I got recommendations of "available" young men from my new hair stylist, who adored me: the first gay male stylist I ever knew on Long Island! If his suggestions had profiles on MySpace, we chatted there, too. Things went well with Nick and then Matt, until they met my mother, who was rarely cordial to either of them. Since they were closeted with their own families, they acted as “my friend” in front of Mom... or tried to. Mysteriously, after each victim eventually interacted with my mother, they started to act weird towards me and soon dumped me. Not just break up with me, but dump me—with no real reasons. Before those interactions, things went fine: intimate dates, shopping together, cooking in my kitchen side-by-side, cuddling in front of movies/fire, et cetera… and then a night happened when my Mother was at home. After seeing a new man in the house, she came home often (perhaps waiting to see when I invited them over again). She found quick moments to speak with each boy, as they washed dishes together... while I tidied up the dining room or patio, or as I got my upstairs rooms ready. Then, they suddenly avoided me. I never knew why! But my mother was always there to console me... which I didn't want. I just "chalked it up" to the behavior of so many “closeted” suburban gay guys.
It even happened with a female coworker, Sarah, whom I platonically socialized with and invited to my home a few times. My mother spotted her during a visit. Sarah suddenly began avoiding me at work. It happened with a new neighbor's daughter, named Diana. I befriended Diana and even helped plan her wedding at my former catering hall. Yet, my mother got a hold of her, and suddenly she stopped returning my calls. When I knocked on her front door, she brusquely told me directly that "her reaching out to me had been a bad idea". I had no clue what had gone wrong! None of them told me what happened! Thanks, Universe.
My mother's irresponsible behavior at managing our home, her frequent “business trips” to Atlantic City or Mohican Sun Casino—where she said her new company wanted her (her new job was still a receptionist) to assist in trade shows—and her hiding of paperwork and unpaid bills… all made it hard to have an open relationship with her.
Then, I met Chris on MySpace, and we began swapping interests and pictures. He was an amateur photographer.
We became buddies: his family life was slightly less tragic than
mine. He was "on his own" from
California, living with an aunt in Pennsylvania.
He claimed to have been thrown out of home by his divorced mom because he was gay. We had a lot to talk about. One night, Chris told me that he was getting
a shared-apartment (the only way to afford it) in a “gentrifying” part of Brooklyn. However, the area was Bushwick. (In 1638, the Dutch West India Company bought the land from Lenape tribes of Native Americans and named it Boswijck. When the British took it, they anglicized the name). Ever since NYC absorbed Brooklyn (officially called Kings County) in 1898, it has deteriorated and remains one of more dangerous parts of NYC (which is pathetic to happen in America's wealthiest city). To lure gullible renters, realtors described it as a "ethnically diverse neighborhood experiencing exciting growth potential"... meaning it was a crime-prone hellhole, but affordable. Click this image to make it clearer...
After he moved in, we picked a day, and Chris drove to visit me at home. I was excited. He apologized that his body was slightly overweight from too much drinking and
cheap food. I admired the "long outline" under his mesh shorts. We had fun, and we kept in
touch. Soon after, he
realized that his apartment was in the ghetto, and his roommate was a
cocaine-using woman. He got scared.
I worked out a mutual solution with my mother, to charge him a fee to
stay temporarily with us, while he found a new apartment in the city. A roommate document was drawn up. Mom was happy for the cash. Chris parked his old Volvo outside and
kept most of his things in its trunk and rear seat. He slept in my sister’s old room. I looked forward to
talking about his travels across the country... and cutely whistling at him as he left
the shower! I liked seeing him in baggy basketball shorts because the outline of his sizable groin was visible against the flimsy fabric. (I wanted to discuss that part of him AT GREAT LENGTH)!
Chris used my computer in the daytimes and searched for apartments in the cut-throat real
estate game of NYC. He soon
advised me that my mother left her job daily to come home and hide the mail
from me. He heard our answering
machine fill up daily from bill collectors, which my mother deleted. I was shocked and appalled. He wanted to
help and started researching online about my options. He found out that there was a lien on our house! Someone had
bought a debt against us for not paying taxes (apparently again)!! Chris began saving the mail for me and showed me a statement
from the bank that we were approved for foreclosure in two months!!! My order of life was crumbling around
me!!! It was a disaster—and thoughts of being homeless, bankrupted, and/or
destitute flooded my mind!
How could my own mother hide that from me? Why would she drag us down? Then, the most hurtful part. Chris confided in me that my mother spoke devilishly about me to him—urging him to leave me because I was a rotten son who couldn’t be trusted! NOW I knew why all the other young men in my life had abruptly left me! I felt like Cinderella in my own home, with an evil mother who kept me locked up, so the Princes wouldn't find me (just like my retail boss kept me locked up so I couldn't get promoted)!
It was certainly those guys' faults for not double-checking with me, though. Yet, I understood why they got freaked out: a guy they like has a mother who tells them to run away because her "evil" son is "not who they think he is". My own mother—whom I slaved for—slandered me!! I was so angry and betrayed!!! I was thankful that Chris alerted me about my mother; finally, someone had!
What a hollow shell of a woman! Why the hell did she keep me at home—if she hated me so much?! Why didn't she find a friend to live with, and let me go? During all that time, she made me think that I was indebted to her because she used her parents' inheritance for my educations. I supported her by working 71 hours per week at jobs that I didn't like! Had she simply latched on to me to provide the things that my father failed to... that she didn't want to earn herself? I had been double-crossed for all of it! Did she expect me to resign from my own life?
How could my own mother hide that from me? Why would she drag us down? Then, the most hurtful part. Chris confided in me that my mother spoke devilishly about me to him—urging him to leave me because I was a rotten son who couldn’t be trusted! NOW I knew why all the other young men in my life had abruptly left me! I felt like Cinderella in my own home, with an evil mother who kept me locked up, so the Princes wouldn't find me (just like my retail boss kept me locked up so I couldn't get promoted)!
It was certainly those guys' faults for not double-checking with me, though. Yet, I understood why they got freaked out: a guy they like has a mother who tells them to run away because her "evil" son is "not who they think he is". My own mother—whom I slaved for—slandered me!! I was so angry and betrayed!!! I was thankful that Chris alerted me about my mother; finally, someone had!
What a hollow shell of a woman! Why the hell did she keep me at home—if she hated me so much?! Why didn't she find a friend to live with, and let me go? During all that time, she made me think that I was indebted to her because she used her parents' inheritance for my educations. I supported her by working 71 hours per week at jobs that I didn't like! Had she simply latched on to me to provide the things that my father failed to... that she didn't want to earn herself? I had been double-crossed for all of it! Did she expect me to resign from my own life?
My mother sat on her ass all day, instead of working two
jobs like I had done, just so the demented old woman (now a recluse from everyone) and I
could bear the burden of keeping her afloat!
Chris told me about the voicemails from Edith, who longed for my mother to visit her AGAIN and AGAIN. People knew that my mother couldn’t operate her cellphone, so they left messages on our home machine. Chris suggested visiting Edith to find out what was going on. He used a ploy to get us past the security guard, and she absentmindedly let us into her residence. Chris recorded our conversation. Edith said, "This can’t keep going on. It is too much to keep paying for everything.” Her money was being used for the mortgage, my mother's car payments, and Mom's other expenses. Edith scolded ME and said that I should pay my share, so my mother wasn’t forced to “borrow” from her so much! Apparently, the money I gave Mom wasn't going to the bills (or taxes)! I was being described as the bad son... again!
I recorded a phone conversation with Wells Fargo. My mother had altered the terms of our mortgage, without my knowledge!
It was the year 2008. America's financial crisis was its darkest chapter since the Great Depression. The bank-inflated housing market collapsed. Banks had pushed unsuspecting people like us into subprime (crappy) mortgages—to collect more fees—making us feel that it was the best option for us. Consumer spending dried up. Expenses, surcharges, and late fees soared. It was the perfect environment for my household to have more money problems.
Chris told me about the voicemails from Edith, who longed for my mother to visit her AGAIN and AGAIN. People knew that my mother couldn’t operate her cellphone, so they left messages on our home machine. Chris suggested visiting Edith to find out what was going on. He used a ploy to get us past the security guard, and she absentmindedly let us into her residence. Chris recorded our conversation. Edith said, "This can’t keep going on. It is too much to keep paying for everything.” Her money was being used for the mortgage, my mother's car payments, and Mom's other expenses. Edith scolded ME and said that I should pay my share, so my mother wasn’t forced to “borrow” from her so much! Apparently, the money I gave Mom wasn't going to the bills (or taxes)! I was being described as the bad son... again!
I recorded a phone conversation with Wells Fargo. My mother had altered the terms of our mortgage, without my knowledge!
It was the year 2008. America's financial crisis was its darkest chapter since the Great Depression. The bank-inflated housing market collapsed. Banks had pushed unsuspecting people like us into subprime (crappy) mortgages—to collect more fees—making us feel that it was the best option for us. Consumer spending dried up. Expenses, surcharges, and late fees soared. It was the perfect environment for my household to have more money problems.
At that moment of crisis, another home-repair disaster struck. During winter, we noticed
our oil costs skyrocketing, as the furnace kept running out of oil. We needed
two emergency deliveries. An
inspector came and declared that a hot water pipe under our house’s foundation
had burst (Levittown houses don’t have basements), and the hot water was draining into the ground below, causing the furnace to use up its oil. The repair involved ripping up the new faux wood floor and digging out the old pipe from the house's cement foundation, to
replace it with a new one. It needed to be done immediately.
Thankfully, the joint-homeowner’s insurance that Mom and I had came
to the rescue. But my mother conned
Chris into posing as me—while I was making money at work—when the insurance
assessor came, to give an inflated cost of the repair. Chris agreed. Apparently, homeowner's insurance gives you "money for a
need", but you can use it at your own discretion. Mom got a cheap contractor to do the work for $800... and
cheap work she got. She inflated
the cost to $3,000—even claiming to have a dumpster. Chris thought that her scheme was to pay the overdue taxes. The insurance company mailed us a check for $3,000. But Mom revealed that she wasn’t going to pay the
taxes: "Edith will pay it", and Mom had other uses for the money. That brought about my ultimatum that we
could no longer afford to live there and had
to seriously discuss selling the house, or at least, setting me free.
My mother could've done that. She had the power and resources to do it. She could've sold the house, given me only $10,000, and kept ALL THE REST, and I would've finally gotten my own apartment. I would've chosen a decent place, paying my rent without needing a roommate. If I had gotten even a third of the money from the sale of the house, I could've invested it. But that didn't happen. My mother wanted to live like queen, while our lives deteriorated under the weight of her schemed mortgage.
My mother could've done that. She had the power and resources to do it. She could've sold the house, given me only $10,000, and kept ALL THE REST, and I would've finally gotten my own apartment. I would've chosen a decent place, paying my rent without needing a roommate. If I had gotten even a third of the money from the sale of the house, I could've invested it. But that didn't happen. My mother wanted to live like queen, while our lives deteriorated under the weight of her schemed mortgage.
[When you look at people who cause their own misery—who keep doing things
that harm their lives—you might say “They deserve it”, “They should know
better or have figured it out by now”, or “They can only blame
themselves”. That night, I expressed my epiphany that I was “killing myself” on a home that was of no
interest to me. My sister and my father had left—currently pursuing their happy lives. Each had broken the law and gotten away with it. My mother was breaking the law via "elder care abuse". My grandfather (the retired policeman) was probably rolling in his grave with agitation about his daughter's criminal behavior. I was the only honest person! Despite my good deeds and all the stuff I read in self-help books like The Secret, “the powers that be”
made my life unimaginably worse!]
After my ultimatum, my mother stood up from the dining room table decided to “cut me out of her life.” A woman who had gone to such lengths to deceive me suddenly screamed at me for discovering the truth. She screamed at me because her plans were unraveling. She spit at Chris, accusing us of being secret lovers! She actually reprimanded him for helping me. It was like looking at an insane evil empress whose plots had been discovered.
She demanded the insurance check. I refused. She discontinued our conversation and stormed into her bedroom, and stayed there until I went to bed. The next day, she left home early. I went to my HSBC bank to deposit the check safely in my account. I asked the bank teller what to do, since I could only provide one of the two required signatures. The teller told me to sign my name and simply print the name of the other person. I did, and the check was safely deposited.
That night, when my mother demanded the check, I told her that it was in my bank account for safekeeping, and it would go towards the overdue taxes. She immediately left home without any words to me. Later, Edith left a voicemail on my cellphone saying that I was a bad son, a terrible person, and she never wanted to speak with me again.
The next day, at a gas station, my bank card was "restricted". I called the 800 number on the back but was told to visit my local bank. The manager of my local HSBC bank indicated that my mother had placed a hold on my account under the legal charge of insurance fraud!!! My mother claimed that I forged her signature, in order to deposit that check. I vehemently pointed out that I had followed the instructions of their teller, but the manager squeamishly responded, “The teller was wrong and should never have told you to do that. I suggest that you straighten it out with your mother.” In reality, she wanted me out of her office, so she could censure the teller, while the bank’s insurance fraud officials hunted me. If Fate had allowed HSBC or the bank teller to admit their mistake, the whole thing against me would've been dropped! But no. My mother didn’t answer her desk phone at work (she had caller ID), so I used my Amex credit card to buy gas and sped off to her job, but she refused to talk to me. She said we’d discuss it that night at home.
The next day, at a gas station, my bank card was "restricted". I called the 800 number on the back but was told to visit my local bank. The manager of my local HSBC bank indicated that my mother had placed a hold on my account under the legal charge of insurance fraud!!! My mother claimed that I forged her signature, in order to deposit that check. I vehemently pointed out that I had followed the instructions of their teller, but the manager squeamishly responded, “The teller was wrong and should never have told you to do that. I suggest that you straighten it out with your mother.” In reality, she wanted me out of her office, so she could censure the teller, while the bank’s insurance fraud officials hunted me. If Fate had allowed HSBC or the bank teller to admit their mistake, the whole thing against me would've been dropped! But no. My mother didn’t answer her desk phone at work (she had caller ID), so I used my Amex credit card to buy gas and sped off to her job, but she refused to talk to me. She said we’d discuss it that night at home.
I waited at home with Chris as a witness again.
There was a knock at the door.
(A year later, my sister admitted that she knew about my mother’s
intentions for that night but didn’t want to get involved)! Two plain-clothes detectives were there
to “discuss the insurance matter with me”. They didn’t have a warrant and asked me to voluntarily go
with them to the station to “clear it all up”. Looking over my shoulder at Chris, I decided it was the best
thing to do, and I went with them. Chris didn't advise me against it. Later, I found out that I hadn't needed to leave with them, if they didn't have a warrant. Me voluntarily going with them cost me thousands of dollars. Once again, Fate could've given me someone to advise me, but no. Upon reaching their car, I suddenly asked, “Am I under arrest?” The said Yes, and put handcuffs on me! With skills that they’re notorious for, the Nassau County Police had done it again.
After being “booked” and denied a lawyer, a detective recorded my interrogation of “forging my mother’s name on an insurance check”. I denied it, indicating that the check had ONE signature and ONE printed name—just as the teller told me to do. The cop indicated that the bank denied all of that. I told him to pull the bank's videotapes, or look at the check! Meanwhile, my confiscated cellphone rang constantly, as Chris tried in vain to find out what happened to me! I could hear the cops joke at the Madonna ringtone I had given him, and they looked at my preppy outfit and teased me, calling me “Matthew Broderick”. I faced a Felony charge with a 3-year-minimum prison sentence!! I almost had a heart attack!!!
My “one phone call” to my mother was unanswered. After the questioning, I was locked in jail for several hours. My heart raced with fear!
Later, I was driven in handcuffs to the Nassau County detention cells, in the town of Mineola to await arraignment the next morning.
I was locked in a urine-smelling cell to sleep on a hard wooden bench overnight. In the morning, they gave me cereal and milk. Then, they moved me to a "holding room" to wait while they collected everyone else in the jail.
I was chained to a line of other smelly, gruff criminals, and taken by an armored bus to the courthouse.
If you think Nassau County cops are surprising, read about the corrupt Suffolk County ones, nearby: https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/the-strange-rise-and-violent-fall-of-long-islands-dirtiest-police-chief
After being “booked” and denied a lawyer, a detective recorded my interrogation of “forging my mother’s name on an insurance check”. I denied it, indicating that the check had ONE signature and ONE printed name—just as the teller told me to do. The cop indicated that the bank denied all of that. I told him to pull the bank's videotapes, or look at the check! Meanwhile, my confiscated cellphone rang constantly, as Chris tried in vain to find out what happened to me! I could hear the cops joke at the Madonna ringtone I had given him, and they looked at my preppy outfit and teased me, calling me “Matthew Broderick”. I faced a Felony charge with a 3-year-minimum prison sentence!! I almost had a heart attack!!!
My “one phone call” to my mother was unanswered. After the questioning, I was locked in jail for several hours. My heart raced with fear!
Later, I was driven in handcuffs to the Nassau County detention cells, in the town of Mineola to await arraignment the next morning.
I was locked in a urine-smelling cell to sleep on a hard wooden bench overnight. In the morning, they gave me cereal and milk. Then, they moved me to a "holding room" to wait while they collected everyone else in the jail.
I was chained to a line of other smelly, gruff criminals, and taken by an armored bus to the courthouse.
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