as I was about to become a teenager living with a really cool mom on the wild side of town.