From Boy to Man: Memoirs of a Single Dad

By J. Martin Turner

A heartwarming adventure a single father shares with his daughter. Having spent the last 11 years unsuccessfully finding love, a single father takes a trip down memory lane with his daughter while, telling her stories of the things she did while growing up, and as she approaches her teenage years, her dad recollects the stories of his own life with love, heartbreak, heartache, friendships, betrayal, trials, and tribulations. Eventually it all leads to his advice, from father to his preteen daughter, just before she enters her teens to carry throughout her teenage years...and beyond!

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Martin Turner
• Release date: Apr 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301718238

J. Martin Turner

I was raised by a single mother, born in Orlando having lived in South Jersey and the last several years in South Florida. After having attended the University of Florida as a Microbiology major, I took time off from school, moved home to South Florida, and started in the restaurant business. I decided to go back to school, majoring in forensic science and soon realized my love for writing and film. I then attended the University of Miami, dual enrolling as a Motion Pictures/English major with an emphasis on creative writing. I am divorced, have a daughter on the verge of teenager-hood, and thoroughly enjoyed my experience writing my first book, From Boy to Man: Memoirs of a Single Dad. In 2019, I completed my first fictional novel, The W.A.N.D. Epic - Book One: The Foretelling. I spent a year reworking it, editing it and now it is available for purchase and will be the first book in a five-book series of the W.A.N.D. Epic.

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From Boy to Man:

Memoirs Of A Single Dad

By Jeff Turner

Copyright 2013 Jeff Turner

Smashwords Edition

Contents

Introduction

Letter #1: All The Little Things

Letter #2: Jersey Boy

Letter #3: Florida Boy

Letter #4: Once Last Chance

Letter #5: Music to My Ears

Letter #6: Heartbreak High

Letter #7: For the First Time

Letter #8: Second Love

Letter #9: Third Time’s A Charm

Letter #10: First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage

Letter #11: A Single Dad

Letter #12: Know Your Friends

Letter #13: Begin Again

Letter #14: Dream Big

Letter #15: Lonely, But Never Alone

Letter #16: The One Who Got Away

Letter #17: Hearts Will Heal

Letter #18: The Dating Game

Letter #19: Learn From Mistakes

Letter #20: Love Stories

Letter #21: Daddy's Little Girl

Love Eventually

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Are you a single parent, raising a child or children? Are you finding it difficult to secure a solid relationship with someone because every date you go on seems like a disaster? No one wakes up one morning wishing to be a single parent. However, you may have been dealt a hand and the winning pot is just that. And that’s perfectly fine. You still have the responsibility of raising and caring for your child or children. Whether you are a single mother, single father, lost your loved one to an illness or tragic accident, or they were just plain low-lifers that wanted no part of the child/children’s existence, you do what you must to make sure the children have a fighting chance in this world. Now is the opportunity to provide unconditional love, share with them your life experiences, help them to learn from your mistakes, and give them guidance and assurance to move forward, day-by-day, in an effort to achieve the greatest success possible. You may be lucky enough to share this with your ex-whatever or you may have to do it on your own. Whatever the case, you do it because you love them and they are your creation and your chance at building and leaving a legacy behind, one that thrives on the same values and morale that you grew up on.

I am just that a single dad helping raise a daughter. I have an excellent relationship with my daughter’s mother, but I also have shared custody, pay child support, and do my due diligence in providing every opportunity for my daughter to see that she makes the most of life. It’s not always perfect. I make mistakes. I get short with her on bad days and laugh with her on good days. I love her just the same.

I’m also a single father having been single for the last eleven years, hoping to find the right person to complement me some day, share in my daughter’s life, and start our own family. I’ve had many loves, some good, some bad, some laughable. I’ve also had that one, you know the one you let get away because the time wasn’t right or you weren’t in the right mindset or you didn’t say the right things. Everyone has had one. Maybe you were fortunate to hold on to yours longer than most. Or maybe you are still holding on refusing to let go. I messed up and never had an opportunity at a second chance. That was the hand I was dealt without the chance at a second hand.

Perhaps your one didn’t get away. Maybe you married them and have loved them forever, have a beautiful family and are very happy. Or maybe you recently found them, several years and several unsuccessful relationships later, finally settling into the life you have always dreamed of with the person you always wanted to share it with. Or maybe you had them in your life and made a few – or several – mistakes and they got away. We have all had some experience involving that special person, a soul mate – the one!

As for me, I’m your typical next-door neighbor, living in South Florida, an everyday Joe that loves his life…a single father who loves his daughter and works hard for a living. I’m in my mid-thirties having spent the last eleven years as a single father, helping raise my child. I don’t come from money and work hard to make a buck, like every hard working American.

However, I do have a story to share, one that involves my life experiences with love and raising a child as a single dad, and several roadblocks I’ve encountered along the way. My goal is to provide you with an emotional ride of trials and tribulations – some comical, some heartwarming and some heart wrenching – of my experiences growing up and my journey to becoming a single dad. I also decided to write this book for closure because I allowed The One to get away.

If I can touch one person’s life with my words and my stories, then I’ve done what I set out to do and will continue to do so. If I can’t, I still love to write and will always remain faithful to the craft and continue to do so. I will also leave my Facebook link at the end of the book so I can receive constructive feedback and comments.

Please understand I am not a doctor, philosopher, psychologist, or psychiatrist. This is merely to share with you some of the adventures I have experienced. I write this for my daughter, because although I give many accounts of life and love and choices and mistakes, I hope that she will learn from them and take heed as she grows older.

Again, it gives me great pleasure to introduce myself – and my life to you. I have no secrets and I’m an open book, no pun intended…well, ok…it is very much intended.

I hope you will enjoy and share in the many wonderful memories and escapades I experienced in life, from boy to man to single fatherhood. And maybe along the way you will relive memories of your life, the trials and tribulations that are sometimes soon forgotten because life happens. At times we forget to take a moment to recollect what our lives were like growing up. Or sometimes we may be too hard on our kids because we want them to do right, forgetting that we, too, had to learn from our mistakes. Nobody is perfect, but if we can limit the mistakes and guide our children, then we can hope for their success as much as our own. Before we begin, several names have been changed to secure privacy. I respect the privacy and those that I have had an opportunity to share my life with. So without further adieu, please join me as we ride down memory lane.

Letter #1: All the Little Things

Dear Ashley

Here I am…thirty-six years old and more proud than I can describe at your accomplishments. You are almost twelve years old (you will be by the time I write this and you will be a teenager by the time I let you read this). As you know, I’ve been single for a long time now and when you were little, you use to badger me about finding a girlfriend, which annoyed me, mostly because I wanted to find one too. It also made me joyful that you cared about my happiness and were concerned about my finding love again.

It’s been an interesting life so far, to say the least. As I watch you grow/change, I see a lot of me in you, especially concerning your mannerisms, antics, crushes, etc.

There’s a lot about me that you don’t know. I’m sure you can ask questions or learn over time, but I felt it necessary to tell you more about me, from my childhood to where we are currently, mostly so you know that parents aren’t perfect, we have/had our mistakes, but we live and learn from them and hope to guide you so you don’t make the same mistakes. That is my intentions for writing you these letters. There certainly are moments you don’t need to know about, that remain personal to me. However, I don’t have any problem sharing with you my stories and my advice as you grow from girl to woman. As much as I would love for that NOT to happen, it is inevitable. Therefore I embrace your growth and change and offer myself, my life, and my knowledge gained to live, love, and learn from.

Watching you grow up is an absolutely wonderful experience. And I hope you will appreciate your mom and me as parents, the same way I appreciate what my parents have been, and all the little things that make me:

I was a four year old towhead with light greenish-blue eyes. The neighborhood I lived in had a main street leading into it and several blocks throughout. Back in those days, you could run around the neighborhood until sunset and parents never worried about the safety of their children, aside from a scratched knee from biking or skateboarding or a bruised elbow or bumped head from rough-housing or climbing trees. There were still dangers, but as long as you were raised with the moral compass that most parents instill in their children, you could bet on their safety and well being remaining intact.

Directly across the street from my house lived my friend, Missy. We were the same age and our moms were very good friends. Her mother, Terry, was a nurse at the local hospital and my mother worked at the local restaurant, The Bodega, as a bartender.

Missy and I were inseparable. I don’t remember much before the age of four (most kids don’t really remember being four or five for that matter), but I recall her being the first friend I ever had. We frequently played together and got along real well. Not only was she my first friend, she was also my first crush. She had long, light brown hair, big brown eyes, and I always thought she was pretty, but never said so because, well, I was still shy about some things and most normal four years olds think that way. When I look back at pictures of her, she was just as pretty as I can remember. I have no inkling why I began having crushes at such an early age, but I certainly adored her. As I grew older, my mom told me stories of how inseparable we were and how much we truly adored each other.

One late afternoon, not long after dinner in my front yard off to the side of the house, we played freeze tag. I recall telling her, while frozen, that if she lost again, she had to kiss me. Sure enough, I got her again and she fulfilled my request. The best recollection I have about the kiss was it tasting like rice and gravy. I can vividly remember the taste of rice and gravy. It was one of those moments that strikes you and stays with you; something that no matter the circumstance, will never be forgotten. Believe it or not, to this day, every time I have an experience with rice and gravy or smell it on someone’s breath or cooking in someone’s house, it takes me back to that moment – it was distinct.

I remember one particular evening having a sleepover at her home. Since she lived across the street, it was no big deal for us to spend the night out. Some nights, my mom and dad would want an adult night out. Missy’s mother, a single mother, was never bothered about having me stay the night.

Missy had a bunk bed in her room. The bottom bunk was hers and I slept on the top bunk. Her room was also about as girly as you can imagine – light blue paint with a Strawberry Shortcake lamp that adorned her dresser opposite her bed, and her toy box sat off to the far corner of her room, adjacent to the bedroom door, pink as a little girl’s toy box would typically be. That night I climbed down the ladder to kiss her good night, just a kiss on the lips, an innocent lip exchange any kid is accustomed to having with parents, siblings, friends, etc. After kissing her goodnight, I climbed back up the ladder, immediately heading to the top end of the bed, looking down to see if I could see her. We didn’t always just go to bed. We goofed off for a while until one of us grew tired and eventually fell asleep.

Between the top ends of the bunk, there was a space, a couple feet that separated the bunk bed from the wall. After calling her name a few times and not hearing a response, instead of leaning over the side of the bed to see her, I decided to lean over the top end of the bunk to catch a glimpse of her face and find out if she had fallen asleep. Almost immediately, I lost my balance, falling off the top of the bunk down the crack of spacing between the wall and the bed, banging my head on the way down, getting trapped. Naturally I started crying and was taken home. I don’t recall what events took place the next day but certainly will always remember that night.

Missy remained my only friend for what seemed like forever, to a kid. Then a new family moved in at the end of my block – two girls, Erin and Mary. Erin was two years older than me, Mary two years younger. I immediately befriended them shortly after they moved in. We lived in one of those neighborhoods where most people had lived for quite a few years, and every time someone new moved in, especially on your block, you were quick to welcome them – and find out if they were worthy to live in your area. My parents befriended their parents and we soon became friends.

Mary and I didn’t have much in common. She was quiet and kept to herself. Erin, however, was more outspoken and friendly. She and I became equally close and I ultimately grew a similar crush on her. When Missy wasn’t home, I ended up at the end of the block hanging out with Erin.

There weren’t any boys my age that lived on my block that I could do boy things with like bike riding, climbing trees, or playing with action figures – except Jason. Jason and I were friends, but his parents were quite the odd couple. They never celebrated holidays or invited anyone into their home and he was limited when he could play, if or when that was. He never acted up or acted out if they went anywhere. They never came to any parties when they were invited. And I was never allowed in his house, mostly because I was never invited. I remember going to Jason’s front door and knocking. You could hear the rustling of the locks and chains on the inside of the door. Then the door slowly creaked open, mildly cracked.

Yes, his mother quietly whispered.

Can Jason come out and play, I asked with great enthusiasm.

Let me check, his mother scowled, quickly shutting the door. I stood for what seem like several minutes. Eventually the door creaked open again.

Go wait for him on the sidewalk. He will be out shortly.

I went directly to the sidewalk, which was painted white, marking their property line. As I reached the sidewalk, I looked back and the door slowly closed, as if she watched to make sure I went to the sidewalk to wait. I stood there waiting for what seemed like several minutes, but no one else was around so I had no choice but to wait. Jason finally emerged from his home, opening the door just enough to slip out, closing it immediately. It was almost as if they were hiding something. It was a bizarre circumstance and boring to hang out with Jason. He was all that was around when the girls were absent, Erin at school and Missy at daycare. I learned to make due.

Erin was just as fun as Missy and great to be with. We laughed a lot, walked around the blocks endlessly, and took trips down to the creek at the back end of our neighborhood. As great as Erin was to me, as a friend, she had a tough life. Her parents were potheads and alcoholics and her father was an abusive alcoholic. It would be years later that I learned of this through my mother, but I do remember brief instances of her father’s aggression towards her mother.

There were evenings I stayed at their house while my parents were at work. I remember one evening they were in an argument. Erin sat on her bed, quickly becoming saddened by the arguing coming from the living room. I was curious, listening to the yelling and screaming, so I hopped off the bed and poked my head out of her room. Instantly, I witnessed her father violently grabbing her mother and slamming her onto the couch, attempting to choke her. I swiftly pulled my head back in her room and shut the door and sat on the bed next to Erin.

That happens a lot. It makes me sad, she whispered.

I didn’t know how to reply or what to say, so I just sat with her until it was time for me to go home.

From what my mother told to me, this went on for years. Her mother finally grew some strength, realizing the intensity and danger of her situation. One day, she packed up her girls and moved out. Not long after she left him, their father pleaded with her to return. She refused. Not able to deal with the now obsolete marriage, Erin and Mary’s father put a shotgun into his mouth and blew his head off. It was tragic all the same, but he was abusive and a bad father.

As quickly as they left to get away from the abuse, I didn’t see Erin and Mary again until the 8th grade.

After Erin and Mary had left, Missy was still my best friend, but I missed Erin a lot, too. Erin was my first foray into physical experimentation. My hormones were abnormal and plagued me at a very young age. My mom told me stories about how I sat in the living room with an erection and just played, with a great deal of curiosity because at that age, we don’t know what’s going on nor do we have any clue about anything involving sex. It sort of concerned her. But a lot of it had to do with the fact that I was born with a hernia in my testicle region. My mom loves to tell this story:

My son was born with a hernia. At the time, the doctors weren’t sure what to make of it. They told me my son would either go back to normal, or would be so well-endowed that he would have a hard time with women. They wanted to continue to watch and monitor just to make sure.

It turns out I had an indirect inguinal hernia, most common among male infants. The main symptom is a visible bulge in the groin area, which back in that day and time, doctor’s thought would amount to an endowment issue. Unfortunately, it is far from the truth. I’m not quite sure if that had an adverse affect on my hormones or what made me feel hormonal at such a young age. Whatever the case may be, it followed me my whole life.

I had several mild experimentations with Erin, either of us being the instigator at any given moment. I felt comfortable with her and it was a way of being close. While her parents were getting drunk or stoned or her father was acting abusive, she and I were in her bedroom, having conversation and taking part in anatomy, because quite truthfully, we had no idea what anything was about. Our only certainty was having privates that were very different and my penis could grow and shrink. We both got a kick out of that.

***************

While living in Orlando, my dad worked at Disney as a musician. He was a trumpet player in their live bands (back when Disney used live bands to create the powerful moments of each event or show). My dad was also into bodybuilding and had a fond respect for Ah-nold Schwarzenegger. He worked out often and played his trumpet. I also had a baby brother four years younger than me.

I loved my early childhood in Orlando. I was five years old, had two wonderful girl friends living on my block and was