ONE REASON I’M IN HELL (PART 1)

The phone conversation with my father, on Sunday, April 10, 2016, suddenly took a creepy, sinister turn.

“Somebody told me you had a blog—and that you’d written that Mike was gay, and died of AIDS.  Why would you write something like that?”

“Who told you that, Dad?”

“A man from our church—a friend of mine.”

“Dad, I did write that Mike was homosexual, and had died of AIDS complications (AIDS-related lymphoma).  But I also wrote that Mike was a brilliant musician, who was so appreciated and admired by the congregation of his church that he was given a scholarship to Yale Divinity School, at Yale University, to get his master’s degree in sacred music.  Did this man tell you that?”  [ THE GAY WRONGS MOVEMENT ]

“No, he didn’t.  He also told me you had written that I had physically abused you, when you were a child—and that your mother and I had emotionally abused you throughout your life.  Why would you write something like that?”

“Dad, I have written that you physically abused me, at times, when I was a child (by whipping me with a belt, in fits of rage, until he was too exhausted to whip me anymore), and that you and Mom have emotionally abused me, at times, throughout my life.  But Dad, I have also written about the many positive things you and Mom have done for me, throughout my life—especially the many wonderful things you both have taught me.  Dad, I’ve especially written about the many wonderful sayings Mom has taught me, throughout my life—wise teachings that have been so helpful to me.  And Dad, I’ve especially written about the many wonderful skills you have taught me—fishing, hunting, camping, and woodworking skills.  I may have even written how you taught me the lost art of sculling a boat.  Dad, I even wrote a birthday post for you, one year—then a birthday post for Mom.  Did this man tell you that?”  [ HAPPY 78th, DAD!  HAPPY 77th, MOM! ]

“No, he didn’t.”

“Well, Dad, I was going to tell you about my blog—but I was going to wait until you asked me about it.  Let me give you the website to my blog—and you can see, for yourself, what my blog is all about.”

“No, I don’t want to look at it.”

“Dad, did this man tell you why he was telling you this?”

“He said he was just concerned about your sharing all this personal information about our family on your blog.”

“Dad, that doesn’t make sense.  You didn’t even know what a blog was, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, Dad, this man knew.  And he also knew that I was the only person who could change anything on my blog—because I was the administrator of the blog.  If this man were concerned about anything I’d written on my blog, he would have immediately contacted me—and spoken with me about it.  He wouldn’t have contacted you—knowing you didn’t even know what a blog was.  But he never contacted me, Dad—no one has ever contacted me with concerns about anything I’ve ever written on my blog.  Dad, I rarely even write about my family, on my blog—in fact, most of my posts, lately, have been about political issues.  Dad, who was this man?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“Dad, I just want to call this man, and tell him, ‘Sir, that was a terrible thing you did.  If you had any problem with anything I had written on my blog, you should have spoken with me about it—not my father.  Sir, my father didn’t even know what a blog was—but you certainly did.  And you certainly knew that I was the only person who could make any changes to anything I had written on my blog.’  Dad, this man has lied to you about my blog.  This man has gone through my blog’s archives, cherry-picked certain things I’ve written about my parents and my late brother—then taken those things completely out of context and proportion, in order to lead you to believe that the sole purpose of my blog is to expose and embarrass my family before the entire world. This man has grossly misrepresented my blog to you, in an attempt to make you feel betrayed by me.  And I simply want to confront him about this.  Please just tell me who this man was.”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

No matter what I said to my father, I could not convince him that it was my right to know who this mysterious man was.

I called the senior pastor at my parents’ church, Jeff Spiller.  There was no answer—apparently he wasn’t home.

I called one of my parents’ friends, Jerry Wilson—a communication arts professor at the University of South Alabama, who had also been my faculty advisor at one time—Dr. Wilson didn’t know who it could be.

I even called the Mobile chapter of NAMI (the National Alliance for the Mentally Ill)—my father had mentioned that this man was also a member of his and my mother’s NAMI group.  Since it was Sunday, the office was closed—I left several messages.

I called my father back, and begged him to tell me who this mysterious man was—he hung up on me.

I called him back again—he hung up on me.

I called him back, again and again—he hung up on me, again and again.

Finally, my father said, “Scott, I’m going to block this phone if you don’t stop asking me who told me about your blog—Scott, I’m going to block this number if you don’t stop asking me who told me about your blog.”

That phone was my parents’ landline phone—the one I’d known from my childhood.  That phone number was (251) 661-6228—the phone number my parents had taught me to memorize, as a child, in case I ever had to call them, for any reason.

After my father told me he was going to block that phone from me if I didn’t stop asking him who told him about my blog—block that phone number from me if I didn’t stop asking him who told him about my blog—he hung up on me again.

I was exhausted—I went to sleep.

0 Responses to “ONE REASON I’M IN HELL (PART 1)”



  1. Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s




Categories


%d bloggers like this: