Choctaw Ridge

Choctaw Ridge

It was the spring of 1955 and we decided to climb the steep hill through the woods behind our Bayview Avenue home and stake a claim at the ridge. I was 9 and ready to rumble. My brother was 12 and a little more capable, or so I thought. Carrying with us, a couple of dad’s shovels, we would establish an underground fort at the ridge, a complex engineering job that went on for weeks. During the excavation, we threw the earthen spoils down the hill, into the woods.

Soon enough, the hole was about 4 or 5 feet deep and maybe 6 feet by 6 feet square. We covered it with some old doors and layered dirt over them, creating what we thought was a fool-proof cover. We now had a place where we could play with fire, smoke and challenge the trespass of other factions. For about a year or more, we maintained this fort as our outpost of autonomy. We stood staunchly on that ridge, as supreme commanders, challenging anyone who dared to tread on our sacred ground (weather permitting, of course).

Although it was great fun misbehaving, for me, the fort began to lose it’s intrigue when we accidentally set the woods on fire and the area was crawling with cops and firemen. I was not yet 10 and already worried about being “sent up”. Looking back, I have no idea where Mom & Dad were in this mega-mess. Our family were tenants in this home and here.......... my brother and I had a mining operation going just up the hill and they seemed oblivious to it all. We were up there with our friends, throwing rocks, smoking, cursing and playing with fire and none of it registered on their radar screen.

I think Dad may have woken up slightly when he noticed the earthen spoils which we had thrown down the hill, had washed further down with each rainstorm until finally, sand and gravel was being deposited on our patio at the base of the hill. A rather curious scenario he must have thought. How inconvenient that his lawn chair might not sit flush in the patio! Whatever is going on? When we told him that we had an underground fort up there, he was concerned for the obvious potential cave-in, and being an insurance man, the word liability rolled off his lips easily and often. He got out of his lawn chair and led the demolition squad at Choctaw Ridge on Easter Sunday, 1956.

What I thought at the time, was a father & son project in the making was in reality, a mission to protect Dad from liability lawsuit. He wasn’t known for rolling up his sleeves with his sons. In fact, he wasn’t known for doing much anything with his sons unless it was something to enhance his own image in the community like the Rotary Pancake Breakfast. He denounced Little League and any kind of organized sports for kids. He did make it possible for me to have my own boat at age 11 but we never saw him break a sweat with us (except for Choctaw Ridge). Besides, my having a boat kept me out of his hair.

Most therapists encourage the venting of bad feelings with parents. As a child, I had no power to do so and at this writing, I’m doing a pretty good job so I’ll continue. When my very pregnant wife and I rented an apartment from him back in 1968, I asked him to help me paint one night. When he refused due to his inconvenience, I rejected his refusal with unflattering words and hung up the phone abruptly. An hour later, he showed up with a paint brush and an attitude. That was a very quiet evening. In 1979, I built a home for my family in Wisconsin with my own two hands. In spite of the seven-years we lived there, he never saw it due to his lame health excuses about being travel restricted although he was well enough to take a motor trip to North Carolina. I wanted my dad to be proud of me. I wanted him to approve. He prioritized his own comforts and desires resulting in my emotional abandonment. These are just a couple of instances in childhood and even in adulthood where he sent hurtful messages. He took command of the whole family with his “superior” demeanor. Brother Steve, just let it roll off his back, Mom and I feared him.

Mom and Dad are both long gone now. It’s time to forgive but the scars still remain. “Ain’t nothin’ never came to no good up there on Choctaw Ridge”. Pass the biscuits, please.