Around about the year 2010, Frankie showed up at my door. He had lived in Covelo when I moved there, 1999, and I hired him as a handyman around my place, a really good worker, and we became friends along the way, partied together at the end of the day, etc. Then his local adoptive family put out a restraining order against him and he left and ended up in Oklahoma for a couple of years. Then, suddenly, one afternoon he gets dropped at my door, with just a backpack.
Frankie is Navajo, born on a Navajo reservation, abandoned by his mother, and taken in by supporters of the Seventh Day Adventists, who could not legally adopt him. But it was a relatively well to do family, and Frankie was given a comfortable life, until Mom, when he was nine, wanted him back.
He was then relegated, as the youngest of nine, as the house slave, the one left to take care of Mom. There was no love, and well, might as well add, his father gave birth to a child on the same day that Frankie was born, but with another woman. To top all that angst during this time, Frankie was raped repeatedly by an uncle.
At the age of 12, Frankie managed to run away and back to his adoptive family. This time, his mother just let him go. He was put back into private schools and given more influence to affluence than I ever knew growing up. I knew little to nothing about most of any of this until after he came back, and ended up living in my house for five years. He taught me more about the proper pots, pans, cooking utensils and necessary appliances to use in the kitchen than I ever knew before, always top of the line! Also, while back with the former very religious family, at a later age, Frankie realized that he is gay. Another thing to hide.
Frankie is one of those enigmas that landed in my life. Because of his horrid childhood, the folks that took him back enabled him to the point that he could not really be trusted anymore, he had learned how to survive via manipulation, because he always got bailed out. Now, Frankie, was and I hope he still is, a very charming and animated human being. He was fun to be around, and he was an earnest worker and help-mate, and a great garden tender, and a really good cook, and we spent many hours preparing meals in my kitchen from mostly stuff from the garden. I love Frankie.
But I never intended to become, by some fluke of fate, his caretaker. I had my own issues about finally figuring out how to take responsibility and care for myself, and even as much as he tried to contribute, he was still totally dependent upon my care. My house, my little farm, my place. So, eventually, we began to resent each other. And, eventually, I told him he had to leave. I gave him enough money to get somewhere and start again.
Just thinking about Frankie tonight, and hoping that he is doing well, and thriving and in a better place! And if he is in a better place, I hope I had something to do with it. He also helped me to a better place. No regrets.