A Man Named Dave

math, but the slots to become a boom operator were few and those who applied for the position fought for them with a ferocious intensity. The issue had come down to a simple matter of how badly did I want it, and was I willing to stick it out in order to achieve my dream.
    It took two more attempts, and an instructor with the patience of a saint, for me to muddle through the material, until one day something clicked and I understood the hows and whys of algebra – everything suddenly made complete sense. I actually enjoyed solving equations. I regarded math as absolute – no maybes, no ifs, no letting things be and seeing if it works out somewhere down the road. X always equaled something. In math, and as I had always lived my life, there were no gray areas.
    With the first hurdle behind me, I applied my efforts to advanced algebra, then tackled trigonometry. My instructors were outstanding. I began to build upon a good foundation, helping me grasp complicated equations with relative ease. My esteem began to take root. I lived in the breathtaking state of Florida, I spoiled myself by purchasing a monstrous motorcycle I owned free and clear, went through intensive prequalifications, and officially applied for a slot as an elite air crew member. I had a fantastic job and even completed rigorous training as a paratrooper. Ever so slowly, I was doing what I could to better myself. For once my efforts were beginning to pay off. Life was great. I felt as I had when I first entered foster care – every day was a precious gift.
    One day, out of the blue, in the last few days of May 1983, I received a letter from my brother Russell. Since I had not been in direct contact with Grandmother for nearly three years, I wondered how Russell knew where to write me. As I sped through the letter, I had to force myself to slow down, so I could digest each word. I was thrilled to hear from one of my brothers, to hear from an actual family member. But as the contents of the letter began to sink in, I could feel my stomach turn. Russell’s letter confirmed what Grandmother had told me years ago, that after Father had passed away, Mother had moved and now lived just outside Salt Lake City. Russell also stated that before he died, Mother’s primary focus of malice was mainly directed at Father. As evil as Mother had been when I lived in her house, she seemed to have reached new levels of hatred. With Father gone and me removed, it appeared as if Russell had become the target of Mother’s rage.
    I remembered one time when I was a foster child, I ran into Russell at a nearby school. By the haunted look on his face, I knew. While I was safely tucked away in the county’s protective arms, Mother must have been putting my brothers through hell. As a child, I lived with Mother for only twelve years, while my brothers had to endure her vindictiveness until they were at least eighteen.
    My thoughts turned to Stan. In the letter, Russell wrote that he was worried about Stan, who had become financially dependent on Mother and was now resenting his situation. He was proud and wanted to be his own person. What, I wondered, if anything happened to Mother or Grandmother? What would become of Stan? What could I do?
    Even my older brother, Ron, who had recently married, was not beyond Mother’s reach. The letter stated that although Ron and his wife, Linda, lived in Colorado, for Mother’s benefit they were only a phone call away. It was not hard to imagine Mother in the middle of one of her drunken binges, telephoning late in the evening and ranting for hours. Knowing Ron was still a military police officer in the army, I could envision him getting only a few hours of sleep before he had to go to work. This poor man, I thought, was bombarded from both sides. When did he ever get a moment of peace? How in the world was Ron able to tell Linda about Mother and the history of the family? If Mother kept to her pattern, she probably cleaned herself up for Linda, playing the role of the loving, overly gracious parental figure who lived the picture-perfect life. While Mother’s act may have worked for her years ago, it hardly seemed she could carry on with the charade any longer.
    Thinking ahead, I promised myself that if I ever became involved with someone, I would have to protect her from the sickening relationship between Mother and me. Even if it meant going against everything I stood for, I would have to lie. In order to have a chance of a future with anyone