Is This the Way to Amarillo -- Texas Fix’em Edition

This is the final (maybe) Part of a multi-part series examining how I ended up in Amarillo, what I saw, and what happened to make me realize everything I ever thought about my immediate family was the opposite of reality. See All. Tell All.

The earlier Parts will come later. I just wanted to start with this one first, even though chronologically it comes at the end of the timeline.

Chapter 1 -- Gotta Fix-em All

For most of my life, I believed my family was everything, that I had the best family ever, and that they always had my back. So many times, I put my family first, ahead of my own interests. I have always been like that, ever since I was born. My Grandparents reinforced my view. I really only want people to have fun and enjoy everything and more.

Here is a picture of me at age zero something with my Grandmother.

As adorable as I am -- you know it’s true! -- I have always thought life can be as big as you want it. And to be big, you gotta think big. Don’t pay the naysayers no never-mind. No one is going to dissuade me from this, not ever.

Mind you, they tried.

Over the several years, after I became my own adult self, I spent a lot of time visiting my family, arranging and organizing things for them, solving problems, running errands as well as interference, where needed. I was like some super personalized concierge service/ travel agent/ fixer, all pro bono, of course. It was more like pro bono plus (minus?) because I paid for a lot of stuff out of my own pocket. Just to make them happy.

Why? My inner self was trying to Fix’em.

Subconsciously I knew that very little about my family was right or even good and that things were broken. My immediate family, anyway. My Grandparents are my heroes. I miss them everyday.

As for my mom, Hannibal, used me in so many ways, for so many reasons.

For example:

In my small town of 900 people in Hansford county, when I was a kid, she used me to establish the word-about-town that she was a great mom, coming from a “bad childhood” and all, making it so “heart-warming”, “redeeming” and showing how a loving community can bring one into God’s good graces. All rubbish, as it turns out. I mean, I believe that little girls with bad childhoods can and often do turn out to be good moms, because they know how hard a bad childhood can be. I also believe in the grace of God, only it never falls on counterfeit humans like my mom, Hannibal.

Later on, in Amarillo, Hannibal used me for some combination of bragging rights, vicarious pleasure (e.g., since she failed cheerleader tryouts and was thoroughly unlikable -- still is), for outright sadism and constant criticism, and a target for sabotage. However, as many times as my mom, Hannibal, tried to kibosh or sabotage me, it usually backfired and I came out on top, no doubt enraging her to no end. I can see the literal fjords of steam blowing out her ears. That makes me laugh.

Hannibal also copied me. For example, I used to paint designs on furniture as a business between High School and College. The designs were really nice. After my 1st year, Hannibal absconded with my paints, brushes and assorted accoutrements. I found out recently from my uncles ex-wife that Hannibal had set up a small warehouse in downtown Amarillo and was trying to copy my works! I’d like to say I am surprised.

More recently, I think she tired of the psychological games and -- along with my dad Fredo, and my brother, Myron -- just stole from me. Quite a lot, as it turns out. Well, truth be told, they didn’t steal from me. I gave it to them, willingly. In most cases, I then forgot about it or didn’t keep track.

Why? Because I was always trying to fix, to heal, and to help them. Those days are over.

So, to recap, as a mom, and as a person, Hannibal worse than sucked. She is nasty and vicious and sadistic, and I believe she orchestrated the rest of my family turning against me. That would, in fact, be a common family dynamic where one parent -- especially the female -- is a psychopath. In that case, you will usually find one kid being the “scapegoat kid” (or as one of our team members calls it the “escape goat kid”), the rest being some combination of henchmen, collaborators and tools. Or, possibly, there might be a second psychopaths. In my family, I believe there are two female psychopaths: Hannibal and my brother(?) Myron. Just kidding. But not really. One of the reference books I use posits a theory that the psychopath genes are passed down through mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA). That would mean the psychopath genes pass from mother to son to daughter, and so on. That totally fits with my observations.

In case you missed it, I am the “scapegoat kid” in this story. I don’t really like the phrase “scapegoat kid”. I think as it undersells the savagery and crime-against-nature nature of what is really going on.

Oh yeah, she was probably perverted too, possibly criminally so.

I mentioned once before that there are large gaps in my memory from when I was a kid, although my memory is generally quite good and specific. My therapist (yes, I admit I needed one, and she is great. She works with victims of narcissists, psychopaths, Cluster-F’s, etc., and has a great back-story; I will introduce her later).

Ummmm, lost track here. Oh yes, my therapist suggested these memory gaps may indicate disassociation at key moments, meaning some bad stuff happened . . . to me.

I do, however, have a few different short memory flashes.

Memory Flash 1 I was maybe 3 or 4 and Hannibal had me take a bath with my cousin who was a few months younger. Nothing wrong with that. Then, suddenly, a flash bulb goes off. She had taken a polaroid picture. Hannibal then yelled at us, probably as a distraction, and ordered us out of the tub. I have no idea what happened to that picture. I looked for it recently. It is probably in her trinket box, if she still has it.

Memory Flash 2 Hannibal had ordered my dad, Fredo, to spank me for some reason. Fredo -- being the coward he is, always followed orders. He took me into their bedroom -- I remember clearly standing in front of his dresser which had a big mirror on top. Hannibal said “pull her pants down and spank her”. Fredo pulled my pants down, began to swing his belt and, as he did, I saw a flash bulb go off reflected in the mirror.

Memory Flash 3 when I was maybe 5 years old, Hannibal had a couple of black T-shirts screen printed. One was a Madonna theme, maybe “Like a Virgin”. The other said “I’m Sexy”. She also took pictures of me with these shirts on. Who does this? What do you think she did with those pictures?

Memory Flash 4 Last, totally least, fortunately not involving me and with a funny ending. My brother, Myron, was maybe 2 or 3 and, while taking a bath, had somehow wrapped a rubber band tightly around his you-know-what. According to Hannibal, anyway.

So I called him rubber-band man, after the song which came out in the late 1970s and was still popular up in the Texas panhandle. In school a few days later, we were tasked with writing a story and drawing a picture about something memorable that happened in our homes. The story and picture would then be posted on the note board for Parent-Teacher day, so everyone would see it. My story was entitled “Rubber Band Man”, and I depicted Myron in the tub with his you-know-what wrapped up in a rubber band. I got in trouble for that. Time out or something. Like I would tell my nieces (before I got blocked): “Time out? Seriously? Is that the best they got . . . I mean, I get to have time all by myself? As Kevin McCallister would say --- Yesssss!”

Now, Hannibal said Myron had tied his own thing up himself. I, of course, believed that. Why wouldn’t I? My therapist wondered if Hannibal did that herself to Myron, and noted such behavior would not be uncommon for a female psychopath. She called it “mommy’s little man syndrome”. Strangely enough, the concept makes sense to me based on other things that happened. More on that in a later episode.

The Wedding That I Do Not Remember -- Or Do I?

As to memories, here is a story I don’t remember combined with a hazy memory.

I went to a wedding in Bakersfield, California on September 27, 1980. Until recently, I did not know that. The Aunt I never knew about was there and sent me this picture recently. There I am, age 3 ^1/2 years old. There is Hannibal.

I asked my dad, Fredo, about this wedding after I got the picture. He swears he was there. He wasn’t. Unless he was invisible . . . like his character.

Anyway, I have zero recollection of being at this wedding, and I remember a bunch of stuff from before I was 3 ^1/2 years old.

As for the hazy memory? I see a long winding drive-way, lined on both sides with hedges and beautiful flowers -- some white, some colorful, Gardenias or Peonies maybe -- bright sunshine above so probably mid-afternoon; then I am escorted into and through a giant hall -- the biggest I had ever seen -- and I pass by a banquet room, was busy with ornately festooned butlers and setter-uppers scurrying and fluttering about like rabid squirrels on speed, or perhaps jostling back and forth like pool balls after the breaking of said pool balls.

As luck would have it, there was a campaign event for Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush being held that same weekend of September 27, 1980 in Beverly Hills. Back then, Beverly Hills was probably less than 2 hours away from Bakersfield. Now, probably a lot longer.

Lessons from Chapter 1

Many things I remember as factual are based on what my parents told me happened, rather than me witnessing them. Even some things I did witness (or do), were retold to me in a different form, likely so I would mis-code things into my memory.

If a particular memory starts out with “Hannibal told me . . .”, chances are it didn’t happen as described or was partially or completely fabricated. My practice now is to throw out everything I think I know. Then re-evaluate each thing and, if possible, find corroborating, a second source, or independent evidence. If I can’t, it goes into the “probably-didn’t-happen” file. Oh yeah, public record searches can be useful, and you can find some pretty fun stuff about people!

I came to these conclusions based on a few events and over a short period of time -- starting in March 2020 and becoming fully formed in January 2021.

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Chapter 2 - This is how I remind me . . .

I can see now, that the campaign against me took place gradually over many years, at first in ways too small individually to see but when viewed over time and from a distance forming a pattern -- like the pixels on the computer or phone screen upon which you are reading these words. Then, in 2020 an 2021, the campaign accelerated, reached critical mass and detonated. In the gloriously ensuing mushroom cloud, I could see I had been fooled the entire time. Even worse, I had been brainwashed. I believed everything wrong with my family was either my fault and/ or that I could fix it. Psychopaths excel at a few things, one of which is making their victims think they are at fault. It is one of their strengths, and Hannibal is a highly skilled practitioner. My dad, Fredo’s strengths would be (1) trivia, esp. involving bodies of water and high school mascots, (2) ???, (3) cowardice. In case your askin’.

. . . Of Who I really Am

I had two childhoods. The first was in Hansford county from 0 years to age 13.

The second was in Amarillo, where I started high school. I went from a tiny 1A school of maybe 200 kids, with K- 12 all in the same place, to giant 5A high school with maybe 2,000 students. I was terrified, at first anyway. I eventually adapted and did pretty well. There is a lesson in that: abrupt change, harnessed properly, can make you stronger. It did for me.

There is a funny dynamic about Texas schools.

Some of the best schools are in the smallest towns. This includes sports teams and academic programs. For example, my small school in Hansford county routinely wins State championships, be it basketball, football, track, curling, etc. Maybe even baseball, but no one pays attention to baseball in Texas . . . just kidding . . . nobody plays baseball in Texas.

Part of this is phenomena reflects the support from local communities in rural agricultural areas. The equipment, buildings, staffing, etc., are usually first rate. In our town, the community paid to build the school buildings themselves.

Small rural towns tend produce some tough, scrappy, determined and improvising smart kids. That’s what we call “country smart”. You have to be that way growing up on dry land with not much else around. Of course, people are people, so small towns, like the big ones, also produce bad folks. Small towns, however, are pretty good at weeding them out quicker.

Why did we leave Hansford County and move to Amarillo when I was 13? For reasons that I am going to dish on, likely (hopefully) embarrassing some people . . . who are not me . . . in an earlier Part of this series.

For now, I will say it involved cologne, furtive goings-on, and culminates in a round of screaming hair-pulling at the local Allsup’s parking lot. We shall call that episode “Allsup’s Soooshi -- To Go”. Believe me, it’s a doozy!

The backdrop to this story begins in January 2021, when I went to Amarillo to the House of Hannibal, i.e., my parents’ house. It’s my house too. We moved to this house in 1991 after leaving Hansford County. Let’s say the address is “6 Accosted Drive” I made up the name, but the number is accurate. For some reason, number “6” is Hannibal’s favorite number. I think she shares that with some other bub.

In 1991, I was just starting High School, so it was my house too. In fact, I still have a lot of clothes, shoes, pictures, financial and other records there, many of which have mysteriously gone missing last time I checked. I wonder what happened to them? Kidding. I know.

Lessons from Chapter 2

Know yourself, be yourself.

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Chapter 3 -- Postcard from My Trapper Keeper

The campaign against me took hold, smoldered and detonated in 2020. In summary form, it played out as follows:

March 2020 -- My brother, Myron, flees Houston and moves back to Amarillo. In reality, though, he didn’t spend much time in Amarillo. When he was 17, he was smuggled off to Jenks, OK, for his senior year in high school to . . . as Hannibal told me . . . play football. He sucked at football. He was really sent away after being in an accident, probably a drunken one, in February 2001. Then after that, he went to three colleges -- Oklahoma Baptist, one in Midland, TX and Cal Lutheran, in Thousand Oaks, CA. He must have been very good, because he didn’t graduate from any of them, and that takes some doing in the U.S. these days. I will tell you in a later episode called Motor City Cash Machinations and Other Related Misdeeds why I think he left Houston.

April - May 2020 -- Hostile texts and phone calls begin.

Also, in April, the Gov’t had just announced what they called CFAP -- Coronavirus Food Assistance Program, run out of the USDA. I read the release -- which was by far the clearest piece of Gov’t paper I had ever read -- and discovered that Fredo qualified as a cattle “producer” and should therefore apply for assistance. I called him to tell him that. Needless to say, he yelled at me an called me a F-ing liar (I know you are, but who am I). Undeterred, I sent him the release, with all the good parts yellow marked, and with the instructions to send it around to everyone else in the broader family who had similar operations. Heard nothing. Fortunately, the list of CFAP recipients was released. Fredo pocketed $130,000. You’re welcome.

No one else in my family applied. One of Fredo’s cousins -- who had much larger cattle and ag operations -- later told me Fredo never mentioned CFAP and never applied. That displeased me. By the way, Fredo would later use that $130K against me in a scheme to violate certain fiduciary duties he owed me regarding a nice 620 acre piece of agricultural and oil producing land in Ochiltree county, which is one county over from Hansford.

May - July 2020 -- Calls and text messages . . . calls and text messages . . . from parents and siblings(?) were getting increasingly belligerent and hostile (yes, I do know those are the same thing).

July 7, 2020 -- My youngest niece, who is at heart a rebel, but a kind and exceedingly smart one, figured out how to use facetime on the iPad and called me at like 7am. She said things had gotten really weird and the Myron and his wife, The Marm, had been in Amarillo parked at my sister’s(?) house for a month. I told her I missed her and would always be thinking of them, no matter what anyone tells her to the contrary.

July 19, 2020 -- Fredo’s birthday. Early morning. I call him and wish him a happy birthday. Fredo tells me he has gotten “tons” of phone calls so far wishing him a happy birthday. Call ends. He accidentally didn’t hang up. I listened in to Fredo saying “Well, I couldn’t get rid of her fast enough. Truth is, I haven’t received any calls yet. Hey, how about these shoes. You want two pair?”

Turns out he was in a shoe store, with Myron, buying shoes for Myron. I had to laugh. In most of the world, when it its your birthday, it is customary for people to buy you presents. In Fredo World, apparently, on your birthday, you buy other people presents. It’s like one of those In the Old Country jokes, e.g., “In the US you watch TV. In the Old Country, TV watches you”. Well, nowadays, TV watches you in the US too.

I also got the last laugh when I called Fredo back and asked him why he said those things about me and why he was buying shoes for Myron. . . on his own actual birthday.

Late July 2020 -- My sister(?) called and “let” me wish my oldest niece a happy birthday. Awww, how nice. Then screamed at me and abruptly hung up the phone. For some reason.

September 2020 -- Fredo buys my brother, Myron, a house -- out of my money as it turns out . . . or, more accurately, out of money borrowed and secured on land belonging to me. Though Myron’s name is not on the title. Really, I think Hannibal made Fredo think he was buying the house for Myron, but she intends to seize control of it, for example, were she to kill . . . ooooops, I mean . . . were Fredo to have a car wreck (Hannibal’s favorite curse) or inadvertently ingest poison, like in a large 72 oz cup of Texas Tea with enough Sweet ‘N Low to mask the flavor. Or something like that.

With Fredo buying all these things for Myron, and his wife, The Marm, parking herself at my sister’s(?) house, I began to think there was a blackmail operation underway. I still believe that, by the way, and I have a pretty good idea what the blackmail material is -- it’s more than one item, though.

Key Lessons from Chapter 3

On your birthday, don’t buy presents for other people, even if they are blackmailing you.

You can, if so inclined, buy them a large 72 oz cup of Texas Tea, with just enough Sweet’N Low . . . .

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Chapter 4 -- Opening up a Can of What-the-Heck-For

At this point, it had become over abundantly clear that I had become, as one of our team members calls it, a Persona Au Gratin. He’s funny, and is jonesing to write an episode. He is demanding complete creative control, though, along with a “pay-or-play” deal and gross points. Should I let him?

The energy directed in my general direction was pretty intense. And, according to The Handbook’s First Law of Thermodynamics, in any given situation, the amount of energy coming out of something must equal the amount of energy going into it. I could see the energy coming out -- I mean, it was literally falling on my head like a Grand Piano, daily.

I just couldn’t see the energy going into it. Since the Law is absolute, a big chunk of the formula must be missing entirely. Eventually, the corollary rule -- i.e., the “What Changed” rule -- would provide the answer. In this case, it goes back to why Myron left Houston. As mentioned, I will discuss that in an upcoming episode entitled Motor City Cash Machinations and Other Related Misdeeds.

At this point, I knew I had to figure for myself what was going on. I did some of the usual research, old files, records, newspaper clippings, things like that. That only gets you so far, though.

I needed to investigate in person, on the ground and see it with my own two eyes. I needed to go back to Amarillo. For tactical purposes, I decided to stage a few unannounced surprise visits. That way, they couldn’t doctor or hide evidence, and I might just catch them doing something untoward. Plus, as Gen. George S. Patton said in his book “The War as I knew It“ surprise attacks, preferably from the enemy’s rear end, are highly effective. And believe me, these enemies are, themselves, rear ends. So, there’s that.

Surprise Party Supplies -- For Sale or Rent!

I ended up launching three surprise visits, as follows:

· October 24, 2020

· November 14, 2020

· January 11, 2021

Discussion

October 2020 -- Surprise visit #1 -- early morning

If I wrote this as the intro graph to one of those 10,000 word blunderbusses in The New Yorker or something, it would go like this:

“It was early morning, October 24, 2020. I had just arrived in Amarillo and was on my way to the Airport Valet to retrieve my car. The morning air was brisk and thick with cool moisture, glistening in the freshly minted sun. I was about to make a surprise visit to my family in an attempt to prise out any explanation for the campaign of vitriol directed against me. This trip would eventually kick off a series of events which are still unfolding and echoing today.”

However, since this isn’t a 10,000 word blunderbusses in The New Yorker or something, I will write it as follows:

I flew to Amarillo on October 24, 2020, arriving on the first flight out of Dallas. It was early morning. I retrieved my car from the Airport Valet, where I left it way back in December 2019, and called my dad, Fredo, to let him know I was driving up to see my Grandmother in my small town in Hansford county and would be back later in the day. A few minutes later, my mom, Hannibal, called from T.J. Max or Homegoods -- can’t remember -- acting all nice and stuff. My sister(?) was there too. Can I get anything for you? When are you coming by? Would you like a large 72 oz cup of Texas Tea, with just enough Sweet ‘N Low . . . ?

Total act, and a bad one. She was terrified.

I visited with my Grandmother for a few hours up in Hansford county. We went to the Methodist Church. Made a donation. I returned to Amarillo that afternoon and stopped by my sister’s(?) house to visit my nieces and drop off some goodies. I rang the doorbell. No answer. Their little dog saw me, came to the door, wagging her tail and jumped up and down. Still no answer. I peeked in through the window, and I could see them all hiding in the living room. Not moving. Heads down. Maybe they also thought they were invisible. They weren’t. I left the box of goodies on the doorstep and went home, in tears.

When I got back, Hannibal had “accidentally” laid out for me to “find” the deed papers to the house Fredo had bought for Myron (really for Hannibal as explained above). She did this to try to get me to “over react” or breakdown or something. This was not the first time she tried that. In fact, she did this a lot. And I am sorry to say, in earlier days, it might have worked. This time, however, I gave her nothing. I took pics with my iPhone and stayed quiet.

Later that night, I went up the stairs to my bedroom and discovered all my bedding had been removed, shoved in the closet, and replaced with cheapo Homegoods style crapola.

Let me unpack that for you! Here’s what I think happened. I arrive in Amarillo and call Fredo. Fredo calls Hannibal to let her know I arrived or tells her directly. Hannibal panics, worried about why I was there and what I might find out. Hannibal goes to my sister’s(?) house to plot. Calls me claiming to be at T.J. Max or Homegoods -- can’t remember.

Hannibal doesn’t have much time to think. So she comes up with two plans: 1. let me “find” the deed, 2. replace my bedding, both of which were designed to rile me up thinking I would cause a “scene” or something. Why, they might even be able to slap a conservatoryship on me! Well, they actually did try that about a year later. I found out and shut it down.

I was set to fly home early the next day. On that night, the night of October 24, 2020, I went up to bed to sleep. Hannibal came up a bit later and climbed into bed next to me. That had never happened before. “Ummm. What are you doing?”, I asked. Hannibal replied in her gravelly smoker/ crypt-keeper voice “well, I want to make sure you get up in time for your flight”.

I wasn’t buying that. I have missed precisely zero flights or meetings or anything by oversleeping.

The entire night, I felt an evil monstrous presence next to me, and I did not sleep. I kept praying to God and my spirit ancestors to let me survive that night.

Obviously, I did. In the morning, Hannibal went back downstairs, and I heard Fredo say “Well, Myron never did turn up. I waited up for nothing”.

Let me “refreeze” that for you. I believe Hannibal’s plan was as follows:

· Get me riled up

· Tell Fredo that Myron was coming in town that night, and that she, Hannibal, would stay up with me to keep us separated

· Myron was never going to show up. That was a ruse, and Fredo is easily fooled, plus it kept him downstairs

· Hannibal would wait for the right opportunity to smother me and make it look like I died in my sleep, all while having an excuse why she was in my room

She failed. I believe the spirits tipped me off, allowing me to keep my guard up.

Lessons from Chapter 4

Psychopaths are always planning, plotting and scheming. They have no low. They are also opportunistic. Try not to give them any openings.

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Intermission

I am beginning to bore myself again. Therefore, I will cover the January 2021 visit today, and come back to the November 2020 visit in a future episode entitled “Happy Halloversary“. That story deserves its own episode anyway. It is also a doozy.

I might change the name. Like when Paul McCartney was working up the tune for Yesterday, he used the words “scrambled eggs” as a place holder. Personally, I think it would have been better as Scrambled Eggs -- opening lyrics? “Scrambled eggs, and some pancakes and some maple syrup. . . etc, etc.”

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Chapter 5 -- Dr. Strange Mom: or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Unlove my Mom

So, I dropped by my house in Amarillo, I believe it was the afternoon of January 11, 2021, and it was another unannounced visit.