Curt's Story

I was born in Rio Vista Ca. the youngest of four brothers and a sister. When I was five years old my parents divorced. Growing up with divorced parents was never easy but looking back, there were three people in my life who shaped me into the man I am today.

My mom had to get a job and struggled to provide for her family. Somehow she always found a way to make ends meet. We never had abundance and most of the time we had barely enough. I remember my mom crying many times because she just didn’t know how she was going to make it work. At one point she went on food stamps because there was no other way. She never wanted to do that because she always told us that it was for those who absolutely needed it and she didn’t want others to have to provide for her responsibility. She soon got another job and was able to get by without the food stamps. Not that we were any better off but that she was able to just squeak by. She went to the welfare office to tell the social worker that she didn’t need the food stamps anymore. And the social worker said she couldn’t because she still qualified for them. But my mom told her that she was able to make it work without them. They argued back and forth but my mom won the argument. Personally I wish she would have lost back then, it would have made it easier. What I didn’t understand, but I do now, is that she was teaching me that the easy choices are not always the best choices.

When I was 13 years old I went to live with my dad and step mom in Sacramento because of the trouble I was getting into living with my mom. My dad already had another life established in Sacramento, without kids, but with some convincing from my uncle he let me move in with him. I did not feel welcomed in my father’s home because I was not a part of his plans and I was a bad kid with a chip on his shoulder. I didn’t appreciate all that he and my step mom were doing for me; I expected a lot from them and didn’t think I had to do anything to earn it. I believed that my dad had a lot to make up for so I didn’t think I had to take responsibility for our relationship.

My dad also had a drinking problem. At least once a week (sometimes more) he would come home drunk, usually from bowling on Wednesday night. He would come into my room wanting to talk, he would tell me how much he loved me and that he was sorry for the way things turned out. Inevitably, it would always turn into him yelling at me and blaming me for things that were wrong in his life. There was no reasoning with him because he was drunk.

From these one sided “talks” I had with my father, I learned how to deal with people who are drunk. Most people try to reason with people that are drunk but you can’t and if you try you just get frustrated.

My father died when I was 19 years. Though he was not present for much of my life, he did teach me a few things:

1. Respect my roots
2. Hard work
3. Humor


At 16, I left my father’s house and moved in with my older brother Vince. He was the father and friend I needed. He was always there for me when I had any problems. He would take me to his baseball games or out with his friends. Whenever I needed anything I knew I could always count on him. Through the years, he’s taught me the value of hard work and loving your family.

To most, it would appear that I had a horrible childhood. To me, it was real and I made the best of what I was given. And perhaps, through the years, the bad memories tend to fade and are replaced with happier times.