After Dad Left Chapter 1

After Dad Left
Chapter 1  
 
 
When I stepped off the bus at the University of Texas in Austin and heard the door close, I immediately thought about that sound and its significant importance in my life. I was approaching my nineteenth birthday, and the first eighteen years of my life had closed just as the bus door had.  
 
To help you understand my story, I would like to tell you about my years growing up. My father left home when I was very young, and my only recollections of life were the constant fighting between my mother and father. I do not remember what year my father left, but from that point on, I became my mother’s useless male. My duties included cleaning bathrooms, washing and drying dishes, and mopping the entire house. My mother applied for social benefits, and along with my father’s child support, she managed to lay on the sofa all day and drink herself into a stupor.  
 
I was severely bullied at school because of how I dressed. I did not have much clothing, so my three pairs of jeans and two T-shirts were my constant apparel. My tennis shoes were patched with duct tape to hold the soles on. This earned me the nickname “Hobo,” which would follow me until I left town at eighteen.  
 
We only had one television in my house, which was in the living area, where my mom was always lying on the sofa. So, being able to watch anything on TV was out of the question. I had a few toys left over when my dad was around, but I had outgrown them.  
 
Since I was constantly being picked on at school or, in a few instances, beat up, my grades did not matter much, although I always managed C & B’s. I am not sure when or what grade I was in when everything turned around academically for me. Being stuck in your bedroom for extended periods left me with little to do other than sleep or read. I chose the latter and soon had read every one of my textbooks cover to cover.  
 
I then started checking out books from the library, especially about history, which I enjoyed. I learned about the Roman Empire, Genghis Kahn, the Revolutionary War, and the Civil War. By reading my textbooks carefully from cover to cover, my grades immediately improved.  
 
My principal at my school wanted me to skip a grade, but my mother refused. After all, I was cheap labor. I left John Milton with a 4.12 GPA, the highest in the school. My principal at Roosevelt High, Mr. Peterson, awaited me on the first day of school. I met with him right after the homeroom, and he was waiting with my file on his desk.  
 
I remember him as the first adult who seemed seriously interested in me. He mentioned that he was going to monitor my progress and meet with me from time to time. He acknowledged that I could have a bright future ahead of me, which was the first time anyone had told me that. Until that comment, I always thought I would struggle for the rest of my life.  
 
That first year, I met Miss Thompson, who would be my English/Literature teacher. She gave us a list of books we would have to read that year and issued the first paperback on opening day, Animal House. I finished the book in three days, but since I needed clarification about the meaning of the book, I reread it. I then went to the library and talked to Mr. Tooley, the head librarian. He filled in the blanks, making me understand that the book was about the Russian Revolution of 1917 and Communism. I reread the book once he described the characters, and everything made sense.  
 
By the end of the year, Miss Thompson had me read Great Expectations, Hound of the Baskervilles, Lord of the Flies, Old Man and the Sea, Jane Eyre, Last of the Mohicans, and several short stories by Edgar Allen Poe.  
 
I ended the year with a 4.21 GPA, the highest in the school. I was still being laughed at daily and punched several times that year. There was not much I could do about it other than report it, which I only thought would make it worse. Since I was doing so well, Mr. Peterson suggested I immediately skip a grade and become a junior. I doubted my mother would agree, but I caught her drunk one night and lied, saying it was just a permission slip, and she signed it immediately.  
 
It took me a few weeks to acclimate to the junior class, but I caught up quickly. If I remember correctly, the abuse became even worse because Hobo was a year younger and showed up in the junior class. Again, I tried my best to avoid everyone, skipping lunch most days, where I would hide in the gym and read or study.  
 
Mr. Peterson asked me that year to start a tutoring program in the library after school for students who needed help. I agreed, and soon, two seniors and I were all helping anyone who showed up after school. I still remember Dillion Harper, the most beautiful girl in our school, showing up one evening when I was the only tutor. She needed to catch up in Math and was on the verge of failing. She dated Brad Parker, Mr. Wonderful on campus and the football team's quarterback.  
 
My life worsened after discovering that Hobo was hanging out with his girlfriend. They would follow me around school, throw things at me, and jump me in the bathroom whenever possible.  
 
That year, a new couple moved in next door to my house. It was a younger couple, as I would later learn, Walter and Sara McAllister. In our first introduction, I knew that Mrs. McAllister was a nurse and Mr. McAllister was a certified public accountant. When Mr. McAllister asked me about my schoolwork, I explained what had happened to me as of now. He seemed impressed that I had skipped a grade and told me that if I was that good at math, he could use some help.  
 
True to his word, he asked me to help him double-check simple math and spreadsheets for clients later that year. I was super careful, always striving to be correct, and on more than one occasion, I would find an error, which always made me feel great—not that someone had made a mistake, but that I could find it.  
 
Toward the end of that year, I was in the library helping Dillion Harper take a practice test when her boyfriend walked in. He immediately accused me of sitting too close to his girlfriend. Dillion came to my defense, saying I was the only reason she would pass and become a senior. But since he had two buddies with him, he felt he had to prove a point. Out of nowhere, his fist met the side of my face, knocking me to the ground. I remember lying on the ground for quite a while, and once I got up, the library was empty. By the time I came back to school, my left eye was swollen shut, and most of the left side of my face was black and blue. I remember being sent to Mr. Peterson’s office from the homeroom for an incident report. On the walk, I remember thinking telling the truth would be disastrous for me. So, when he asked me what had happened, I lied and told him about a boy in my neighborhood who did it. I don’t think he bought it, but there was not much he could do now.  
 
I got out of that year without much more trouble, partly because I did not snitch Brad Parker out. On the other hand, knowing I kept my mouth shut gave them carte blanche to do whatever they wanted for me. I still had two more years of school left and tried to make the best of them.  
 
Once again, I kept to myself at school and worked with Mr. McAllister as much as possible. I had saved some money, which was tucked under the carpet in my bedroom. If my mother ever found out, she would drink it up in no time. In the middle of that year, Mr. Peterson called me into the office and asked me about where I attended to go to college.  
 
I explained to him that my family had no money and my mother’s situation. Between studying for school, working for Mr. McAllister, and cleaning my house, I had little time for anything else. I explained that my mother constantly drank and did not have a job. He seemed shocked but listened carefully to my story.  
 
When I ended, it was easy to see he was deeply moved. He told me he could help me apply for several scholarships due to my stellar academic record. He asked me if I had thought about what I would like to do after graduating, and I mentioned that I enjoyed the work I was doing with McAllister and might consider that.  
 
At the end of the year, Mr. Peterson told me even though I was in 12th grade, I would not graduate. We had one class in school that took nothing but pre-college courses. Since only seven students would be in this class, I was given textbooks to take home and review during the summer.  
 
During that summer, I started going to the library quite a bit. I started with the most essential books about banking and how it operated. By the end of the summer, I was reading books on investing and the stock market. I would also surf their computers and read about anything I found interesting. By the time I started my last year of high school, I began to see the world in an entirely new way.  
 
From what I gathered, the ability to make money and keep it kept the earth spinning on its axis. Not that money was everything, but the lack of it was much worse. During the summer, with my new-found outlook, I knew I wanted to take accounting in college.  
 
When I returned to school and met Mr. Peterson, I informed him that accounting was my choice. He nodded and told me he would get right to work on it. I started my last year of school with a vengeance, studying and reading everything I could. I would spend all day on Saturday in the library reading anything I could about economics, money, investing, and brokering.  
 
The most ironic thing about that last year in school was that Brad Parker had failed the previous year. His girlfriend Dillion had graduated and gone on to college out of state. Brad was now under the gun to get a 2.50 GPA in his first nine weeks to remain on the football team. It was hard to believe my life could change forever in less than a year. But I would need a lot of help, and I only had a few people in my corner.  
 
My mother had gotten to the point where she was drinking a fifth or more of vodka every day. She would drink anything, but vodka was her drink of choice. Only a few times a week would I see her awake, and even then, we had nothing to say to each other. I was still keeping the house clean to keep the peace.  
 
I met with Mr. Peterson once every two weeks, and he helped me fill out scholarship forms. He also had all my teachers write glowing letters of recommendation to accompany the applications.  
 
The running joke during my last year in school was, “Hobo didn’t graduate last year because he’s homeless and has nowhere to go.” Another common one was that I slept at the library every night. I could have been referred to as Book Bright back then, but there were many things I did not understand.  
 
Not once in all my years in school had I ever made fun of anyone. I never stole anything from anyone and even tried to help anyone who needed help. I hardly ever talked to girls, so I could not be accused of trying to steal anyone’s girlfriend. I could not, for my life, figure out why I was so disliked. Even the people described as nerds by the others would not have anything to do with me.  
 
Even though the courses I took were pre-college, they presented no problem. By mid-term, I had a 4.18 grade point average, the highest in the class. I was just about six months away from leaving this place forever if everything fell into place.  
 
As I lay in bed at night those last few months, I could not help but think how ironic it would be if I was denied scholarship money and had to stay here and work. Maybe sometimes you are just dealt a bad hand in life. No matter what you do, life is predetermined, and you cannot change it.  
 
As fate had it, I jumped one last time in the bathroom because I attempted to walk past Brad Harper, ignoring him. I took a decent beating, but it was less harmful compared to some of the others. I could have fought back a few times, but it's not worth it when it’s five or six to one. Maybe I was a coward, but I was only a month away from leaving this place forever, one way or the other.  
 
I walked through the University of Austin for the first time in awe of the campus. Throughout all the ordeals, Hobo was in college. Since I was close to two hours early for the meeting with my counselor, I sat on a large park bench. Once again, I reminisced about the few days in my home time. I leaned back against the bench and closed my eyes, and I could still hear Mr. Peterson’s speech almost word for word. I had declined the valedictorian honor several times, in no way wanting to get on stage and speak to the same people who had tormented me most of my young life. After everyone had spoken and Mr. Peterson had given out all the awards and scholarships, he flipped to the last page in his stack of papers. I still remember the words.  
 
“The awards I will present to this last student will make me proud. In all my teaching years, I have never been this impressed by a student’s work. But I will let the awards speak for themselves. First, graduating with a 4.21 GPA, the highest ever recorded at Roosevelt High. He has also been awarded the Student Service Award for his countless hours of tutoring students in the library,” he started.  
 
“But what I hold here will change this student’s life forever. First, a twenty-thousand-dollar scholarship from the Colonial Bank Scholarship Program, a fifteen-thousand-dollar scholarship from the VFW Post 110, and a ten-thousand-dollar scholarship from the Regional Scholarship Program of Louisiana. But this one, this is the big one.”, he said, holding the paper above his head.  
 
“This is from the University of Texas in Austin. This is a full scholarship for two hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars covering tuition, room, meals, and books. Please help me acknowledge Mr. Timothy Williams.”, he concluded.  
 
I remember the student beside me pushing me towards the aisle and the thundering ovation from most of the gym. But what I remembered most were the tears in Mr. Peterson’s eyes as he handed me all the awards. This would not be possible except for his hard work in obtaining these awards for me. Then he whispered something I do not think I had ever heard.  
 
“I love you, Tim.”, he whispered in my ear.  
 
I went home that night to find my mother passed out on the sofa with another empty vodka bottle on the floor. I had talked to her several times about leaving and going to school, but I did not know how much she comprehended.  
 
I took a few dollars from what I had saved working for Mr. McAllister and bought several pairs of jeans, some shirts, and new underwear. I also bought a new pair of tennis shoes and some socks.  
 
Several months later, I was sitting in my bedroom on Sunday, thinking this would be the last night I slept under this roof. I got up and walked to the corner store I had visited many times. Mr. Pete owned the store and worked there twelve hours a day.  
 
I remember telling Mr. Pete I was leaving home and heading to college the following day. I told him I wanted to leave my mother a present of sorts. I asked him for the five bottles of Tito’s Vodka he had on the shelf behind him. Since I had turned eighteen, I had purchased a bottle for my mother here and there. He bagged the five bottles with a sad look, but everyone in the neighborhood knew about my situation at home.  
 
I walked home and went straight to bed but struggled to fall asleep. I woke up early the following day, put all five bottles of vodka on the kitchen table, and left a simple note for my mother.  
 
Mom, I left this morning for college, and honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever return. Thank you for what you did for me. I left you a present on the kitchen table.  
 
Tim.  
 
I walked out the front door for what I hoped would be the last time in my life. It wasn’t that I hated my mom; I didn’t. She was struggling with her demons, and in my heart, I felt she would lose that fight. I stopped worrying about her years ago but always did whatever she asked me to do. She missed my entire life, and I regret that. Most days, she was not sober long enough to realize what I was able to accomplish.  
 
I walked to the Greyhound Bus station with my two large duffel bags for nearly an hour. The bus pulled out at nine, and it would be a long trip between all the stops we would make. As my hometown faded in the rear of the bus, I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes.  
 
I was now an adult, and I was responsible for my own life. There would be no one to blame and no one to blame my mistakes on. Hobo was on his own.  
 
 
 
To be continued