Filet-O-Fish, Yumbo's And Mr. Misty.

There are just too many times while living under my mother's roof that I still shake my head in disbelief when I think back to those days. I truly do believe that my mother always did what she thought was right for me and my brother. I’m sure raising two boys by herself while living in a housing project could not have been easy. Her intentions were always good, but with my mother there was no grey area whatsoever.

Everything was black or white, cut and dry.

Her strict regime began once we moved into the Lawrence Heights housing project back in the summer of ’69. It lasted for a good eight years or up until I started working and I began to carve out my own future. A future that would not include anything associated with me being a Jehovah’s Witness.

She had spent those eight years diligently sowing the seeds of her faith in both my brother and me. Unlike my brother where those seeds would take root, reaping a dedicated God fearing Jehovah’s Witness like herself. I on the other hand could not wait to rid myself of the myopic JW way of life she had raised me in. It was as if all my seeds had been planted during a prolonged desert drought and they never took root. Like dust in the wind, my seeds were all blown away.

I still struggle to refer to my mother the woman who gave birth to me as my mom. True, she did give birth to me and she was my mother, but she was never a mom in the true sense of the word. I really don’t think she knew how to be a real mom. I know to an outsider reading this it might seem a bit harsh, but unless you lived my life you truly have no idea.

Don’t get me wrong, I am truly very grateful and always will be for everything my mother did for me while I was a child. While living under her roof I never went hungry and I always had a roof over my head. I always had the necessities.

Good or bad, my mother made me the person who I am today. My father on the other hand has absolutely nothing to do with the person I have become. My father just simply walked away from his two sons after cheating on my mother. He traveled for his job and while he was away he decided he would have intimate encounters with other women.

As it turns out my father’s infidelity goes way back before my parents were even married. After my mother’s death, it was revealed to me that my father may have fathered a child with another woman while he was engaged to my mother. My mother even suspected he had been unfaithful while they were engaged. Surprisingly, my mother still married my father while having doubts about his fidelity. I guess I should be grateful she did since I would not have been born had she not. My mother never confided this to me, but she did to my brother.

Years later I Googled my father’s name mostly out of curiosity and I stumbled upon a search. It was a search looking for anyone born in Quebec back in the late fifties or early sixties who had a father with the exact same name I had Googled.

Naturally I was intrigued so I clicked on the search.

I noticed my estranged brother’s wife had posted the search and she was also the contact. She was searching for anyone having the same father as both my brother and me to get in touch with her. She wanted to let them know they potentially had two step-brothers who had also been born in Quebec back in the early sixties. I never knew nor do I even care if her search ever revealed I may have a step-sibling. It’s all water under the bridge now.

I will never fault either my father or my mother for their marriage ending in divorce. Hell, my own marriage ended in divorce and there are always two sides to every story. I know all about my mother’s side, but I never really got my father’s side of the story. However, there is nothing my father could ever say that would change my contempt towards him for walking out of my life. He completely abandoned and neglected the two sons that he had fathered. How he saw fit to see his sons grow up on welfare while living in a housing project and without contributing a dime in support I still cannot fathom.

Looking back now on when I was a teenager, it would have been great to have a dad in my life. Since he had walked out when I was just five years old, I grew up never really missing having a dad around. It was the classic 'outta sight outta mind' you can't miss what you never had. Besides, growing up without a father around was quite common in the projects. Single mothers raising their kids while living off the system was the norm back in my old Lawrence Heights neighborhood.

I have always said that my mother was the most devout Jehovah’s Witness I ever knew and trust me I knew hundreds of JW’s.

The Jehovah’s Witnesses are known for many things. They are those annoying people who will show up at your front door on a Saturday morning peddling the Watchtower and Awake magazines. They’re also the same people who will not stand for the national anthem, proclaiming their allegiance to their God Jehovah over their country. Witnesses also do not celebrate Christmas, birthdays, Halloween, Easter, Thanksgiving, or any other common celebrations.

Probably the one thing the Witnesses are best known for is their refusal to accept blood transfusions. Over the course of my many years going door-to-door there were so many times I heard the words 'baby killers' while having a door slammed in my face. Jehovah’s Witnesses will only consult with physicians who will ultimately respect their no blood beliefs. Back when I was a kid I remember it was hard finding a family doctor, but my mother persisted and she eventually did. If I recall his practice was mostly made up of JW patients.

Jehovah’s Witnesses are also forbidden to consume any products that may contain blood or any blood byproducts whatsoever. Congregations are made aware of companies who sell foods containing blood products that must be avoided by all Jehovah's Witnesses. I can remember there were certain meat companies that my mother refrained from buying because of the blood issue when we did our weekly shopping.

To this day I still shake my head in disbelief when I recall just how bizarre my mother could be when it came to the blood issue.

Jehovah’s Witnesses keep to themselves and for the most part they only associate with other Witnesses. My mother always forbade me or my brother from playing or associating with any non-Witness school or neighborhood kids. I spent many weeks grounded over the years after being caught playing outside with my non-Witness friends. For the most part I hung around mostly with other kids that were my age from the Kingdom Hall. Many of these kids also lived in Lawrence Heights so it was no big deal anyway and I always had lots of fun. I never thought I was missing out on something better by not playing with 'worldlings'. A term the Witnesses often refer to non-believers as.

Many of our outings would also include a visit to various fast food outlets to grab a bite to eat. There were three places that we frequented most often, McDonald’s, Burger King and the local Dairy Queen. At times there might be up to ten of us in a group all grabbing a burger and fries with the exception of me, my brother and mother.

My mother had heard somewhere that both McDonald’s and Burger King both used a blood byproduct in their hamburgers. Without any factual proof that this was true, my mother issued the all-out ban on eating hamburgers outside our home. The only hamburgers we were allowed to eat were those she had made in our kitchen with her K-Tel Patty Stacker.

The three of us would always be the only ones in the group not eating burgers. Instead, we ate the Filet-O-Fish at McDonald’s and the Yumbo at the Burger King. Many times I asked my mother why we could not eat burgers like all the other Witnesses in the group were enjoying.

“Because it goes against my conscience” was her reply every single time.

I ate more fuck’n Filet-O-Fish and Yumbo’s than I care to remember.

Probably the one place we frequented most was the Dairy Queen with its popular chocolate dipped cones, milkshakes, sundaes and Mr. Misty.

Mr. Misty?

Yep, it would be just another example of my bizarre mother taking everything to the extreme. Like the hamburger ban, I was also forbidden to eat any ice cream products at our local Dairy Queen. Once again my mother had heard that a blood byproduct was being used in the soft-serve ice cream mixture. And, once again without any factual proof while everyone else ate ice cream the three of us were relegated to the brain freeze inducing Mr. Misty. The fruit flavored slushy concoction that I personally consumed probably close to a hundred times during my childhood.

After about eight years of my mother’s nonsense, I began to eat Big Mac’s, Whopper’s and banana splits. I was now older and I was no longer letting my mother control me like she had for all those years. By this time my mother knew I would not be dedicating my life to becoming a Jehovah’s Witness like my brother eagerly would be.

She had already washed her hands of me.

It would be my mother’s constant endeavor to maintain her good conscience that drove me away. In the big picture, not being able to eat hamburgers or ice cream was really not such a big deal. What was a big deal was her always putting her faith and maintaining her good conscience above everything else including her two sons.

Had either my brother or I ever been in a life or death situation where we needed a blood transfusion to stay alive my mother would have let us die. There is not a single shred of doubt in my mind; she would have us die rather than disobeying her conscience and her faith. I could not even comprehend denying my own daughter a blood transfusion had she needed one to stay alive.

As I write these memories on my blog, I sometimes reflect on how my life might have been had my father taken an active role in my life. Had he been a real dad to me then maybe my life would have been so much different.

Then again maybe not.

I know that if I had a choice back then, I most likely would have gravitated to anything that saw me getting out from under my mother’s regime. But then again we have all heard the saying about jumping from the frying pan into the fire.

I was probably better off where I was.

The frying pan made me who I am today.

I like who I am today.