Spiteful Skies: The story of a childhood spent in the shadow of alcoholism

By Shawn Zupa

As a child, Zupa encountered starvation, alcoholism, and mental and physical abuse. All the while, he fended for himself and took care of his mentally disabled older brother. Zupa's searing, heartfelt memoir shows that you can overcome anything you put your mind to. The story also enables conversations between parents, caregivers, as well as children themselves, to engage with child abuse and find new ways to address it.

This emotional retelling depicts the reality of child abuse, but it also offers hope. Zupa recounts his childhood pain so that others might recognize it and help those in need.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 1, 1900
• ISBN: 9781098321789

Book preview

One

The Fridge Is Empty

E mpty, Patrick said to himself, staring into the refrigerator.

The McDonalds commercial came on again; they seemed to run every few minutes during cartoons. Patrick ran to the fridge. Perhaps there would be food in it this time. There was a half bottle of ketchup, a jar of pickles, a two-liter of ginger ale for his mother’s mixed drinks—that was out of bounds—a box of baking soda, and an almost empty jar of mayonnaise. The freezer had two full ice cube trays. Nothing else. The kitchen cupboards had tea bags, old paper plates, and various jars with nothing in them.

Still nothing to eat.

He went back to the dining room to sit and watch TV with George.

When’s Mom coming home? George asked.

I don’t know, stop asking, Patrick snapped back.

Did she say anything to you before she left?

Not much. She made her ice cubes, put her bottle in her bag, and made sure she had her cigarettes. Al came and put some of his beer in the fridge then they left.

I miss Pop Pop.

I miss him too, Patrick said. We would be eating right now if he was here.

Mom just forgot to get food before she left, George said.

Yeah, I guess she forgot again.

Patrick looked at the calendar again. It was Wednesday, January 5th; Mom had left early Monday morning, the 3rd. She’d left a note that she was with Al on one of his deliveries. She didn’t say when she was coming back.

What were they supposed to eat?

Mom left us five dollars, George said.

I used that for hotdogs and fries from Pete’s Monday night, remember? Patrick said.

Well the bread and crackers are gone, just pickles now, George said.

So that’s where the food was going. Stay out of the fridge for now, George, he said, I’ll let you know when it’s time to eat.

It was getting dark and they had waited long enough. Patrick took out four pickles from the fridge and divided them equally.

Do you want ketchup on your pickle? Patrick asked.

Eww, that’s gross! George said.

I’m just trying to help. Patrick said. He put a little ketchup on the pickle and decided George was right.

Try to chew it a lot before swallowing, Patrick said.

George wasn’t following. Why? What else are we going to eat? I’m still gonna be hungry.

This is it; we have three pickles left after this and I don’t know when we will be eating again.

Thursday morning they woke up hungry. George went downstairs into the dining room and turned on the small black and white television.

I guess we’re not going to school again? George asked.

Nope, guess not, Patrick said. No one is here to wake us up.

Yeah, but you could set the alarm clock. I don’t know how.

I don’t even wanna go to school, do you? Patrick asked.

No, it’s boring, George said.

And everyone made fun of them. But getting some lunch would have been nice.

Come watch TV with me!

No thanks, I’m gonna go to the attic and check some things out, Patrick said.

Oh, you’re NOT supposed to go up there! George said.

Are you going to tell on me?

Patrick went into the double-parlor living room then headed up the front staircase. At the top of the stairs, he made a right to go down the second hallway, then up to the attic.

Al had built a six-foot-long bar in the front room of the attic with a nineteen-inch color TV at the end and sofa in front of the bar with an end table at each side and a coffee table for their drinks. The back room had only a bed and a bucket for them to use when they had to go to the bathroom, so they never had to leave. Al had installed locks on the inside of the door at the bottom of the attic stairs for privacy.

He wasn’t supposed to be up here. But he had a good reason. They gotta eat something up here. He rummaged around. Nothing. And no clue when they were coming back either.

He looked at the big television set on the bar. No more food commercials.

Since Patrick had found nothing of use, he left the makeshift bar. He went down to the second floor and sat in Pop Pop’s old bedroom, staring at a picture of his grandfather. He missed him; it was only a couple of weeks ago since he died. Who was going to take care of them now?

Mom and Al would be home any minute. They must be. Leaning against the window, he listened out for the sound of the truck, bringing them back, with some food.

The alley was still empty.

Maybe they would bring McDonalds.

Chapter Two

Bye Bye Pop Pop

Patrick had turned nine just two months ago in October. George was ten with a birthday coming in April but he was a little slower than other children. The three of them—Patrick, George, and Mom—had lived in a house at the seven hundred block of Broadway in South Bethlehem Pennsylvania with a man they called Pop Pop.

His name was Jay Walsh. The boys never knew if they were actually related to him, but he was their grandfather as far as they were concerned. Jay was the boys’ caretaker and the sole provider, a retiree from Bethlehem Steel with a steady pension and a house that he owned free and clear. He was the one that would shield the boys from their mother when she came home drunk looking for a fight.

Do you have any idea what time it is? Pop Pop was saying. Patrick was listening at the top of the stairs.

You’re not my dad! Mom yelled back.

No, but you are acting like a child, why must I be the only adult in this house? Pop Pop said.

George sat down behind Patrick and rubbed his eyes. Is Pop Pop yelling at Mom again?

Yep, Pop Pop’s real mad this time, said Patrick.

They could hear Pop Pop working through one of his coughing spells before he started up again. You spend all night out drinking with a married man then sit at home all day in practically the same spot waiting for him to come back like some damn dog!

Patrick could imagine his mom rolling her eyes while she staggered around the kitchen looking for her alcohol. I’m a grown woman, what I do is none of your business.

You’re an alcoholic with no job who seems to be content living on welfare and food stamps. Pop Pop said. If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t even have a roof over your head.

Yeah yeah, never heard that one before, all hail King Jay!

Pop Pop’s a king? George asked.

No, said Patrick.

Why is Mom talking funny? George asked.

Because she was out doing grown up stuff with Al, and when they drink all those drinks they get weird, Patrick said. SSHHH! I’m trying to listen.

Keep running your mouth, but you have two little boys upstairs that need their mother, Jay said, his voice starting to weaken. I’m not gonna be around forever to look after them and you got no one else.

I got my Cookie, my Al, whether you like it or not.

Al? Hah! Jay said, He’s at home in bed with his wife right now, you got nothing! You got no job, no ambition, no plan or future or anything! All you got in this world right now is me and those boys upstairs, and one day you won’t even have— Pop Pop paused.

Why did they stop? George asked.

Quick, back to our rooms, I think he knows, Patrick whispered as they tip-toed down the hall.

The second floor of the house had three bedrooms, at the top of the living room stairs to the right was Pop Pop’s, then to the right down the hall was George’s. At the end of the hall was Patrick’s room before making another right to go up to the attic. The boys would go into Pop Pop’s room where he would read them a bedtime story before going to bed. Pop Pop had installed this routine in an effort to get George to sleep before his mother got home, so he would no longer have to explain to George why she was talking funny, tripping over furniture, or sometimes getting his name wrong. Sometimes after arguing with Mom he would go back up to check on them. Pop Pop stopped in George’s room first.

You asleep Georgie? Pop Pop quietly asked.

Nah, were you yelling at Mommy again? George asked.

Patrick opened the door that connected the boys’ rooms and stuck his head in. Yeah, I heard yelling too, what’s going on?

Sorry about that guys, Pop Pop said. Sometimes grown-ups get worked up and shout when they both think they are right about something.

Is everything gonna be okay? George asked.

Sure buddy, grown-ups argue all the time, Pop Pop said.

Are we gonna have to move? Patrick asked.

What? Of course not, this is your home. It will be even after… well… this will always be your home, he said as he got them back into their beds.

It was three weeks before Christmas; Mom had left for the week with Al on delivery and Pop Pop wasn’t feeling good. He was sitting at the doorway between their bedrooms.

Don’t ever smoke boys, this is what it does to you, Pop Pop said. What story will it be tonight?

Goldilocks and the three bears! Patrick said.

I like all of them Pop Pop George said, already yawning.

Pop Pop began reading the story, never getting too far as the boys were usually tired before the story began. George always fell asleep first.

Man, this kid can snore! Pop Pop said one night. Patrick could tell he wanted to talk a little. Your mom will be back late, I guess.

She’s gonna stay here, right? Patrick said. I mean, if you have to go to the hospital, she’ll take us to see you and stay with us at night, right?

Yes, Half-pint, of course! Someone has to, right? Pop Pop replied. You three will only have each other if something happens to me and you’re too young to be left alone. I just have her spoiled right now, that’s all. Pop Pop broke off to cough and fiddle with the knob on top of his oxygen tank. Never smoke cigarettes; this is what it does to you.

The tubes in Pop Pop’s nose looked weird. Does that tank thing help you? Patrick asked.

Eh, a little. Pop Pop said.

I’m gonna go to bed, I’m tired.

Me too Half-pint. Pop Pop said. I’m real tired.

Eavesdropping became a habit. Pop Pop kept laying into Mom like there was some kind of urgency.

Looking for any jobs today Mom? Pop Pop said seconds after Mom got in the house.

No, did you? Mom answered back.

Cut the shit Marie, I’m sixty-seven-years-old and retired from the steel company. I’m sick as hell and trying to figure out how you are going to keep this house once I’m gone, Pop Pop said.

Patrick started to fight the tears as he sat at the top of the stairs.

Pop Pop was still sick and Mom wasn’t being a mom. He just wanted Pop Pop. What if he didn’t get better?

When Al leaves his wife for me and moves in, he’s gonna fix this place up and you are gonna feel real stupid! Mom said.

They’ve been married for over fifteen years; the guy is having his cake and eating it too, ya moron! Jay said.

Pop Pop was right. And anyway, Patrick didn’t want Al for a dad. He didn’t like Mom or Al. He just wanted Pop Pop.

It was a week before Christmas; the boys were in the bathroom getting ready for bed as Jay started setting up his chair and oxygen tank in the bedroom.

EEWWW, the potty is all red! George squealed, pointing at the toilet.

Did you do that? Patrick asked. Bright red smears covered the sides of the bowl.

I don’t pee red! George said. The boys ran into the bedroom to tell Pop Pop.

Oh, I forgot to flush I guess Jay said.

What is it? Why do you pee red? Patrick asked.

Because I’m sick; because I smoked cigarettes for fifty years. Remember what I said about not smoking, right? Pop Pop asked. Both boys nodded. Okay enough gross boring stuff! It’s storytime.

Patrick pulled up the cover and waited for Pop Pop to start. He seemed to be having a hard time catching his breath.

And this porridge is too cold... Pop Pop said a few times, coughing so much in between he had forgotten which sentence he previously read.

You said that part already! A sleepy and disappointed George yawned out loud.

George! Really? Patrick said, his eyes wide open and upset.

"It‘s