Addiction What It Was Like Conviction What Happened Redemption What It Is Like Now (A True Story)

By James Hendrickson

Dear reader: In this riveting true story, you will be amazed at the devastation, dysfunction, addiction, and finally, success in the life of the author! He has reinvented himself several times in his seventy-five years on this earth. Living his first four years in a city near Trenton, New Jersey, he moved to a small tenant house on a farm in New Egypt, New Jersey, where the dysfunction began. He lived there with his parents and siblings—always feeling poor, hungry, and abandoned! When he was ten years old, he began doing anything he wanted to do and became a juvenile delinquent.His father passed away when he was twelve, and his mother moved the family to Bordentown, New Jersey, where he felt lost and alone. To ease the pain, he began drinking and hanging out with older teenagers because it made him feel older. He was restless most of the time and began to look for adventure in the wrong ways. Drinking was not an adventure anymore, but stealing cars was! Three court appearances later, he had to reinvent himself for the first time.Now fifteen years old, it was time for another reinvention. He thought he would settle down and change his ways if he had a girlfriend. The first girlfriend didn't work, and girlfriends became another addiction over a period of three years. Alcohol and women weren't working either. The early dysfunction was still there!The chaos went on for nine more years before the redemption started; all those in recovery know what the chaos is, but the author lets you know how it works after redemption.Forty-eight years sober, with twenty-five as a licensed addiction counselor, his story will amaze you with hope and inspiration.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662402210

Book preview

Chapter 1

My Story—Early Childhood

I was born in Trenton, New Jersey on April 3, 1945. I was the third son of Ellis (Pete) and Margaret Hendrickson. I was named James Edward Hendrickson after my uncle Jim.

My father was a quiet, pleasant small-framed man. He had black hair that was graying on the sides and a winning smile on his face most of the time. My heart warmed whenever I think of him and his loving nature. I didn’t know until I had my own sons that my father taught me how to love them by the way he had loved me. He was an only child and spent most of his childhood working on a farm. He indicated that his father also worked on a farm. I never met my paternal grandparents, but he said they were good people.

My mother was kind and loving; she had a small build and beautiful black curly hair. She told me she and her older sister were given up for adoption and placed in an orphanage when they were very young. I was not sure how old they were at the time. Mother had a lot of hard times in her life; she indicated she had been abused quite often as a child. She didn’t go into details, but I could just imagine what she must have had to deal with. Many times, she would take whatever abuse she had to so her older sister wouldn’t have to. She didn’t smile a lot, but when she did, it was usually because of my childish antics.

We lived at 15 West Street, Bordentown, New Jersey—the house I was born in and moved from when I was four years old. We moved back to that house after my father passed away in 1958. It was a typical two-bedroom, with two stories, a row house with a small yard in the rear. The house was nice but small. The two bedrooms upstairs were small, and there never seemed to be enough room for my brother and me. The first floor consisted of a small living room and kitchen; there was a small bathroom just off the kitchen. I thought this was the best room in the house because it had a shower and sink in it; something we didn’t have in our outhouses!

My mother said that when I was a year old, I threw my bottle through the closed window into the alley between my house and our neighbor’s, breaking it into pieces. I was upset because the milk ran out, and I wanted more milk! When my mother saw the broken window and the bottle in the alley below the window, she said that it was my last bottle, which I didn’t understand at the time. From then on, she made-up a pacifier, consisting of a nipple with cotton in it. The cotton was to keep me from chewing up the nipples! I wanted what I wanted when I wanted it. Even at that young age, I was stubborn! If I saw something that I wanted, nothing else mattered. At the age of two, my mother had to take me to the emergency ward to have my stomach pumped out. I drank kerosene that had been left in a glass jug, in the hall where I found it. I thought it was water! I was lucky my mother knew I had drank the kerosene because I left the cap on the floor next to the bottle and also spilled some on myself.

We lived in Bordentown until I was four years old, then we moved to Prospertown, a very small town near New Egypt, New Jersey, the town was about a half mile square with about six or seven houses. The house we moved to was a big house with brown boards on the outside.

The boards looked like rotten tree limbs. It was a two-story house that had lots of big windows in it, upstairs and downstairs. As soon as we settled in the house, I headed out to play in the yard. My older brother Dan had to go to school, so I went outside to find something to do while I waited for him to come home. I didn’t have to go to school because I was too young then. Dan was just a little taller than me and was a whole lot smarter. He had light-brown hair, blue eyes, and he was also heavier than me. I was just a skinny little kid with black hair and hazel-colored eyes. I smiled all the time, so my mother always said I was looking for trouble. I didn’t know why she always said that, and I didn’t ask.

One day, while waiting for Dan to come home from school, I went outside looking for something to do.

I found an old belt on the ground near the back door and picked it up. Then I spied the kerosene drum and thought it would be a good idea to bang the belt buckle against the kerosene drum and make believe it was a real drum. It made a lot of noise, and I loved it because I was having so much fun.

James—that is what she called me when she was angry with me—stop making so much noise! my mother yelled at me from across the yard where she was hanging clothes on the clothesline. I hit the drum one last time, and the buckle bounced back at me and hit me in the eye.

Ouch! I screamed and ran into the house.

That’s when my mother yelled at me again, following me into the house. I told you to stop it. Now see what you have done. You’ve cut your eyebrow open. She got a washcloth to wash the blood off my face and cleaned out the cut. She put a Band-Aid on it and told me, Go outside and play. You’ll be all right for now.

What did she mean by that I thought? Once I was outside again, I realized I had to go pee real bad! The outhouse seemed like it was a mile away. I ran as fast as I could so I wouldn’t pee myself before I got there! In no time, I was reaching for the door handle to get inside. I made it with no problem and came dancing back out of the outhouse with a big smile on my face.

Suddenly I felt pain in my head and reached for the spot where the Band-Aid was. That is when it occurred to me that I was going to be in trouble again. What would my dad say? That day, my dad got home early for some reason. I ran to him when I saw him heading for the door. I was worried about what he was going to say, so I hurried to stop him before he got in the house to ask my mother. I proudly showed him my Band-Aid, so he would think I was okay.

What happened? he asked as he opened the door.

That is when my mother said, See what your son has done to his eye?

Is it serious? Dad asked.

No, my mother and I said at the same time.

My mother told him the whole story about the drum and the belt.

He just said, Kids will be kids, and dropped the subject. I was so relieved that I felt like jumping for joy, but I didn’t let them know it. Just about that time, the school bus stopped in front of the house.

Dan came jumping down the steps, glad to be home. The first thing Dan said was What happened to you? Are you in trouble again?

I was so glad to see him I had forgotten all about the cut on my eyebrow. I told him what I’d done and explained to him that mother would holler if I took the Band-Aid off.

After supper, my mother cleared the table and put a pan of water on the stove to heat, so she could wash the dishes. Dan, my dad, and I went into the front room. As always, Daddy sat in his big rocking chair and smoked a cigarette. I watched him put the ashes in a tall ashtray standing on the floor next to his chair. Dan was sitting on the bottom step of the stairs that went up to our bedroom, reading a school book. I kept watching my dad, waiting. Finally he stopped smoking and motioned for me to sit down next to him; this was the fun part. He started to rock back and forth, back and forth, very slowly at first, then, faster and faster. I started laughing.

He knew this was what I was waiting for. We were rocking further and further back, and I was laughing louder and louder. Mother had yelled at us for doing this before, but we kept doing it just the same. We were having so much fun we didn’t hear Mother telling Dad to stop because he was going to break the chair. We went all the way over backward and landed on the floor. It wasn’t till we got up from the floor that we heard her yelling. My dad just stared at my mother, and I could tell he was trying not to laugh about it. He then tried to explain to her that we were just having fun. When that didn’t work, he just said, Just look, the chair isn’t broken.

Her reply was Just stop it. I have to get the kids ready for bed anyway.

I was sad, but it was okay because I still got to sit in the chair with Daddy for a while longer.

We started rocking again, slowly this time. Then Dan came over and said, I want to rock too. Dan climbed in the chair on the other side of our dad. Dad started to rock, a little slow at first and then faster and faster. Dan and I just looked at each other and wondered if Daddy would do it again. My mother was not looking when, all of a sudden, we went over backward a second time.

My mother said that was the end of that kind of behavior. Dan became very quiet and hid behind the chair like he wasn’t involved. My dad didn’t look too happy anymore, and he got up to go outside. I didn’t know what he was going out for, but I would find out later that month. I just sat there, still laughing and watching that half smile I always seemed to see on my mother’s face when I did something ornery.

My brother and I got back in the chair and started rocking again; our feet could barely touch the floor, so we started leaning forward and backward to keep the chair rocking. As you might think, the chair went over again, and we were in trouble. This time, I could tell my mother was very angry with us, and she wasn’t smiling. Today, I understand that she must have been awfully frustrated with all of us then.

Bedtime! mother yelled.

We had to go to bed at seven thirty most nights, and we were already late for bed. My mother hurriedly got us ready for bed and called Daddy in to say good night to us.

It’s your fault we’re in bed, Dan said, as we lay there, worn-out from all the hard playing. But I didn’t listen to him. As I was drifting off to sleep, I heard my mother, saying, See what you have taught the boys? Now they will be rocking like that all the time.

Maybe we will, I thought. I fell asleep thinking about it. If you were having that much fun, I bet you would want to do it again too.

The next morning, when I woke to the smell of bacon cooking, I hurried to get out of bed and beat Dan downstairs for breakfast.

Keep your britches on, son, my mother said, which I knew meant Slow down and wait till your dad has had his breakfast and leaves for work.

I heard Dan coming down the stairs. I saw him standing on the bottom step, looking tired and unhappy.

I wondered, Why can’t Dan stay home and play with me That’s why I get into trouble all the time. I have no one to play with.

Daddy ruffled my hair and Dan’s too, and I felt so loved. I didn’t know that it was love, but it sure felt good.

Oh boy, I thought, it is time for breakfast.

Me first, I said, then ran to the basin, quickly washed my face and hands, and rushed to the table.

I beat you, I said to Dan as I sat down. Dan gave me a look as though he couldn’t care less.

Hurry up, or you won’t have time to eat before the bus comes, Mother told him.

We ate the bacon, eggs, and potatoes with a slice of burned toast. I didn’t like burned toast, but I ate it anyway.

Mother always said, You’ll eat what you get.

And we always did. We washed our breakfast down with a quick glass of milk. Then I heard the bus coming, and I watched Dan hurry out the front door, smiling.

Maybe he does like school, I thought, wondering what could be so good about it. I felt proud of him because he was my big brother and I wanted to be like him.

My mother handed me a coloring book and some crayons to play with while she cleaned up the kitchen. I wondered why she seemed angry. I knew I’d better not say anything, or she might really get angry with me. I always had a problem deciphering if she was depressed or angry, so I stayed quiet. My mother also stayed quiet and busy doing her work, and her mood slowly changed. If my mother does get angry, she usually does a lot of housework and then calms down. That day, I didn’t think she really was angry. I believed she was just frustrated at those times.

That day was baking day, and I hoped we would do something that was fun like we always did on baking day. I used to help with the baking, and my mother was happy when I wanted to help her. She always made bread and cinnamon sticks when she had the ingredients that she needed to make them. Sometimes she even made apple pies. That was my favorite kind. I fell asleep on my coloring book while I was waiting to find out what Mother was going to do.

All of a sudden, she woke me up and said, Get your coat. We have to go over to the Grants’ house and borrow some sugar.

We were out of sugar again,