Rusty Baker,

I can dive into the history of my mind and remember several times where it felt good to be around you. I distinctly remember playing the video games we rented from Village Video and Reel to Real with you. We started out playing on the Nintendo, then the Super Nintendo, and finally the Nintendo 64. I remember when you and Mom first got together, the three of us would sit down in the living room and play Monopoly on the Nintendo. I don’t remember how old I was and I must not have understood what an auction was, but it was a fun time. It felt like I was part of a family to be sitting on the floor of the apartment at River St. playing and having a good old time. You and I also had lots of fun playing NFL Blitz, and had a hell of a time playing WWF Royal Rumble, laughing and joking.

I can remember, too, all of the times you would go and visit Lou and some other guy at the comic book store in Springfield. I, again, don’t remember my age but I remember you and he having conversations for what seemed like hours and I would happily browse the comic book store. All the while I’d poke around the store and look at the pictures on the comic books, admiring the shiny foiled covers of the special edition comics. This lasted for several years; and with every visit you’d buy me a comic book, or some racing cards, or a model depending on my interests at the time. It was a lot of fun and I looked forward to it, always eager to know when the next visit to the comic book store would come and always thrilled when it did. I don’t know when the visits started, but you bought me a set of Trax racing trading cards from 1991 a few years later. I also remember the comic book clerk trying to sell you the very first set of magic the gathering cards (I think this was 1995).

Somehow and somewhere along the line, this was lost. We stopped going to the comic book store together. I don’t know why, but I remember asking for a few times after that when we would go back again and we never did. I think this might have been around the same time that you got a job at the bowling alley and quit Grandma Frisby’s. This was, miraculously, also the same time we stopped eating crab legs. You started working at your Father’s on cars (supposedly) and seemed to have less time to see me and Mom. This seemed to be when the breakdown started happening. The reason? I am unsure.

When you worked at the bowling alley, you would sometimes let me come bowl. I enjoyed that so much. You actually let me use your ball and gave me a wrist guard and taught me how to do a proper four step approach. I still try to use it today, as it was what seemed to work best for me. Looking back, this reminds me of a baseball fanatic dad trying to teach his son to catch. I also would sometimes bowl with you and your friends and sit in the bar and talk with all of you. This was a lot of fun, and I always managed to learn something from the conversations. I even remember the one time you let me use your red ball. I bowled so many games that might, and ACTUALLY bowled a 234, though none of you believed me. That remains to be my highest score.

While I recall all of these good memories, I can’t help but remember some bad ones as well. There was one Christmas when I was very young (5 or 6 maybe) where you or Mom gave me a box of comic books. I Remember opening the gift, and realizing what it was. I don’t know why it was at that point, but you decided it necessary to rip the skin off of my blister on which I had a washcloth to keep it ’safe.’ I don’t know why you ever would do this to someone so young, especially on Christmas day and especially when the blister was a result of burning my thumb on something while helping you and Mom with a family dinner on Christmas eve.

I can remember the time when you and mom stopped at The Subway in Springfield on your way home from bowling or some other event. You ordered a pizza, and I really wanted a piece of it. I remember that I kept asking and asking (which I am sure was a big annoyance) and you and mom saying no. I remember asking why not and you kept saying because you can’t. The next day, there were some left over slices which you forced me to eat for lunch. I was excited until I realized that the pizza had mushrooms on it. All you had to do that night was tell me that the pizza had mushrooms and I would have kept quiet. Instead, you punished me the next day by making me eat the pizza. Little did you know, I enjoyed the pizza. When you weren’t looking, I took the mushrooms off the pizza and stuffed them into the crust. Then, once I had finished the slice, I threw the crust behind the couch.

A similar instance occurred with Honey Combs Cereal. I wanted something to eat for breakfast. I don’t know if it was due to a lack of money or other reasons, but there wasn’t much to eat in the house. I kept asking you (again I am sure quite annoying) for something to eat, and you finally fed me the cereal. Honey Combs was not my favorite cereal, especially stale. Despite my complaints about the cereal being stale, you forced me to eat it. When I couldn’t finish it because it was soggy and I was practically throwing up, you saved it in the fridge for later. It was even still in there when Mom came home; imagine now how she must have felt to know what had happened.

I can remember numerous times where you would come home from the bowling alley and go into the computer room and play Heroes of Might and Magic. You would typically enjoy a beer or four with this. I would occasionally watch as you attempted to explain to me how the game was played. This game could make you very upset sometimes, though, and I feel like you took it out on me. I remember specifically one night where I was talking with my girlfriend on the phone. It wasn’t a school night, and it was only about 11PM. I distinctly remember you asking me to get off the phone. I wanted to continue talking so I asked why you wanted me to get off the phone. You told me “because I said so.” I continued talking still, and the inevitable happened.

Angrily, you pulled the bookcase from the wall, causing the jar of pennies on top of it to fall to the floor. Coins spilled everywhere and a few books fell out of the bookcase. You then ripped the phone cord out of the wall and said something like “There! That’ll fucking teach you to listen to me.” Amazed and horrified at what I had just seen, I ran to the door and grabbed the keys to the 1989 Firebird, which was not registered nor inspected. I sprinted to the car and flung open the door with you close behind. I got the car started and was in the process of closing the door all at once when you came to the door and prevented me from closing it. You kept shouting “Shut the fucking car off. Don’t you fucking go anywhere!” “Let go or I’m dragging you I yelled!”

You persisted, as did I. I put the car in reverse and stepped on the gas. Genuinely concerned for your safety, I looked down and saw your feet being pulled under the door. I’m sure that was very painful, and for that I’m sorry. You finally let go of the car and sort of jumped away from it. I continued backing onto the street and drove to my grandparents house.

I guess that’s enough stories; I just want to say this. While you didn’t maintain contact with me (why would you, you loved football and wouldn’t even watch my games), I hope that your ‘new’ family gets to see the person you used to be. Maybe all of that was just an act? Maybe all of the bad things were just an act because you weren’t happy with the relationship?

I, for your new family, hope the later is true. I hope you hit and kicked me and called me names just because you didn’t want anything to do with my mother anymore. I hope all of the times that you made fun of me with your friends were just so you could ‘make yourself feel good’ for them. I hope all of that stuff was fake and that you’re an honest and caring person as you once were, but unfortunately i think the opposite is true. I think that YOU are a worthless piece of shit, not me.