Happy Endings and a New Beginning

By Michael Black

Aspiring to share his passion for life through writing and public speaking, Michael reveals intimate details of his lifelong jour¬ney through the pages of his tell-some book, "Happy Endings and a New Beginning." Michael was born in Southern California and grew up with a lot of family around him. At eight years of age, his family moved to Northern California to a small town a couple of hours from the Oregon border. He lived there with his mother, brother and new stepdad in a small town with small town values. Unfortunately, those small town values did not attach them¬selves to every person that Michael encountered. As such, Michael now speaks openly of the many years he endured sexual abuse by several different pedophiles, along with his sexual orientation and the struggles that illuminated because of his choices. He struggled to live two separate lives as he had been raised in a home and church where homosexuality was looked down upon, yet he tried to live his own truth. In order to cope with the mass confusion festering in his young mind, Michael casually began using street drugs, which led him to a fourteen-year affair with those same drugs and so much more. It darkened his life path. At age 33, Michael's high-life party¬ing came to an abrupt end, leaving him hospitalized and sober. He began looking to his Higher Power to sort out his life that was in a state of ruin. Now, years later, Michael shares his personal journey of mayhem over the years, how he met and fell in love with his wife and gives each one of us hope for a better tomorrow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: May 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781644714614

Book preview

Introduction

Aspiring to share his passion for life through writing and public speaking, Michael Black reveals intimate details of his lifelong journey through the pages of his tell-all book, Happy Endings and a New Beginning. Michael was born in Southern California and grew up with a lot of family around him. At eight years of age, his family moved to Northern California to a small town a couple of hours from the Oregon border. He lived there with his mother, brother and new step-dad in a small town with small town values.

Unfortunately, those small town values did not attach themselves to every person that Michael encountered. As such, Michael now speaks openly of the many years he endured sexual abuse by several different pedophiles, along with his sexual orientation and the struggles that illuminated because of his choices. He struggled to live two separate lives as he had been raised in a home and church where homosexuality was looked down upon, yet he tried to live his own truth. In order to cope with the mass confusion festering in his young mind, Michael casually began using street drugs, which led him to a fourteen-year affair with those same drugs and so much more. It darkened his life path. At age 33, Michael’s high-life partying came to an abrupt end, leaving him hospitalized and sober. He began looking to his Higher Power to sort out his life that was in a state of ruin. Now, years later, Michael shares his personal journey of mayhem over the years, how he met and fell in love with his wife and gives each one of us hope for a better tomorrow.

The Divorce

Following my mother and stepdad’s divorce in 1985, once again, my young life changed drastically. By that time, I had reached the age of majority—meaning, I was no longer a child and had only been paddling along as an adult for a couple of years. My stepdad, the only dad I ever really knew, gave into temptation and irreparably damaged my mother’s trust. His choices were selfish, and those choices affected our family for several years to come. He walked away from the home my mother nurtured and destroyed the relationship the two built together. He severed his ties to our family and left town rather quickly. It’s my opinion he was embarrassed of his behavior, but I do not know that to be true. What I do know is he hurt and betrayed my mother, which, in turn, hurt me to the core. I watched and loved my mother through her pain as she tried to sort through the lies and betrayal. As I mull over my thoughts while writing this book, I have come to realize I never really felt a close bond with this man I called dad, so when he suffered a moral lapse in judgment, it wasn’t difficult for me. I mean I do not recall suffering a great loss when he walked away. My sadness and hurt was for my mother. It was almost as though he was there one day and gone the next, yet oddly enough, it took me years to see his walking away had nothing to do with me. I also had the impression it was not difficult in the least for him to walk away. I have only a few memories of signs of affection through the years between my mother and stepdad. My brother and he seemed to have a relatively easy relationship, but this is only from my perspective. As kids growing up, my brother would venture outside with our stepdad. The two worked on cars together. My stepdad was the mechanic in the family. I think it was more of a hobby he took on and inherited as the man of the house. Even still today, my brother has never been afraid to get his hands dirty. Me? I was a little more sissified and did not like dirt and grime under my fingernails, but when it came to domestic duties, I was your guy.

When troubles happen as they sometimes do, it is common for children to think everything is their fault. I was no different in that area. It took years for me to figure out that when my stepdad and my mother separated, he did not walk out on me. Instead, his marriage of eleven years to my mother did not survive. This is an important concept for children to understand. Unfortunately, marriages fail, no matter whose fault it is. But one thing it is not is—the child’s fault. Thinking back, I was proud of my stepdad. He was kind and manly, and to my way of thinking things through, he set good examples for us boys. Through my eyes, I thought he allowed Christ to shine through him…that is, until the affair and the aftereffects.

I may have already become resentful and closed off toward men in general which developed from 1969 until about 1983, the year in which I graduated high school and moved away from home. It was during my early childhood years, through adolescence, and into puberty, I encountered and fell victim to sexual abuse. The divorce was just another blow to my psyche, which caused additional feelings of instability and turbulence again in my life. As I reflect back in time now, I am certain I consumed another dose of bitterness over their breakup. But due to my young mind, I am uncertain I recognized the pain I was feeling as bitterness toward men or if I saw it as a lack of love from a father figure. My own biological father decided not to have any type of relationship with me, and my stepdad did the same. The sexual abuse, along with the added interference of my stepdad’s departure, could have been the origin of many future defective relationships that deeply affected my life.

I now identified myself as being fatherless, and I began recognizing my mother on Father’s Day, a tradition I enjoy doing to this day. After all, it was she who was not only my mother, and a great one I might add, but also filled the void of a father that I needed at the time. She played sports with me as a kid and became the handy person around the house, which is, sadly enough, how I characterized a father. I guess I never really knew what it was like to feel the love of a father or a man for that matter. Men disappointed me, so I perceived them as either cheaters or ones who did not walk the talk, you know, do what they say or promise. Also, many men used me as their sexual object, and subsequently, I saw them in the same light… I guess any attention was better than none.

Three men were a part of my life during my childhood years, and each of those three men walked away from our family either due to their own indiscretions, or God only knows what other reason. I can see now how betrayal and mistrust crept into my life.

There were also three different men outside of our family unit that perpetrated sexual abuse. Who was their victim? Me. So I believe the sexual abuse I endured during adolescence from the latter three men outside our family unit added to years of uneasiness where men were concerned. The uneasiness I felt became a common unrest in my gut when I was around men. To this day, I still find it difficult carrying on a conversation with men and have felt a sense of being threatened by them. I often wonder if they are not who they appear to be, or is it that they want me sexually? The bigger question is why would I want them in a sexual sense?

It’s a strange thing I am continually trying to work through. Over the years, I have intentionally involved myself in small groups that include men only. I wanted to learn how to become comfortable in this area, but even still, my mind wanders to places I know it should not, and it seems as if I am continually asking God to forgive me for my impure thoughts. It’s a continuous cycle that keeps me diligent in prayer. As I pray the blood of Jesus Christ over my thoughts, I can see where those thoughts have diminished over time. This is a good thing as I know God should always be the center focus of my heart and thoughts. This slow decrease in impure thoughts is a small victory, but one I know is a work in progress. In all honesty, I do not know if I will ever completely overcome them. I am, after all, human.

Like I mentioned before, for years I have recognized my mother on Father’s day, and that will never stop. I let her know she is the best dad I could ever have. Is that the truth? No, I would love to have had that man in my life that did not break my trust and one that loved me unconditionally. Today, I can say I am thankful for a strong mother. She was a single mother throughout different stages of my life, both as a child and a grown adult. I know there is no manual on how to raise a child. But I believe my mother has loved me the best she knew how, and she did the best she could while raising two opposite-spectrum boys without fathers.

Unconditional Love

Unconditional love means to love without any stipulation. It is a love with no demands, no limits, and no requirements. There is no thought of reciprocation. It is never affected by reality or any other behavior. It is free of judgment, contract, and expectation. Although I can give of myself and show others love, I have struggled accepting love from others. Why? I don’t know. Perhaps I never felt this kind of love from a father. And then there have been times when I have struggled with feeling unconditional love from my own mother. Over the years, I have wrestled with feelings of inadequacy, feeling as though I do not measure up or that I am not good enough. Please know, I do not mean this to be disrespectful to my mother; it’s just the truth about how I feel. I haven’t always felt accepted by my mom. I felt she always wanted to change me and that I wasn’t good enough the way I was. I have felt she didn’t really like the real me and that she would have been happier with a different son than me. I have since learned sometimes discipline is love; and just because a parent is hard on you, or me in this instance, doesn’t mean my mother doesn’t love me, much the way my heavenly Father never gives up on me. Who knows, maybe my definition of absolute love is skewed?

What I am trying to convey may best be explained by example: Several years ago, a friend of mine and I were at a race cart and video arcade. She whooped my behind in a game of air hockey that day. As we were watching the carts race, I noticed a father and son having what seemed like a great visit together. The scene stopped me in my tracks and left a lump in my throat, something that often happens when I see loving interactions between a father and his son. It was as though I had an epiphany, and I turned to my friend to express it.

You know, I said, I have always told people I never really had a dad. The fact of the matter is that may not be entirely true. Regardless of how bitter I became over the infidelity, my stepdad taught me good manners; and as the years have gone on, and I have grown older, I have come to understand that everything, and I do mean everything, happens for a reason. My story is living proof of that.

My friend remained quiet as she listened without interruption while I conveyed my thoughts. For me, I continued, "to tell people I have been without a father isn’t accurate, because I always have a heavenly Father who has been with me since before I was born. He loves me unconditionally, even during those times when I knew I was doing ugly, inconceivable acts. He was with me all along." So every day I thank my Father for loving me, and still on Father’s day, I acknowledge my mother. In fact, it has become kind of a running joke now, but it’s also a time for me to show once again my appreciation and love for my mother. It’s also yet another day to pour out my gratefulness to my heavenly Father for His complete and unwavering love for me.

In recent years, I have begun restoration of my relationship with my stepdad. Since that time, I have told him of my appreciation for his taking on the role of stepdad and providing for our family, and even though we never really bonded, it is never too late. Our relationship is still in the process of being redefined. I have acknowledged my stepdad for his birthday and have found it is easier to forgive him than to hold onto any resentment where his indiscretions were concerned. I really have no idea what the private conflict my parents shared with one another or why he strayed and walked away. God only knows the indiscretions and poor choices I have made over the years. Who am I to throw a stone or walk around with a bitter heart?

But there have been those times when I have felt cheated not having a father of my own. I have wanted a man to emulate—a man who would be my dad—one who would cheer me on, lift me up, and encourage me. I missed out not having my own dad to learn from and pattern my life after. Do I feel like I needed a male presence growing up? Yes, I was raised by my mom and my grandma. I did not know how real men acted or reacted. Most of my interaction with males had been sexual in nature. I cannot say what a difference having a strong male role model would have made in my life, but I do believe I would have been different, if that makes any sense at all. And although the desire to have a father has been significant, the desire and craving to be a father has been just as great over the years. I have longed to be a father—to see my child running to me, holding hands in the air, reaching for me, to hear a voice call me daddy, to soothe tears and skinned knees. I would have loved to give my child my time and my best efforts in teaching kindness, perseverance, humility, and charity. I am good with children, and I would never hurt a child like I was hurt. I know my sexual experiences might be different than others, but in no way, shape, or form would I EVER touch a child inappropriately! What kind of sicko does that stuff to kids? I believe my children would be happy to have me as their father—a dad who valued his son or daughter. I would protect, nurture, and teach. I would love them unconditionally and try to give them the things I missed out on. Yes, I would be a helicopter parent, hovering over each stage of their life. But I would not walk away. Although my desire to have a father and be a father has been great over the years, I have a new understanding. My heart has come to the realization that God has a direction for all of our lives, yes, even my life, and this direction is often different than the path we may choose.

At age seven and a half, I received an enormous gift when my mom married Mr. Black. I inherited a grandma and grandpa. They were the parents of my stepdad. This is how the name of Black came down the line. When my mother and stepdad divorced in 1985, I made a choice to stay in contact with my grandparents. It would have been really easy to distance myself from the two. Both were in Southern California, and I was a mere six hundred miles north, just south of the Oregon border. My mother continued contact by mail with my grandparents by sending cards during the holidays, and she always acknowledged the two for their birthday. In a lot of cases, the relationship that step-grandchildren and step-grandparents share often vanishes when the common link is broken. In my case, it was a divorce that broke the link. Instead of giving up on my grandparents, I nourished the relationship with cards, letters, phone calls, and visits; and they reciprocated. I wanted my family. Yes, it would have been easier to simply let them go, but honestly, that is not how I roll. It is a choice. The effort I put into maintaining contact with my family was a good thing—it was a good choice. My grandpa was instrumental in the reuniting of me and my stepdad after not speaking for thirty years. Grandpa and I had a heart-to-heart talk several years back. It was the first time I had ever really felt a tie to my grandpa. I praised grandpa for his good heart and honest ways. I learned a lot from the man I call grandpa. In fact, today as I write, I recognize he is my only living grandparent. I don’t like to bring attention or give the word step a second thought. He is my grandpa.

A Functioning, Dysfunctional Family

I have tried living my life without regret, which hasn’t always worked. Of course, I have remorse for some of my failures just like any other person. But I am trying to let go of the disappointment and hurt of the parts of my life where I totally failed—where I blew it, and I try to chalk them up to life lessons learned. There are many decisions I made that have not worked. These decisions have caused a lot of heartache for not only me but to those around me and especially to the heart of my mother. My mistakes have not been easy for me to forgive nor overlook. The choices I have made over the course of my life have left a lasting impression. I am reminded daily of these choices.

We all face choices every day. I read on the Internet the average adult consciously makes thirty-five thousand choices a day and children make about three thousand a day. Unbelievable, isn’t it? When one is faced with two or more possibilities, a decision—a choice—must be made. Take milk for example—do you want nonfat, low fat, 1 percent or 2 percent, or do you want whole milk? That is a whole lot of choices to decide from just because you have a warm homemade chocolate chip cookie in your hand! Let’s see, should I get a haircut today or not, and how short should I get it? Do I feel like doing housework today, or should I take in a show? I wonder, a black shirt with white pants, or jeans and a tank top? You get the idea. Choices, choices, choices. I know over the course of my own life, I have made some good choices, and I’ve made some bad ones. The choices we make in life can make us or break us. As you read through the pages of this book, you will likely be able to identify the good choices and, most certainly, the bad choices that I made along the way. These choices have resulted in getting me to where I am today, and that is not a bad thing. However, it certainly has not been an easy road that I traveled, and that is really where my story begins—with choices.

Throughout my life, there have been those times when I have experienced an obsessive need for approval from my own mother. It cannot possibly be healthy to live for and want so much from another human being even if it is your mom. If I’m not mistaken, I think the name for it is codependency and is a word I am all too aware of. Codependency has been known to creep into my life. Following some intense self-examination and introspection, I have come to realize I am a people pleaser, and if I’m being honest, I think I have always known that of myself.

I believe I came from a functioning dysfunctional family, the man who should have been my role model, the one who had the responsibility to me did not want me; I must have been an inconvenience to him. It was yet another piece of baggage I stuffed down inside of me. At that time in my life, I didn’t know it would one day need to be dealt with again. No, instead each day I got up, put on a smile, and greeted the world; no one would know what things were festering inside.

Nowadays, we often hear the words—dysfunctional and codependent. I am all too familiar with both words as they have been known to sneak in and out of my life story. No matter how the dysfunctional family’s emotional development is revealed to those on the outside, family dynamics can become strained, reserved, and withdrawn. The person I am today is certainly not the person I was as a child, emotionally or spiritually. Dysfunctional families do not even want to acknowledge problems that exist, let alone speak of them. This was a major problem in my growth progression because I wouldn’t dare bring up my fears, failures, and abuse to my family members. It got to the point my family—like others in our shoes—did not have the ability to confront problems head-on, and due to our lack of communication, we learned to simply disregard our own needs altogether. We became survivors, and we created ways to develop behaviors to assist us with denial, ignorance, and avoidance of our own personal needs and complex emotion. Like an iceberg, we became cold and detached in some areas, and as such, we didn’t talk. I mean really talk to each other. Like others, we found it difficult to become intimate with the heart of another, and even though they are my family, I am always in protect mode. It is like this…if I am able to protect my heart, no one can get through the layers and hurt me anymore. But although I keep the layers of my analogical onion intact, I still have suffered from fear, anger, pain, and shame that is either ignored or denied and given no validity by some.

While I have not researched this subject, I think no matter your gender, sexual abuse is horrible; but the issues of men and women are different. I cannot speak to the needs of a woman, obviously, but I am convinced men’s issues are different and really complex. Men often remain quiet throughout their entire life regarding any and all kinds of abuse, but especially sexual abuse that occurred when they were a minor. They fear others will label them weak, perverted, but more importantly gay. So often, boys, and even men, begin to question their own sexuality. As earlier stated, there are questions that circle around in their minds which are much different in nature. Defending yourself regarding something you are not is difficult. Wait, no…defending yourself against something you are not is impossible. Not being able to figure out what you want and how this affects your future is really complicated to sort out. When this occurs, the male sexual being becomes disturbed and can result in underlying problems which include addictions to drugs and/or alcohol. Sexual relations with others versus a relationship with another person become hard to characterize, and the mind which deals with right and wrong gets cluttered. The male wonders where he fits in; and often finds himself dealing with physical, emotional, and sexual issues both as a boy and as a man. Could I have made different choices? Yes, would that have been beneficial to me? A hundred percent so. However, my choices have led to the end result…me.

In and out of a dysfunctional family relationship, codependency often appears. Codependency is an addiction, and it affects one’s capability to have a mutual healthy and satisfying meeting of the spirit and mind. The relationship can often be one-sided, emotionally destructive, and/or abusive. Codependency can affect every relationship in your life. In researching my tendency to be codependent, I found that originally when this buzz word came out, it was used to describe partners in chemical dependency and chronically or mentally ill individuals. But over the past few years, the meaning has expanded to describe any codependent person from any dysfunctional family; and that, my friend, once again, is me.

I can’t believe I am admitting this, but sometimes, I think the desire to make my mother happy is a priority. Though I do not blame my mother for the poor choices I have made (and there are many), I do believe the balance of knowing what is healthy in a relationship makes a big difference. My mother’s influence has a great impact on my life; however, the choices I made are MY choices and belong to no one else but me.

I have a fear that encompasses balanced and irrational thoughts where my mother is concerned. Most often, I feel inadequate in her eyes; and fear often teeters on the level of insanity. And even though I may have already had feelings of abandonment by the men, my mother chose to be in my life, I don’t know what I would do without having her in my life. I spent many years living with a clouded perception, and today as I write, I am able to see a little more clearly the dysfunction in our relationship. I am blessed my mother is still alive, and most would say a little more sane than I. My mother and I have an understanding just between us. We do not talk about feelings unless they coincide and are convictions of hers. Of course, this is only my opinion. I am certain it must have been difficult on her part to balance the relationship. At times, I can only imagine the frustration and anger that came from having a drug-addicted son. When I was younger, I allowed my mother to have control over my life. I guess this isn’t abnormal for most. I was a good kid who looked up to his mom. As an adult, there were times she scared me when we engaged in some pretty heated arguments, usually over my indiscretions, financial or otherwise. My mom is a strong woman, and I love her. I am definitely my mother’s son. Honestly, I don’t know if most adult children depend on their parent in such a way that they hope their parent will completely understand them. I mean, not only on a simple level but to a profound level of hearing, acknowledging, and responding in truth with love in their heart. I have always wanted my mother to get me, to understand me, to recognize and validate how I work and value how I feel. I want my parent to know that a harsh tone or a lack of understanding my position hurts me and can forever live within.

Every heart is so very fragile, and I think male children are often not allowed the same freedom to have a softened heart as their female counter parts. Boys need to have a tougher skin than girls. Of course, this is only my opinion, my sober non-clouded opinion. I think the truth is most parents lead by example in the way they were taught by their parent. They know they do not want to repeat similar behavior with their own children. Then exactly what they didn’t want, they find staring them in the eye. The truth is I have never been a parent, well, not that I have heard of, anyway. I do believe there can be a new awakening, a rebirth, which usually comes from a higher calling, a calling I refer to as God. As you will come to know, my mother’s mother, my grandma, and I were very close; and at times, we all lived under the same roof. I have watched and learned by their good behavior…and their bad. I WILL NOT repeat history in fighting with my parent, whether I am right or I am wrong. My mother is my mother—the only one I will ever have. We have had our differences—differences that usually revolve around my life choices. I think parents often believe they can dictate their child’s life, and there are some that feel it is their responsibility to ensure their child is making good choices, no matter what age. Her tone and her words have been known to damage my heart, but with the ever-loving grace of Christ my Lord, I am most always able to forgive by morning light.

Throughout biblical scripture, it is well-documented, you reap what you sow. I understand this concept is significant to God, and it should be important to me since He talks about it so often.