And then, there were the second-shift nights. Dad’s work schedule was such that one week he worked the day shift and the next week he’d work the second shift. Frankly, I loved those weeks.
If it were summer, we just had to deal with Dad being around until 1:30. That’s when he left for work, and we wouldn’t see him until the next morning.
If it were the school year, he would be asleep when we left for school. We’d say a quick good-bye, and that would be it until the next morning. Basically, during those weeks, we really didn’t see much of him until the weekend because of our school schedule.
And I made sure that unless I was dying, I didn’t stay home sick on the weeks he was on second shift. I only made that mistake once. He would be grumpy as usual when he got up, and then would start asking why you stayed home, and what you were doing to get better. After all, this was the person who, after I’d just finished throwing up, would tell me to go eat so I could get better quicker.
What were some of the nice things about second-shift weeks?
Supper times were peaceful. Even the late afternoons were relaxed, with no dreading the words “Your father will be home soon.”
As I mentioned earlier, occasionally we could get my mother to let us have TV dinners. Certainly, no great cuisine, but to us, they were fun. And I could do my homework without worrying about Dad picking a fight with me…or seeking me out.
In the summer, we’d often go out for ice cream with my mother and one of her friends and their kids.
And on Halloween, it seemed Dad was always working nights that week, which was fine by us. It was more fun to go out with Mom, some of the neighborhood kids, and their moms, and we’d spend a couple of hours trick-or-treating.
In those days, we would have to go home and get a second bag because there were so many houses to visit. We’d even head up the other street to visit the nuns. They, too, got into the spirit of things, and they often had the best stash of candy bars. That was the time when the candy bars were full-sized, too. No “fun-sized” mini candy bars. I’ve never understood what’s so fun about a candy bar that only has 2 bites to it.
Even when it was time to go to bed, it was fun when Dad wasn’t home because Mom would fall asleep on the couch, and if we were really quiet, we could stretch out bedtime a little longer until a commercial break finally woke her up.
All in all, second-shift nights with him gone were a joy.
The one thing that was fun with Dad was that sometimes on a Friday night, we’d get to stay up late and wait for him to come home. He would stop at a local diner and pick up burgers, which was the era before the fast-food burger chains, so this was a big deal. So that was one of our fun family times.
But there is one aspect of second-shift nights that bothers me. And it relates to those early memories I spoke of that I cannot get a clearer picture of.
Dad often got home and would unwind in the kitchen. Sometimes I would wake up and see him standing by the counter, reading the newspaper. He was always dressed only in his underwear. He slept only in his underwear. I didn’t feel comfortable seeing him there like that, and I told my mother once. She mentioned it to him. But I don’t know that it changed anything.
If anything, I’ve wondered if that didn’t set me up for more abuse. If he realized I was noticing his “state of undress,” and was uncomfortable, he might have viewed that as an invitation to do more.
Did he come into my room? I don’t know. Those nights were a blank to me for the most part. He would joke sometimes that I woke up and would have conversations with him. I don’t remember them. I only remember my discomfort with him in his underwear.
And that brings me back to questions I raised earlier.
Why is it that my bedroom had the door left on it when the other bedroom had its door removed? Did the pediatrician notice something that time in his office, something that would have disturbed him and that he had to share with my mother?
Did she demand the door off that other bedroom as a result?
And if she did, why not mine too?
Many questions. No answers. And only a gut sense of discomfort and distaste.
Soul Mosaic 
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