Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Special Treat – Peggy Ann Doak

September 12, 2007

My Family in Santa Cruz, California

Peggyann Doak

My son was born Gerod Darius Doak on March 1, 1981.  I know.  I was there.  He would not wait for my colostrum to download, but instead was sitting in the nurses hand like a little Buddah with a scowl.

 He and I grew up together.  His father would not acknowledge his son, and then he was killed at sea.  Served him right.  Slap me!

Our years together, Gerod’s and mine, were fraught with difficulties.  I was always looking to the day when I could be free of responsibilities, and Gerod was looking to the day when I would slow down and hold him.  Not that I didn't.  We had wonderful times.  But if I could go back I would cherish every nanosecond with that boy.  He also had the opportunity to live a life that few children did.  He got to spend time with famous people and hang with up and coming rock groups.  I also wanted him to feel that he had a voice and that he was important.  I would overspend my credit cards so he would have cool clothes for school, because I remembered what it was like to be teased.  He was in plays, watched plays, and even went through a period of loving opera. 

Music has always been the bottom line with him.  His music teacher at school said he had never met a youngster with such talent.  High school was a nightmare for him just as it was for me.  I don't like being told what to do and when.  Neither did he.  There is one story about him, well many, but this one bakes the cake as far as I am concerned.

The vice principal at his high school did not like Gerod.  In fact he made it a point to pick him out of a crowd to raze him.  I think it is because my son would not. could not, be controlled by less than honourable intentions. 

One day my son went to school wearing a whisk.  Yep, the tool for whipping egg whites.  I was and am a really distasteful cook, so he learned to cook himself at the age of eleven.  My mother would send him cooking utensils for Christmas.  So Gerod made a necklace out of a whisk that she had sent him.  His homeroom teacher told him to take it off. Gerod asked why.  The teacher said that Mr. vice principle did not want him wearing it.  "I just put it on."  "Go to the office."

Now isn't that an intelligent way to deal with a young boy?  Gerod went to the vice principal’s office who told him also to take the whisk necklace off.  When asked why, he explained that it was a dangerous weapon.  My son said, "This is a whisk! It beats up eggs!"  Mr. VP continued to harange Gerod about removing the dangerous necklace.  When there was no compliance, he then picked up the phone and said that he would have to call his mother.  So Gerod said, "OK."

 "There is not need to get my mother out of work and to come all the way here over this.  And you are right.  This is a dangerous weapon."   Now like most VP offices, it was a section of the main office made with flimsy particle board at best.  Not sound proof by any means.  The door was closed though.  As Gerod started to pass the whisk over, he suddenly drew back and began to beat himself about the head and shoulders, yelling, "Ow, Ow. Stop.  It hurts."   Of course the Vice Principle began to yell at Gerod to stop hitting himself, but whatever came out of his mouth added to the act that Gerod was indeed being beaten by the VP.  The ruckus lasted a couple of minutes and then Gerod stopped.  He waited a moment, and then passed the whisk.  "You are correct sir.   This is a very dangerous weapon.  I had no clue.  Thank you for enlightening me."

I do believe he was sent home that day.  And eventually he stopped going.  Probably around the age that I was when I stopped going to High School.

When adolescence hit, Gerod became a lot to handle.  I felt that he needed a man around.  He was six feet and there were times when I thought he was going to break the barrier between me and him as far as hitting.  He doesn't remember it like that.  I was also running out of money and had begun to slide into Post Traumatic Stress from my childhood and later on.  It had hit me full force three or four years before this point in time, and I never fully recovered.   I wanted to come back to Maine.  Though why I haven't a clue.  Gerod wanted to live with his friend Mike and their family which also had a dad and siblings.  My feelings were that they were a nice family and perhaps this would be the best idea.

 So he stayed.  I left.   I did not know, until I met my Daughter in Law and my Grandbabies, last year when a good friend paid my way to California, that Gerod had gone through a terrible time being separate from me and that he was grieving while I was there in California.  Though of course it came out the same as it did when he was a teen.  Angry. A lot of my stay there was extremely difficult, though Gerod did begin to get a hint as to why he was treating me poorly.  He still couldn't hear that his actions showed a different story.  But he acknowledged the pain. 

      It has been over a year now.  We play cribbage sometimes at night on POGO so we can talk.  He is doing so incredibly well.  My grandchildren are treated like royalty.  Gerod's raggea band, Love Eternal, was voted gold for best home roots act in Santa Cruz.  They published their fourth CD.  Also he is very close to the Rev. Deborah Johnston who founded the Church of Inner Light and is also the author of the book, 'Letters from the Infinite....YES"   Which I find to be a wonderful and most enlightening spiritual book that I can read again and again and find more and more.   She sent the book to me through Gerod a few years ago.  I do know that he is trying to let go and forgive me, and has gotten help through the church, though I haven't heard from him as to how he's doing with it.

    I just received an email that said that Love Eternal is celebrating their Hundreth gig on the 18th of Aug.  Nine days from now.  It is going to be outside in a park in Santa Cruz.  I want to go so badly.  It would be so cool to just show up at the celebration without warning.  I know he would be thrilled.  And my Grandbabies would be psyched.  Shawna would go wild.  I am also friends with many of their friends.  But I don't see it happening.  This is when it would be so cool to have the kind of money that I could just search for a flight, a car, and a motel for the night before.  And food is always a plus.  And then show up unannounced.  I am praying about it.  He deserves no less.  And neither do I.

     But anyway, if any of you live near Santa Cruz, go on down or over and tell him I love him.  I am serious.  It would mean a lot to me.

       More about family another time.  I realize the photo with the band is blurry.  Love and Peace and Peach and Love and Sanity for all.

Peggy Ann Doak

pdoak333@peoplepc.com