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Houdini Part III

Yesterday, I continued my story with an account of my second or third step-dad. I talked about running away when I was 8 years old, and the abuse that occurred. I didn’t go into specifics, rather spoke in generalities. Moving forward in time, I am about 12, and my Uncle needs help on the family farm. Since he is a bachelor, I am asked to help. My step-brothers from my dad’s marriage are each tasked to help. Though not both of them at the same time. We spent the summer working on the farm, at first we slept in a tent, because it was an adventure. But then the tent was basically destroyed by a rain storm. So we started sleeping on the floor of the Quonset, still an adventure. One of my step-brothers took after me one night with a pick axe. That was the end of joint trips

frustrations with the IEP process

Well, a couple of weeks ago, we had our facilitated IEP. We ended the meeting at an impasse. The last thing that the facilitator told us was that she would file her report, and that DPI (Department of Public Instruction) would be in contact with us. Our superintendent was after me to turn in the home school paperwork so that everything is legal where David is concerned. Turns out that they are using that paperwork against us at this point. The only reason we are home schooling David is because the school is refusing to accept him in our district. They want to ship him 50 miles a day to another school. We asked for assurances that they would accept David back after he completes another program successfully, and the school wouldn’t give us one. My wife also asked the school why they were so against educating David. We never

Houdini Part II

Yesterday, you may recall I told you about a robbery. Today we will talk more about my early life. And why I think fathers are so important in a child’s life. Mom did the best she could at the time by us kids. I can’t fault her for that. We had a roof over our heads, food in our bellies and an education. Some aspects of our lives were less than desirable. I ran away from home the first time when I was 8 years old. Seems like ages ago. And it was. My mom was married to her second husband. We called him dad, but he wasn’t really. He was our abuser. He was also our provider. His rules taught us respect. He taught us that children are to be seen and not heard. He taught us that if we took it, we had to eat it. He taught