Feeling Loved by Ricky

In hindsight, I am sure my parents sort of loved me.  Early photographs clearly show me smiling, especially on my birthdays, Halloweens, and Christmases.  I did not feel loved during my frequent spankings for being disobedient.  I am fairly sure that my dad did not like spanking me but felt that he had to; the old “spare the rod and spoil the child” philosophy.

It is rather ironic how our brains tend to be very selective about which memories it chooses to give us access.  For example, I get glimpses or figments of some happy or pleasing moments, but not a lengthy detailed viewing.  I know I was cared for and nourished, except for those darned stewed tomatoes, and yet I have no memories of being hugged or kissed.  I am sure I got hugs and kisses or I would be a complete basket case by now; I just don’t remember any.

My maternal grandparents loved me but were not demonstrative in showing it with hugs or kisses.  Instead my grandfather pulled a trick on me by pre-filling my lunch drinking glass with yogurt-like “liquid” accurately named “long milk”, as it was thick like honey or molasses but lacked a decent flavor.  That he, my “hero” surrogate father, would do such a thing really hurt my feelings and I definitely did not feel loved at that point.

At the end of my first summer with them on their farm in Minnesota (June thru August 1956), my mother called me on the phone and talked me into staying there for my 3^rd grade school year.  I didn’t know about the divorce proceedings yet, but I still did not feel loved by her.  When she came out later that year to attend her sister’s wedding, I thought I would be returning to California with her.  It did not happen and I felt unloved again.

When I did not get to go home at the end of that school year and had to stay for the 4^th grade too, I began to wonder why can’t I go home but no one would tell me anything truthful.  I was loved, but didn’t feel loved.

When my dad came to visit at Christmas in 1957, I finally was told the important part of the truth and why I could not go home with him.  I know he wanted to take me home but was constrained by the law.  Nonetheless, when he left I began to feel that I was unlovable.  At the end of May 1958, my mother came to the farm with my infant twin brother and sister and my new step-father to introduce him and them to her parents and to take me back to California.  I still did not feel loved, but I was very happy to go back to a new home.

While living at Lake Tahoe, we had three different residences but all felt like some kind of home.  The last place is the one I refer to as “home” during conversations.  It was while living in that particular house, I began to feel loved again, but not by people.  Of course my baby siblings grew to love me of a sort since I was practically their parent until I left for college, but the love I am referring to came from our pet female dog, Peewee.  She was a lap-dog, with long shaggy fur; a mixed breed of ¾ Oriental Poodle and ¼ Pomeranian. 

Peewee’s previous owner was a woman who was moving and could not take her pet to the new location, so my mother brought the dog home.  Being a small dog, she was shaking with fear when she arrived and ran under the couch to keep away from me (13) and the little-ones (both 3) whom all wanted to touch and hold her.  After the twins went to bed, I was still lying on the floor with my hand under the front of the couch, while watching the television.  After a while, I felt the dog licking my fingers.  I slowly pulled my hand back and she followed and then walked to my side and cuddled with me.  At that moment, we bonded and from then on, I was her’s and she was mine.  That dog loved me and I loved her back.  We both felt loved for many years until I left for college and then the military.  I was stationed in Florida when I learned that she had passed away.  In spite of my traumatized emotions, I grieved for the loss of my first love, the one who was always there and never made demands.  Since then, I have always had deep affection for my pets.

When I was 11, 12, 13, and 14, my paternal grandmother babysat a Downs Syndrome pre-teen girl named, Jackie.  When my dad took me over to visit my grandmother, I also got to meet Jackie who always remembered me after our first meeting and who also greeted me with a huge smile and strong hug.  That was the way she greeted every one, with pure innocent happiness and radiant love.  I have often wondered if Jesus would welcome me like that someday.

Eventually, I met my soul-mate and we were married.  I felt loved again.  With each child we both felt an increase in love.  Naturally, a child’s love for his parents fluctuates with the pangs of growing-up, but eventually equilibrium is obtained and love makes its presence known again, unless the parent or child has done something to destroy it along the way.

After my wife passed away, I thought love was gone from this life.  The love of my children is there but just is not the same.  Since attending the SAGE Telling Your Story group sessions, I am receiving the love of friends, both close and casual when I am around them.  I feel loved but not the kind that lasts.  This kind of love needs frequent refreshing just as if we were all partners or married and living together.

To close with a borrowed quote from two movies, The Boy with Green Hair and Moulin Rouge, I leave you with, “The greatest thing you will ever learn is to love and be loved in return.”

© 21 October 2013

About the Author  

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach.  Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.  After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11-2001 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.   I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.