I was born in Ottumwa, Iowa on the 23rd of November, 1981 to Arthur Edward Shadduck and Joy Lynn Foley. Iowa folk are mostly friendly, hardworking people who take pride in calling their state the “Heartland of America.” Iowa’s forested landscape and majestic wildflower plains are full of beauty, but life out in the country could be rigorous as well. Much of the southern Iowa populous was poor; my parents were no exception.
I arrived in this world amidst a time of struggle for the less fortunate. The economy was in terrible shape; the national unemployment rate had reached over 10% for the first time since the Great Depression, and Ronald Reagan’s “Trickle-Down Economics” seemed to have dried up completely before it reached the likes of my family.
I remember all the boxes of powdered milk and potatoes, picking up blocks of government cheese at the community center with my mom, and eating peanut butter out of plain black and white labeled cans. The peanut oil always seemed to separate and pool on top.
Meanwhile the saturation of drugs in America had reached the rural regions as well as the suburbs and inner cities; amphetamines and crack cocaine were on the rise.
Ottumwa was no exception. My father, a Vietnam War castoff, came back to a country that had nothing for him. Failing to make it past the fifth grade, he turned to what he knew best—street hustling. He loved nature and he loved to get high; it was only natural that he would grow crops of marijuana for a living. Consequently, I was exposed to the drug culture at a very young age.
My parents refused to hide anything from me, and when I was four my dad started taking me along with him to his pot patches. He showed me the joy of those magical plants and I was mystified. They were COLOSSAL, towering over my head like the leafy legs of the Jolly Green Giant. I felt like I was being led through a fairytale land of mysterious wonders.
The bond between us became indestructible.
I didn’t understand what my father was doing until many years later. He used me as cover as he pruned and fertilized his plants. If the cops were staking out his crops, he’d act like he was on a simple hike with his boy. There were times when we carried a fishing pole and made our way along shallow streams before we came out near the patches. He was always careful; who would suspect a father out fishing with his son?
I hope my father isn’t judged too harshly for his actions. He was always a good man despite his faults. My dad cared for me deeply and spent every free moment with me. We would travel in his car or truck, go camping, fishing, hunting, or just cruise the back roads. He wasn’t physically abusive or neglectful like many fathers are with their children. He always held a job and always provided for me. He taught me to be kind to strangers, respectful, especially to my elders, and never be selfish. My dad lived by a moral compass that tilted slightly east of both, but he was a good man.
No one is perfect but my dad always loved me and that never changed despite all that occurred between us later on.
By 1988 we had moved to Wisconsin and my baby sister Marilyn was born. She was named after our grandmother on our mother’s side, regretfully, a woman neither of us would know. Seven years difference lay between Marilyn and me, but the distance in age only brought us closer in affection. I never felt jealous to have a new sibling; Marilyn was my little sister and would prove to be my best friend over the years.
Childhood can be filled with cruelty, and there were times when my torment towards my sister knew no bounds. I owe her my soul for the things I put her through but she knows how much I care about her and she’s never left my side. I couldn’t have survived as long as I have if she hadn’t elected to share the burden of my pain.
Now my selfless mother was a different light by which I navigated the darkness of the world. She was EVERYTHING to me, and yet our relationship was destined to be the most tumultuous of all. She was a woman with a big heart and she carried all the worries of the world. She suffered from depression because of that.
She was Joy, the very definition of the word. She often mentioned our grandmother Marilyn Heinze. Grandma Marilyn had been convicted of manslaughter when I was a baby and she died shortly after. I remember seeing a photo of my grandma holding me in a prison visiting room.
Mom was eleven years younger than my dad and they had their problems from day one. Nothing physical, but the emotional abuse was horrible. My earliest memories include hearing them yell at each other and the sound of broken furniture. Their words were like knives, slicing away at each other’s hearts until my mother couldn’t take it anymore. She gathered the strength of will to grab my baby sister and leave, forever setting the stage that would play out the tragedy of our lives. She took Marilyn and settled in the city of Racine.
Meanwhile, I chose to stay with my dad in the village of Union Grove several miles away. it was the beginning of a theme that would repeat itself my entire life. I loved my mom as much as any little boy can, but my dad and I had a connection that couldn’t be broken. He needed me in order to survive the breakup.
Shortly after my mom left, my dad started drinking. He never was much for alcohol, but he turned to it to drown his pain. So consequently, he egan spending his evenings at bars. When he came home drunk he would cry over my mom. I didn’t know what to do, and eventually he’d retrieve his rifle from the closet. It was a Winchester .30-.30. He would place the barrel to his head.
I would spend hours begging him not to kill himself. Eventually he would pass out; I would peel the gun from his hands and put it back in the closet. I spent many sleepless nights shaking in fear, terrified that I would be woken up by a gunshot.
The scene played itself over and over for most of a year and I was left to care for myself most of the time. The trauma affected me in ways that wouldn’t show until my adolescence. During this period of my life, I was told I was a gifted child in school. My first grade teachers wanted to skip me up to the second. My dad didn’t allow it, he felt it would leave me at a disadvantage amongst the other kids. Again, in the second grade, they wanted to skip me up. I don’t know if my dad made the right decision by holding me back but it made me aware that I was different than other children.
My parents often told the story about the first words I spoke. It wasn’t the common “mama” or “daddy” or anything. Instead I sounded out the vowels. A-E-I-O-U. Both of my parents worked with me since birth to develop my vocabulary. As a result, I was further along than most of the other children. I knew how to read before kindergarten and it was inevitable that I’d fall in love with literature over time.
I listened to dozens of books on tapes, reading along with the voices, and by the time I was five I was already dreaming of such magical places as the Land of Oz and the Enchanted Forest. I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up—an astronaut—so I could go out into space and visit all those wonderful worlds. I was born an idealist and I dreamed.
Sadly, my journey would take me far out onto the stormiest sea and I’d nearly drown beneath its dark waves.
The very first time I saw a policeman was when I was shaken awake in the middle of the night and watched as my dad was placed in handcuffs. It was tragic for a seven-year old third-grader. I never forgot the sound of the cuffs clicking into place. I begged the cop to let my dad go but he turned his cold eyes on me and that was that. My dad needed me but there was nothing I could do; I failed him.
My mom brought me to her new house with my sister and it was months before things returned to normal for me. Eventually I learned why my dad was arrested.
Shortly after my mom left my dad, she met a man at a bar and started dating him. She married John Nash a few years later, but at the time he was just giving her a ride home. She had him stop by my dad’s house to pick up my baby sister. John walked into the house and when my dad saw him pick Marilyn out of my mom’s arms he completely lost it.
My dad grabbed Marilyn, put her back in the crib, then followed the two of them out to John’s car. He confronted them and it quickly escalated into a conflict. My dad attacked John and tried to rip the man’s testicles off. He literally tore a hole in his jeans, gripped his balls, then twisted them until the man passed out.
Afterward, my mom left with John and the police showed up a short time later to take my dad away. My mom never should’ve brought the man around my dad knowing the state he was in in. Fair or not, I held the incident against John his entire life. Later on, it would grow into a hatred that poisoned both of our lives.
So I was taken away in the middle of the third grade to live with my mom and my life was flipped upside down. I loved my mom dearly and moving was a grand adventure, but my dad was my DAD and he needed me!
To make matters worse, I was enrolled in a brand new school and it was dreadful. I went from a rural all-white school out in the country to an inner city school of mixed races and background. I stood out in the crowd like never before. I had to find a way to blend in with this new environment quickly.
I discovered my place over the weeks; I used my intelligence and fearless determination to win the other kids over. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do if I was dared to do it. It was a trait I would possess for a long time and it led me to many bad decisions.
I discovered first-hand how unbalanced the school systems in America are. The school in the city had twice as many students in the classroom and they weren’t receiving the same level of education as the children in the country.
Out in the rural school, I was told I was advanced and needed to be skipped up grades, in the urban school I was treated like a prodigy. I remember taking an important test one day; all the other kids failed the test but I passed without missing a single question. My whole life I’ve always strived for perfection, but honestly, the test was simple to me.
Shortly after taking the test I was offered an opportunity to attend the “Lighthouse,” a school in Racine for more advanced children. I wasn’t just offered a chance to skip up grades now, I was offered to attend a whole new school. I didn’t understand what any of this meant at the time; I just turned eight and all I cared about was my dad. I had to get back to him or he would kill himself; I was convinced he would die without me.
So before the school year was out, I was returned to my dad’s custody and transferred back to my old school. My dad beat the assault charge when John failed to show up in court, and my life took a turn for the better. My dad stopped drinking and started taking me to church. He knew it was time to get his life on track or else he wouldn’t make it.
After the court hearing, my dad decided to move back to Iowa. He wanted to raise me in the country, the place I was born. The choice was ultimately left up to me—stay with my mom in Wisconsin or go with my dad to Iowa. There was no choice. It would be a sad departure but my mom was strong and she had Marilyn. I’d see her again one day. My dad needed me and a grand adventure lay before us. My life entered a new era as we hit the road.
(To be continued)
JOSHUA SHADDUCK (332317)
