Redemption by Stacey Lannert and Kristen Kemp - Excerpt

8/7/2019 Redemption by Stacey Lannert and Kristen Kemp - Excerpt

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Disclaimer: Some names and identifying characteristics of some of the people

mentioned in this book have been changed in an effort to minimize

intrusions on or protect their privacy.

Copyright 2011 by Libre Diem, LLC

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Crown Publishers, an imprint of the Crown

Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

www.crownpublishing.com

CROWN and the Crown colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-0-307-59213-2

eISBN 978-0-307-59215-6

Printed in the United States of America

Book design by Gretchen Achilles

Jacket design by David Tran

Jacket photograph by Deborah Feingold

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

fi rs t ed i ti on


4/36

Second Chance

Asecond chance was never sup-

posed to happen to me. I had a lif e sentence without the possibility

of parole, yet in one ma gical stroke of a pen, the gover nor of Mis -

souri, Matthew Blunt, ordered that the pr ison gates be opened f or

me. A fter eighteen y ears, I was allowed t o be S tacey Ann L annert

instead of Offender #85704.

Ill never c ompletely shed the number , but I did star t over. Te

real world was pur e ma gic. On the outside, I sa w mir acles ever y-

where: birds clustered in trees, snowakes sticking to my windshield,a crossing guard guiding children across the int ersection. I sa w my

breath as it hit the c old air outside. I dont ge t stunned easily , but

seeing my reection in a mirror did the trick.

Beginning at age eighteen, I spent a total of eighteen years locked

up. At least the numbers ar e neat and tidy , because the r est was a

mess. Te trouble started in 1980 at age eight. In 1990, life as I knew

it ended, for better and for worse. I had c ommitted murder, ending

the life of m y sexually abusive father . My personal time war p hadbegun.

Under incar ceration, a punishment I believe I deser ved, I was

sealed offin a world wher e hugs were not allowed, and the Int ernet

had never been in vented. I couldnt ima gine a phone with no cor d

that t in a pocket . I lived in a universe wher e I wasnt allowed t o

talk, walk , or pee without speci al r ules and per mission. My dr ab,

worn-out clothes had t o be approved. A gour met meal was a can of

Hormel beef chili, and I had to make sure I could afford to buy it. Inthe beginning of m y sentence, my mind was t oo numb t o cry and


5/36

2 STACEY LANNERT

too shut offt o care. I c ould check in and out of m y emotions as if

they were library books. To me, sadness and happiness wer e all the

same. Te jail of my own makingbefore and after I committed the

crimewas as bleak as the one I was locked up in. My pr ison bars

were ironclad, emotionally and physically.

Fast forward to February 2009. I was thirty-six, and the bars had

been completely removed. Id been shown an act of mercy and grace.

I had been deliver ed from sin. I had sacr iced all of m y adult lif e

purely in hopes of this redemption.

If I am t for forgiveness, I want to live a wor thy life. I just have

to gure out how t o make m y way in this world. Get a job . Buy a

car. Figure out how to use a cell phone, not to mention how to text.

When did ordering coffee get so c omplicated? And why would an y-

one want to eat rawsh with rice?

Te rst time I walked int o a department store after my release,

for example, I was so over whelmed that I be gan to sweat. I usually

like to sweatI teach step classjust not while shopping . Fabrics

came in mor e colors and patt erns than an L SD tr ip. Te signs andsales and people bumped int o me in ever y aisle. I needed br as, but

the store was the size of a football eld.

I left.

I decided I would have to live, once again, without the basic items

I needed.

During my eighteen years in prison, shopping was sparse. I sub-

mitted a shor t list t o the pr ison staffers whenever I want ed shoes,

shirts, Hormel chili, or whatever. I paid for my goods because all pris-oners have jobs, albeit with r idiculously low wages. In a f ew days or

months, Id go to a window, and workers would shove my order back

at me. It wasnt even a store. Te system was limited, and it sucked.

But at least it was simple. I longed f or more choices, and when I -

nally had them, I panicked.

I asked for help.

My mom volunteered to go shopping with me. It was a warm ges-

ture, because we didnt shop t ogether when I was g rowing up. S hewas always at school, at work , or on the phone with a fr iend. A s a


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REDEMPTION 3

preteen, I picked out my own hair spray and headbands. Eventually, I

bought most of the groceries, too. I used to shop a lot then, so what

was my problem? I was going to gure it out.

With Mom.

A fresh start.

We browsed the aisles in a big W almart. After fteen minutes,

she saw me sweating a gain, and she t ook action. I needed only two

bras, and ther e were about 250,000 t o choose fr om. Te garments

came with adjustable straps Id never seen be fore. Some didnt have

straps at all. Tey all promised miraclesperfect ts, lifts, pure com-

fort, exibility, and control. Meanwhile, I didnt even know my size.

When I was in pr ison, I wore only sports bras. Every time I ordered

regular ones, they never t right. I f I or dered a small spor ts bra

just about any kindId be all set.

My mom sa w m y e yes spinning . In two minut es, she d ashed

around and br ought back ve choices f or me. S he held up the br as

and ask ed me t o choose on e. I c ould br eathe. I st opped sw eating.

Five bras were doable; 250,000 wer e a panic attack . I picked one Iliked; it didnt work. I went to the next option; it was not so good ei-

ther. After three tries, we had a winner. Happiness was a bra that t.

Ten I glanced into the full-length mirror.

I froze. I stared. I had not seen my body since I was a teenager. We

did not have full-length mirrors in the maximum-security state peni-

tentiary. Primping wasnt exactly a priority. In all that time, I hadnt

thought much about how I looked. W ho was I going t o impr ess?

Prison guards, prisoners, or occasional visitors? Finally, at that mo-ment, my looks mattered. I was thirty-six, and I wanted to see me.

Was that me?

Really?

How had some plac es gone soft when the y used to be hard? My

waist was squishier , and so wer e my thig hs and br easts. Maybe if

Id seen m y body even one time in the last decade, the difference

wouldnt have been so drastic. I wanted to cry, and I felt tears coming

on in the back of my eyes. I stopped myself, though.Tis everythingwas ridiculous.


7/36

4 STACEY LANNERT

My mom was standing outside the dr essing room. After a long

silence, she peeked in t o check on me. S he read my face, and she

was quiet for a few seconds. Ten she said, We all get older and go

through changes. As she closed the curtain again, she added, Tings

sag.

I had no idea I d get old in pr ison, I said, only half -joking. My

friends used to say that prison preserves a personan inmates body

doesnt get abused by alc ohol, drugs, late nights, and other people.

My friends had been wrong.

I couldnt get sad. I wouldnt allow it; I was free. Tere was no de-

nying that while my world stood still, my body had grown older. But

my body had also grown up, and my mind had grown wise.

Even though Ive alwa ys been ve feet, two inches and athletic ,

my middle had taken on a touch of fat. As a certied tness instruc-

tor, I kne w Id have to exercise ve hours a d ay to get r id of it . If I

were still incarcerated, I could nd those hoursand moreto work

out. But then I would not ha ve a full-leng th mirror to admire my

tummy. I kne w which option was bett er. I would love m y ab andFrench fries toowe werent allowed to have them in prison.

Most impor tant, after so man y years, I would love m y mother.

Shes the only parent I have.

Clemency had g ranted me a deep look at m yselfin a mir ror.

I thought about m y lifes journey. How did I get her e? I wonder ed

where God would lead me nex t. I planned t o use all that I d learned

to make my world, and the world around me, a better place. If I was

worthy of a second chance, I hoped I could fulll that promise. CouldI nally become the person I dreamed of being?

I was set free on January 16, 2009.

I was given a shot at redemption, and I didnt intend to waste it.

My life would have meaning; I would make sure of that.

I am living proof that anyoneeven a convicted felon sentenced

to life in pr ison without par olecan walk a spir itual journey. I am

proof that people can change. I am pr oof that people can lear n and

love and keep on living . Even the most tr oubled person can tr ans-


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REDEMPTION 5

form her life, just as an artist can turn raw materials into an entirely

new creation. A glassblower, through persistence, care, and skill, can

convert a few shards of glass into a g leaming thing of beauty. Not a

lightweight, fragile object, but a well-formed, solid work of art worth

saving, collecting, and protecting.

We are all worth saving and protecting.


9/36

In the Beginn ing

Most people do not take an-

other persons life. Te act is ug ly, offlimits , appr opriate only in

scary movies. But many people do use the wor ds, Im going t o kill

you. A wif e might say it to a husband when he br ings home a ne w

Ford truck without ask ing. A father mig ht say it t o a son aft er he

wrecks that new truck. Te words are normal when theyre meaning-

less. Tankfully, the line Ill kill you isnt usually backed up by much

threat.

Usually.But what about when those words are said to a woman or girl who

is in pain? A g irl who is abused? A g irl who is told she is a worthless

whore almost ever y day of her lif e? I was that g irl. Te threat, Be

quiet, or Ill kill you, was real. So I stayed quiet. I made as little noise

as possible almost all of the time. At the same time, my shame, isola-

tion, and rage built up over the years while I prayed for an end to my

problems. I prayed to be left alone, to be left unviolated for any short

length of time. People like me are the caged birds.My cage was my house.

My cage was my own bed.

Ending a life is the most grisly, uncivilized way of solving a prob-

lem. But it doesnt happen in a vacuum when other wise sane people

are involved. Instead, tension builds over time in a domestic pr es-

sure cooker. Is my abuser going to push too hard the nex t time and

kill me? S hould I k ill myself so I dont ha ve t o feel the hur t an y-

more?To people with these ex periences, killing is r eal. Anyone can be


10/36

REDEMPTION 7

dead with the snap of the ngers. More often than not, victims con-

sider suicide. But sometimesguilt-riddenwe fantasize about the

deaths of our abusers. W e dont necessarily want to do it ourselv es.

In our fantasies , he goes quick ly in a car cr ash; it makes sense be-

cause he dr ives drunk all the time. O r maybe he star ts a ght with

someone who actually canand doeskick his ass. But what if, hy-

pothetically thinking , the abuser gets int o a ght with his victim,

and she magically overpowers him and gets a way? She runs offto a

happier life where she can get a full nig hts rest. She goes to a place

where shadows dont scar e her half t o death. In dr eams, that sc e-

nario could be true.

In r eality, over powering a str ong man usually takes a weapon.

So the hypothesizing continues: What if, in some wa y, shes able to

get that weapon? W hat if she uses it ? What if she kills him herself?

Tats how the words Ill kill you become warped reality.

Women arent known f or homicides according t o the Justic e

Department, f emales c ommit only 10 per cent of mur ders. W hen

they do kill, they take the life of an intimate partner or family mem-ber one-third of the time. Cr iminology researchers have found that

women usually didnt mean t o do the cr ime; they didnt even think

they were capable, and the y didnt plan their attack s for more than

a few seconds. Male murderers more commonly act deliberately in-

stead of impulsively. Tey know exactly what is about to happen long

in advance. Men dont disassoci ate from their cr imes, either. But a

woman, especially a victim of abuse, may not remember exactly how

she did it. If she remembers clearly, she cant nd breathonly bilerising in her chest . Shell have a panic attack or a br eakdown. Shes

in too much pain over what she didand why she did itto remem-

ber the details , according to researcher Jack Levin at N ortheastern

University. More often than not , women k ill because the yre afraid

theyll be killed.

Most people dont have these thoughts about death, but I did for

most of my life.


11/36

8 STACEY LANNERT

Killing is best le ft to animals like the bald ea gle. Tey must hunt to

feed themselves and their young, and they do not have to be taught.

My hometown of St. Louis is known for the bald eagles in the winter-

time. People dont realize it, but Missouri can be c old. We get snow,

ice, and sleet. Tats when the eagles appear.

Snow days away from school were fun for most kids. But as I grew

older, they were less ex citing for me. S taying home was not a v aca-

tion; it was often a punishment. I wanted to be a bald eaglebig and

strong with a shar p, pointy beak f or protection. I wished f or wings

to take me t o some other plac e during the different seasons. W hen

it was c oldest outside, I d catch sight of them near the Mississippi

River.Te birds liked to hang out in the areas surrounding its muddy

waters. Apparently, thats the best place to nd food and build nests

in sy camore tr ees. B ald ea gles hunt sh, r eptiles, mammals , and

human picnic food. Tey dont care if the food is dead or alive when

they swoop down with their lethal talons. Tey learn how t o adapt

and survive. Tese muscular creatures are tough, scrappy scavengers.

When I was a k id, they were on the end angered species list . So if Icaught sight of one, I was excited.

If I had been a different kid with a different family, I would have

seen the ea gle as noble in a patr iotic way. I would ha ve focused on

its pluma ge and beauty inst ead of on how the a wesome cr eature

managed to stay alive. I saw the bird as a tough victim of our human

invasionclawing and clutching for its sur vival. Tats exactly how

I felt I lived, t oo, from age nine onward. With so much taken a way

from me, I wasnt fr ee to think about k ickball and BFFs and br ace-lets made out of embroidery oss. I took refuge in sports, and in my

imagination. I found comfort in our cat , Buttercup; my dog, Prince;

the track team; and my schoolwork.

Before age eight, my life was wa y better. I sa w the ea gles more

innocently. I smiled mor e often because I want ed tonot just f or

other people s benet. B orn on Ma y 28, 1972, just outside of S t.

Louis, Missouri, I was a happy baby with a sta y-at-home mom who

loved me and took care of me. I had a dad who came home after work,though he was often studying, tucked away behind his office door.


12/36

REDEMPTION 9

My mom held everything together for as long as she could.

She was used t o lifes difficultiesshed grown up with enoug h

of them. Her maiden name was Deborah Paulson, and she was bor n

on October 17, 1951, in Gr anite City, Illinois. She was the oldest of

ve kids, and she longed t o leave the r ural countryside where she

grew up. Te rst house she remembers had two bedrooms. Te kids

shared one, and her par ents shared the other . W hen my mom was

seven, she came down with rheumati c fever and was in the hospital

for a long stretch. Ten she had t o stay out of school f or more than

a year. She had to take it easy and c ouldnt even walk to the second

oor of the house. She slept on a rollaway bed in the living room. Her

mom brought her a bedpan because the house s one bathroom was

upstairs. Te doctor said Debbie would never have children, and she

might even come down with the dreaded rheumatic fever again later

in life. With great worry and care, my grandmother waited on Debbie

hand and foot. During that time my grandmother was really good to

my mother.

Debbie recovered fully and t ook on r esponsibilities of her own.She was oft en in charge of her siblings , especially the littlest one,

Deanna, who was thir teen years younger. By then, the family had

moved into a thr ee-bedroom house closer t o the small downt own.

Tey needed t o be near m y g randfathers work . Debbie was just

happy she had fewer siblings to bunk with in a slightly larger house.

Privacy was another matt ershe still hoped f or more of that . But

her family was what it was. Tey had rules, like they stuck together

no matter what. Debbies parents were strict, and it wasnt easy f orDebbie to be herself, to have friends, and to get out.

My maternal grandfather was R ichard Paulson. My mother t old

me his story. He grew up picking cotton in Pearl, Mississippi, along-

side his mother. He had to quit school t o earn money when he was

in the eighth grade. Te oldest of eight children, he became the man

of the house when his own father, a drunk, walked out on the family.

Richard led a tough life with one goal: survival. When he grew up he

headed to Illinois, looking for better work. He landed in Granite City,the small town just outside St. Louis that my grandmother, Marilyn,


13/36

10 STACEY LANNERT

called home. Mar ilyn was the baby in a family that included seven

children. By the time she was six, her father had hit the road, so she

barely knew him. R ichard and Mar ilyn had a lot in c ommon. Tey

both craved a bond they didnt get g rowing up, and they both knew

that surviving in this world was har d, and t ook hard work. Neither

had gotten a proper education. Marilyn dropped out of hig h school

for Richard, skipping her senior year. She married him when she was

seventeen on October 27, 1950. Tey shared the notion that a mar -

riage should stay together no matter what. A man should always be

in the family. A couple should never, under any circumstances, aban-

don their children.

Richard had strong opinions about things, too, and he was tough

on his children, especially Debbie. One of R ichards younger sisters

had gotten pregnant as a teenager, which had been a great source of

shame and embarrassment for him. As a result, even at age eighteen,

Debbie was not allowed t o go out on the weekends without speci al

permission. And she was rarely allowed to go out on both Friday and

Saturday nig htsshe had t o pick one activity and sta y home thenext night with her parents. Tat was only proper. After all, she was

the oldest, and it was up to her to set a good example for the others.

But some of the r ules made absolutely no sense. For example, Deb-

bie was allowed to close the bathroom door, but she c ouldnt lock it

when she showered. She surely wasnt allowed to say no to her father

for an y reason. H e gave her c ountless bloody noses with the back

of his hand. One time, the last slic e of pie in the house had disap-

peared. Richard lined up the childr enDaniel, Daphne, Derek, andDebbieand demanded t o k now who had eat en it. No one owned

up, so he beat each of them with a belt until one of them claimed

guilt. Ten that child got dr agged down t o the basement and was

beaten worse.

He might use and abuse his d aughters, but no one else w ould

Richard was ercely protective of his family. It wouldnt be a surprise

to see him sitting on the front porch with a gun if any of his children

were ever threatened.Despite his st ernness, R ichard was not a larger -than-life per -


14/36

REDEMPTION 11

sonality. He was tall and thin, even thoug h he liked t o eat. He was

actually a shy, soft-spoken man who didnt ha ve much of a lif e out-

side of his two oc cupations: cotton picker and local tr uck driver. He

didnt have a lot of soci al skills, and he was self -conscious about his

eighth-grade education. Te only time he could really talk was when

he drank beerthen he could be funnier, more opinionated, and feel

more important. So he star ted going t o the ta vern, where he c ould

become a whole ne w person, more and more often. Hed also dr ink

simply to relax after a har d day of work . To Marilyns dismay, hed

come home drunk. Te drinking repulsed my mother as well. To this

day, she cant stand alcohol. She especially cannot stand the smell of

beer; it makes her sick.

Richard started sexually abusing D ebbie when she was thir teen.

Mom didnt tell me about specic incidents, but I overheard the con-

versations she had with my dad. Over the years, I picked up on what

happened to her. S he eventually went public with the abuse in an

affidavit to support my legal case.

She stated in an affidavit that Grandpa Paulson had fondled her.He might have abused his other daughters, too; Im not sure what he

did to each one. I do know my mother suffered at his hands from the

time she was thirteen until she started dating my father. My mother

was so ashamed she didnt even t ell her closest sist er. Years later,

they confessed to each other and f ound out their father had abused

them simultaneously.

When Mom was sixteen, all of the children were sleeping on pal-

lets in the living r oom because their bedrooms were too hottherewas no air c onditioning. Richard crept over t o her and star ted fon-

dling her.

Stop it, Dad! she yelled. Stop!

Marilyn woke up and asked her husband what was going on.

Nothing, he said.

Marilyn asked Debbie for an explanation.

Dad wont lea ve me alone. H e keeps t ouching me, she said,

crying.At those words, Richard jerked my mother up from the prone po-


15/36


16/36

REDEMPTION 13

voice could be both quietly disagreeable and irty. She was feisty and

vulnerable wrapped into a kind package. It was no accident that she

ended up with my father.

Tey met when she was eighteen. He was twenty-three, and they

both worked at General American Life Insurance in St. Louis. She was

a transcriber and copy girl, and he, Tomas Lannert, was on his way

to becoming an actuar y. My father was sitting with his work buddy

when he rst saw her across the c ompany cafeteria. He nudged his

friend and said, Tats the woman Im going t o marry. After that,

he never stopped believing that my mother was beautiful. He used to

sit me on his lap and get wistful talk ing about her. He probably told

me the st ory of meeting her a hundr ed times. Forever in his mind,

other women would pale in comparison to Debbie.

Te way she t ells the st ory about the d ay they met is a bit dif -

ferent: she certainly saw Tom wave at her that d ay at work, but she

smiled back because she thought his friend was cute.

In her eyes, Tom was just okay at rst. He wore these baggy an-

nel pants with pleats in the fr ont. He was disting uished and hand-some, but Debbie thought he really needed to learn how to dress. His

clothes were put together, but in an old-man kind of way. He always

wore a mustache, too, which made him look even oldermuch older

than the mere ve years that separated them.

Hed often come by her desk in the copy room and ask her to copy

pages for him. Hed also dictate letters to clients and bring them over

to Debbie on little r ed disks for transcription. Shed call him on the

company phone when his documents wer e ready. One day, he askedher if shed like to have a cup of coffee.

Debbie said no. First of all, she was in the middle of a tr anscrip-

tion. And second, she just didnt drink coffee. Five minutes later, my

mother told a coworker what had happened. Her friend nudged her,

saying, Ma ybe y ou c ould have said y oud like some hot choc olate

some other time. Ten it d awned on Debbie that he seemed nice.

But then a gain, she just didnt dr ink coffee. And what about those

ugly pants?My dad never took no for an answer.


17/36

14 STACEY LANNERT

He asked her out a second time, and she told him, I have a previ-

ous commitment. Debbie explained that she had a d ate with a boy

on Friday, and she just c ouldnt commit to anything on Saturday. It

was all trueshe just didnt tell him that she had to get special per-

mission from her par ents to go out twic e on a sing le weekend. S he

didnt even k now if her par ents would allow it if she asked. Debbie

told Tom shed let him know. It turned out that her parents did allow

the date, and m y parents went t o dinner that Satur day evening in

August of 1970. She found out hed already been in the Marines, that

his brother had died a few years back, and that he had gone to Tahiti

after college graduation. She was impressed. And he was handsome,

with deep, shocking blue eyes.

Tey had been together just three months when Tom asked her to

marry him. Debbie had want ed to waitto get to know him a little

better. But he kept pushing the issue. He said he had to get married

quickly because he was tr ying to get his f ellowship in the Society of

Actuaries. Tat meant hed be able to get his license and practice. Te

society offered the test only every six months, and he had just failedone. He told Debbie he just c ouldnt keep going on like this because

he had t o study so much. Flir ting with her and wor rying about her

made him too distracted to pass. He needed to focus for three to four

hours every night. He just couldnt afford to fail the next test, he told

Debbie. If he failed, it would be her fault , and he had a whole car eer

riding on this.

So they had t o get married. Debbie said the y could tie the k not

in June of 1971. Tom said it had t o be that November. She thoughtthey would end up married anyway, so she obliged; their anniversary

date was November 27, 1970.

Debbie believed she was in love with him. A fter all, T om didnt

seem to be anything like Richard Paulson; he was a heck of a lot nicer.

Her dad was a country man with backward beliefs and a vicious mean

streak; Tom was worldly and smar t. He was sweet about things. H e

had the kind of charisma that could make a person think the sky was

not blue but uorescent pink. Best of all, he knew what he wanted to


18/36

REDEMPTION 15

do with his lif e. Tom Lannert was mor e determined and ambitious

than any man shed ever met.

He was a heck of a lot bett er than what she had g rown up with.

She c ouldnt take the ghts, housew ork, dr inking, and abuse a t

home. She had wanted out of her dads house since she was thirteen.

When she found an educated boyfriend, she wrote to her cousin in

Mississippi that Tom was her knight in shining armor.

Her knight was in love with her . But Debbie hadnt fallen madly,

head-over-heels for him like so man y other women had. N aturally,

the more she held back , the mor e he want ed her. S he didnt mind

giving him a har d time. F or one, she want ed him t o wear different

clothes. And she didnt like an y dr inking; she want ed a man who

could provide for his family. S he voiced her opinion as neededin

her soft, gentle voice. Tat soft voice meant business.

Her one dream in life was for joy. She hoped to get married and

have children and live happily ever af ter, like in a fair y tale. She ad-

mired Toms intellect and dr ive; he was look ing at ve years of dif-

cult actuarial tests. My mother did everything a dutiful wife shoulddo. She picked out stylish suits and took those suits to the dry clean-

ers. She did their g rocery shopping, laundry, and ever y other chore

while Tom pored over math equation s. Hed come home fr om work

to their two-bedroom apartment in St. Louis, eat dinner, then sit at

his desk to study. Tom would disappear into a world of statistics and

nancial theor y. All she had t o do was chor es. She quick ly became

lonelyand bored. When she complained, he told her she should go

back to school. At the time, she wasnt int erested. She said studyingwasnt easy f or her like it was f or him. Ma ybe shed attend college

later. In the meantime, there was something else she wanted.

She wanted a baby.

He told her oka y. But he point ed out that he had never want ed

kids until he met Debbie. He would oblige for her. He reminded her

that she was lucky she had said y es to that sec ond date. He said he

wouldnt have asked for a third.

Defying her childhood doct ors predictions, my mother had me


19/36

16 STACEY LANNERT

without c omplications. S he was twenty -one y ears old when I was

born in Ma y of 1972. I was going t o be called Lisa Mar ie, but the

Presleys got t o that name rst. My mom had been lobbying f or the

name Case y, but m y dad said noI was a baby and not a do g. He

really liked the t ough, troubled male actor Stacy Keach, but he sa w

the name Stacyas too masculine. It was Grandma Lannert who sug-

gested Stacey with an e.She said the prettiest girl in her school went

by that name. So the matter was settled. If Id been a boy, I wouldve

been Scott Tomas.

Even after she got her wish for a baby, my mom was always yearn-

ing for something more, never qui te knowing what that something

was.Tat yearning was apparent to me from the time I could remem-

ber, but only in a f oggy little-kid kind of way. I sensed one thing in-

stinctively: Tom loved her more than she loved him.

When I was young, she was a great mom, but I dont think my par-

ents ever had a great marriage. In the beginning, they had stretches

where the y got along . B ut they bickered from as far back as I can

remember. She was usually upset because he was gone so much, andthey fought about his dr inking, which continued despite her earlier

insistence. I found it all very confusing.

I saw her cook, clean, shop, and do all the typical domestic chores.

She didnt go out and par ty or r un ar ound with her fr iends. S he

wasnt unhappy then, but she wasnt completely satised either. She

loved learning, and she liked teaching, too. She taught me the ABCs

by age two. She showed me how t o write my telephone number and

name by age three. I could read before age four. My early educationwas thank s t o her dedication. Dur ing her y ears of being a house-

wife, Mom made baby books for me, and later for my younger sister,

Christy. She took us to those baby swimming classes. I ha ve memo-

ries of a water-skiing trip with her when I was four, and Christy was

almost three. When I see the phot os, I bar ely recognize us because

we look so happy. Mommathats what I called hertaught us how

to be t ough and stand up f or ourselves. S he always said, Anything

boys can do, g irls can do bett er. We had all of her att ention in the


20/36

REDEMPTION 17

early years. I wish we could have frozen time and just stayed in that

place forever.

My dad, Tomas Lannert, was twenty -six when I was bor n. He was

ve feet nine and trim then, though hed balloon up to three hundred

pounds and then back to normal as I g rew up. He was strong and in

good shape. H e was handsome, with a pr ominent nose and str ong

chin. He had a warm laugh and was bursting with charm. He wore his

sandy brown hair with side chops in the 1980s. He had beautiful blue

eyes that could melt or destroy meit was his choice. He was the fun

parent who would throw us way up in the air and cat ch us when we

came back down. H e would hold me on his lap f or hourslate into

the nightjust talking and watching TV and being silly . We stayed

up late together even when I was really little. He held me all the time

when he nished work or studying.

My mom had the k ind of int elligence that c omes from years of

being in charge of her own largeand largely dysfunctionalfamily.My dad was just plain smart. He made high grades at Missouri State

University and was a proud alumnus. He liked to watch Mizzou foot-

ball games and root for the Tigers. He studied math and decided hed

use it f or an actuar ial career. An actuar y uses c omplicated math t o

predict good and bad out comes, mostly bad. A ctuaries help compa-

nies save moneyby guring out their risks. For example, does it cost

more to deal with the r isk or t o prevent the r isk in the rst place?

Most actuaries, including my father, work for insurance companies.For instance, they compute how many people are likely to die, called

mortality tables, or how man y houses ar e likely t o burn down in a

given time frame. Te work is more complicated than that, of course,

but he always had a job with good pa y. He easily tack led math that

was too challenging for most people. He seemed to like his work, but

despite his success, this wasnt the career path he had planned.

He wanted toy planes and helic opters, but he had a c ondition

called night blindness. He would never be allowed to man an aircraft,


21/36

18 STACEY LANNERT

and he was always resentful of that fact. At age eighteen, he wanted

to be like his older brother and join the military. Tom chose the Ma-

rines. His br other B ill, the uncle I never met , was in the air f orce.

Tey both want ed to ser ve their c ountry during the Vietnam W ar.

Tey hoped to protect our freedom, show their patr iotism, and play

with guns. But things went badly . W hile on active duty , Uncle B ill

was swimming recreationally and suffered an aneurysm. He was in a

coma for seventy-two days. Te family stood by his bedside all that

time, completely devastated. No amount of pr aying could help B ill.

He didnt make it.

My father was still in basic tr aining, and he really didnt want to

be there. He was discovering that the militar y wasnt ever ything he

thought it would be. He just didnt like living by other peoples rules.

As he pr epared for B ills funeral, he decided he wouldnt go back t o

basic training.

Te funeral was not without dr ama. Te whole family was ther e.

After the bur ial, m y pat ernal g randmother, Una Mae L annert, ut -

tered these words to Tom: Bill was always your fathers favorite son.Maybe she hadnt meant t o be evil, but her wor ds planted evil

seeds in him. I believe she just wanted Tom to love her more than he

loved his dad. My grandparents marriage was deeply troubled. I can

only guess that these wer e not the rst unhealthy, unloving wor ds

my grandmother said to my dad. And it wasnt the rst time Tom felt

completely let down by his father.

As far back as I r emember, my g randfather, K en L annert, was

a nice, loving man. Like Mae, he g rew up in Eminenc e, Missouri, asouthern town with fewer than ve hundred people. He was an only

child, and short, but he was not poor. Quite the contraryhe was a

brilliant, educated man from a decent background.

Mae was several years older than Ken, and she was several inches

taller. At age twenty-four, Mae married Ken after his mother passed

away. Grandma Lannert once told my mother that she mar ried Ken

because she felt sorry for him. She pitied him for losing his mom and

for being so short. But Mae also radically changed her quality of lif ewhen she married Kenneth Lannert. She had grown up the oldest of


22/36

REDEMPTION 19

eight kids in a two-r oom cabin with a dir t oor. Once she mar ried

my grandfather, she became well-to-do. As a young woman, she wore

tasteful yet saucy black dresses. She was always stylish, and her hair

was always done. She even got herself the most popular house of the

time. It was c ommon back then f or couples to buy kit homes fr om

stores like Sears and Roebuck and build their own dwellings. Mae

and Ken spent $12,000 f or their r ed brick cottage and settled in a

nice St. Louis neighborhood called St. John. Tey nished it by 1941

or 1942. I sta yed in that house man y times; it was a plac e I loved

dearly.

In that home, m y grandparents marriage was r ife with sadness

and pr oblems. Teir rst child, Mar y, ar rived with the umbilical

cord wrapped around her neck twice. If the death of their d aughter

wasnt hear tbreaking enoug h, Mae c ouldnt hide her f eelingsor

lack thereoffor K en. She told my mother she had never been in

love with him.

She gave him a hard time about his job, though it provided them

with money. Ken was an eng ineer. He designed assembly line ma-chines f or H ostess and other big c ompanies. H e tr aveled ever y

Sunday through Friday evening, as he had to be on site while his cre-

ations were being built , used, and ser viced. In the limit ed time he

was home, he headed int o the basement t o tinker. He made tr ans-

mitters and r adios and other gadgets in the basement of the br ick

house he built himself. He smoked pipes lled with cherry tobacco.

He and Mae lived in that house until they died.

Mae couldnt get used t o Kens work schedule. R aising two boyswas hard, and she didnt like doing it alone all week long . Shed tell

her sons that Ken couldve chosen to work closer to their home in St.

Louis, but instead wanted to be away from them and to travel a lot.

Tom loved his father, and he wanted love in return. He felt he wasnt

getting it , so he g rew up r esenting K en tr emendously. I t was bad

enough that Ken wasnt around for track meets and baseball games.

Maes words, he chose a job requiring travel, stung worse.

While Ken was a way, Mae believed he was cheating on her . Shewas probably r ight. A family st ory is that when K en had a bad car


23/36

20 STACEY LANNERT

accident, there was another lady in the car with him. H e defended

himself, saying he was just tak ing her home fr om a par ty. No one

believed that, though. Mae would sometimes threaten to leave Ken,

but Tom would tell her to stay. Tom told Mae he would never speak

to her again if she ever left Ken.

My mother believes that Grandma Lannert did a lot of psycholog-

ical damage to my father. Mae didnt int end to enrage my father or

make him a monster. She wasnt a consciously cruel person; she was

just desperate for her sons t o love her. From the rumors Ive always

heard, her mar riage c ertainly wasnt satisf ying. And f or what ever

reason, she needed Tom to be totally dependent on her. She smoth-

ered him, and he was her baby . Tom grew up mad at his father and

spoiled by his mother.

I dont know why my grandmother did the things she didI saw

only the wonder ful side of her . Gr andma L annert was the sweet -

est person; she was like an older , wiser mother and I loved her ver y

much. I called her Mee Maw and my grandpa Paw Paw.

When I was older, I recognized her erce and frequent manipula-tive streak. To maintain her control, she would turn family members

against each other. Shed bad-mouth loved ones behind their back s.

She especially didnt like my mother after she le ft my dad. Tro ugh

all the y ears, I never hear d my father speak badly of Mee Ma w. He

didnt fault her . He didnt question her . He believed what she said

and cared what she thought.

Toms parents were complicated, and that might be why he grew

up with little r espect f or author ity. On paper , he was an ex cellentstudent, member of the student c ouncil, and top runner on the var-

sity track team. But in his 1964 senior yearbook, there are references

to partying and mischief in almost all of his classmates signatures.

One guy wrote: Tanks for barng all over my cabin. Keep blow-

ing off.

Someone named Di anne was clearly d ating him. Among other

irtations, she wr ote, Heres hoping that y ou stay with y our word

and stay offthe booze . . . Take up women. I ll clue you in, theyre alot more fun.


24/36

REDEMPTION 21

My dad wanted ever ything to seem oka y from the outsidehe

wanted teachers and adults to think he was squeaky clean. His class-

mates opinions show a verydifferent side of my father.

He wasnt just being a k id; some of his tr oubles were serious. In

his senior year, he started hanging around with the wr ong crowd

one boy in particular was bad news. He tried to get Tom to steal cars

and commit petty crimes. He and Tom got intoa ght one night. Ap-

parently, Tom wanted out; he didnt want t o be associated with the

gang anymore. Tis one boy wouldnt allow Tom to leave that easily.

He continued to bully Tom to do things he didnt want to do. Dad got

sick of it. He swiped a gun from his parents attic and threatened the

boy with it at their nex t confrontation. Tey fought. My father shot

the kid square in the shoulder and then ran away. He ditched the gun

somewhere, hiding the evidenc e so his actions wouldnt c ome back

to haunt him. As my dad suspected, the kid never reported the inci-

dent. Years later, after he was mar ried, his parents confronted him

about the missing gun. He acted like he didnt know what they were

talking about. But that night, he told my mother the real story. Tatwas the rst time she was truly scared of her husband.

My dad told me about the incident, too. When I was younger, hed

use it as a war ning to hang out with the good k ids and sta y on a

straight path. When I was older, when things got really bad, Dad told

me he had shot one k id, and he d be happy t o shoot me, t oo. Ter e

were two sides to my father, Good Dad and Bad Dad.

He told me how hard his life was growing up. He complained that

his dad was never home. He told me that his father liked his brotherbetter. Tom hated Ken sometimes. H e hated K en because he loved

himif that makes sense. My father held on t o deep r esentment

while constantly striving for his fathers approval. Ken rarely gave it.

He was kind, but he did not know how to praise, acknowledge, or pat

his son on the back . Tom could be an actuar y ten times over, and it

would still not be quit e enough for Ken. At least, not in m y fathers

eyes.

Tom did not think he could please Ken by staying in the military,so after his brother died, Tom left. My father used the sole surviving


25/36

22 STACEY LANNERT

son military rule to get himself discharged. No questions were asked,

and Tom was no longer a Marine. Ken called my dad Te Baron, and

the sarcasm mustve stung. My dad would never be a pilot.

Once out of the Marines, my dad was a mess over Bills death. To

make him f eel better, his par ents boug ht him a c ool convertible, a

Plymouth Barracuda. But a car didnt do the tr ick. Tom took off for

Tahiti, where he lost all control. He was a big drunk there, he admit-

ted to my mother. He came home only when his visa expired and the

country kicked him out. Ten my father accepted the car, cleaned up

his act, and enrolled at Mizzou. Te rest is history.

I can r emember Dad studying f or the r igorous, infamously dif -

cult actuarial exams, which he had t o pass to get his lic ense. Once

he did, he immediately found jobs and worked his way up to partner

in various actuarial companies. His career kept him out at all hours

of the day and night. At least, thats what he told usit was business

that made him lat e all the time. I missed him t erribly when he was

gone.

I was a little girl, and I didnt know about his past. I just knew hewas my daddy who hug ged and k issed me. H e lavished me with at -

tention, and I could see no wrong in my father.

He was just itfor me.


26/36

Happy Baby

Iha ve a fa vorite phot o album

from when I was young. Te cover is bright poppy red, and the edges

are so do g-eared that br own cardboard pokes out under neath. Te

requisite words Photo Albumare written in gold, 1970s-style cursive

script that reminds me of Charlies Angels.For long stretches of time,

I havent looked at the pictur es. Sometimes I want t o walk down

memory lane, and sometimes I want to run away from it. Whether I

look at the album or not, I keep it with me now that Im out.

Like me, its getting old. Some of the photos are crooked and loosebecause the sticky backing is worn out. Some of the plastic coverings

are bent, scratched, or torn. I like them this way.

On d ays I decide t o open the album, I cant help but wonder

what might have happened t o that blue-e yed babymeif things

had been different. Tere were so man y twists and tur ns as I g rew

up. What if, just one time, s omething bad that happened had been

something good instead? Were there different options for my future?

Could I ha ve been an athlet e for a c ollege track team? Tat wouldhave been fun. Ma ybe I would ha ve bec ome an Eng lish t eacher.

Would I have had a family? I c ouldve had two k ids, maybe four, by

now. Ill never know.

I cant help but be wistful. Being wishful is a lot better than being

angry about cir cumstances I cannot change. A cceptance isnt easy ,

but its the only way. Tank God I was a happy baby, and I didnt have

to wish for anything then.

I was a peanut of a kid. In one photo, Im wearing a purple, ironedshirtdress decorated with duckies and lace around the edges. Im so


27/36

24 STACEY LANNERT

young that I must be pr opped up by a hidden hand or pillow . I m

wearing white patent leather shoes over thick, warm baby tights and

have a great big smile. A babys face cant lie. I look at the picture and

see all the love and joy I felt. My chubby cheeks are lled with happi-

ness, and Im sure they were kissed often. Its almost like I remember

it, and I can cling to the memory and feel it. But of course, I was only

six months old. Im just guessing.

During those years, in the early 1970s we lived in Ced ar Rapids,

Iowa. My mom loved being a mother . She carried me with her ev -

erywhere. I was bald ex cept for a whit e-blond ring right on the t op

of my head. Shed brush it up and keep me in a ke wpie curl, always.

She gave up only when at a ge one I nally grew golden hair . It ew

away from my head in soft, opinionated wisps. In one picture of me

at eight months or so, she look s like she s d ancing with me in our

house in Iowa. My momma smiled wide as she car ried me with her

left arm, her right hand holding mine. Her long, straight blond hair

matched the strands in my kewpie curl. Te shade of our skinpale

and golden all at oncewas exactly the same. Our smiles were simi-lar, but the c orners of my mouth turned down just slig htlya trait

I inherited from Grandma Lannert. Our clothes also mat ched. She

wore a blue dr ess with r ed and whit e dots. My pr essed cotton out-

t was patchwork-blue with white dots and yellow trim. She used to

sew many of my clothes herself, and probably these outts, too.

Maybe taken on the same d ay, theres another pictur e of me in

that same pat chwork dress. My d ad looked so y oung and gentle as

he held me out in fr ont of him by m y armpits. My hands waved outin the air, apping in giggles. My smile, once again, was so much like

my moms. His ex pression was soft, and he looked like he mig ht be

melting. He had br own hair that was par ted on the r ight side and

combed neatly. His skin was perfectsmooth and healthy. His eyes

were as blue as the oc ean; they were clean and calm like a quiet la-

goon. I can tell he was sober. I loved him when he looked like that

when he was so crystal clear.

My father hadnt been big on ha ving k ids, but he changed his


28/36

REDEMPTION 25

mind once I came home from the hospital. He was proud of his baby.

As far back as I can remember, he could hardly put me down when he

got home from work.

I was his Little Kewpie. Tats what they called me for myrst few

years.

Grandma L annert also dot ed on me. I was her rst grandchild,

and she bought me more baby clothes than one k id could wear. She

made a lot of them, t oo; she loved t o sew. Mee Ma w and P aw Paw

meant the world t o me then. Tey constantly fussed over me, mor e

than the Paulson side of the family did. My mother had four siblings

who started having kids at about the same time. Te Paulsons helped

Mom as much as they could, but they had other grandkids. Te Lan-

nerts had a lot mor e money to spoil us with. Tey helped us with

down payments on our houses. My par ents were just star ting out,

but when we lived in Iowa, Missouri, and Kansas, we always had nice

places. I remember big one- or two-story homes, usually four or ve

bedrooms, always with basements.

Grandma and Gr andpas most impor tant pur chase, t o me atleast, was a Winnie-the-Pooh play set I lovedand eventually shared

with my baby sist er. Te set included a vin yl chair, tiny table, and

toy chest. I t was white with gold and r ed checked Winnie-the-Pooh

bears. I still dream about that play set, maybe because Im next to it

in so many of these old photographs.

From ever ything m y mother sa ys, all m y needs wer e met and

then some. Babies want to be dry, fed, and hugged, and I know that I

was. I know for sure because I remember my mom taking such goodcare of my sister, and I remember how warm and close we all felt.

Life was wonder ful then, and I still get lost in the thoug hts of

that time. As a very young child, I could mentally hold on to comfort.

I could reach for my parents. I could soothe myself with the blankies

and stuffed animals the y gave me. I f they fought when I was a t od-

dler, I dont r emember it . Tat stuffhappened later. My babyhood

was about bonding . We were a family ther e for a minut e, through

thick and thin. I f my d ad had a d ark side, if he dr ank too much, I


29/36

26 STACEY LANNERT

didnt know. My mother shielded me fr om his moodsshe did this

for years, while she was still ar ound. She would send me off some-

where or give me something speci al to play with. Ignorance is bliss.

I even like t o think that m y dad didnt dr ink much at that time. In

my mind, he was a d ad who was int o his k ids and wif einstead of

alcohol.


30/36

A New Baby

Iwas two y ears old when C hristy

came along, and I was a proud big sister. Wed sit in our mommas lap

together, and Id hold her hand. I d hold her hand as oft en as she d

let me, and my photo album is proof. In one picture, were standing

in front of the wood-paneled door t o our house in K ansaswe had

movedand Im leading her somewhere in my green and red polyes-

ter shirt with matching pants. Shes wearing a purple polyester pant-

suit, both sewn by either Mom or Grandma Lannert. She has chubby

little cheeks just like mine. We both have the exact same little moleon the right side of our faces. I loved Christy with all my heart.

As she g rew into a t oddler, Id hug her all the time. C hristy was

just so cut e. Her blond hair was whit er than mine, and it mat ched

her lightning personality. She never had a ke wpie curl because she

was born with thick hair all over her head. I had been k ind of bald.

She looked vibr ant and health y and per fect, even then. S he smiled

all the time, like nothing ever bother ed her. She was so pr etty that

I called her my little doll. Id just hold her and k iss her. Tat is, untilshe stopped letting me. She started shrugging and pushing me off. I

was smothering her and making her feel like a little baby.

As much as I tr ied, we didnt alwa ys play together. We were two

years apart, and some things like our mat ching dolly car riages

were fun to play with as a team. But I didnt want to play with the toy

xylophone with her; I had outgrown it. And she wasnt interested in

my big-girl books. We played together half the time, and then we d

go our separate ways. I needed to be outside with other kids; Christywas more independent and oft en preferred to play alone. W hen we


31/36

28 STACEY LANNERT

were together, one of our favorite things to do was make up games.

For instance, we would put blankets on the oor and drive each other

around on them for hours.

Sometimes, we c ould just be ar ound each other doing nothing .

Being sisters was fun, and it was enoughusually.

Wed also get on each others nerves. When we fought, it was usu-

ally because I was bugging her. I was older, so I could grab a toy from

her easily. Id childishly slap her sometimes , like when she t ook my

crayons. She could get even, thoug h. Shed swipe m y toys and zip

down the hallway with them just for fun. Id have to chase her to get

my necklace or nger puppet back. She did that to me a lot.

Ten, she got big enoug h to fend for herself and ght back. And

it hurt. I decided I wasnt going to bug Christy anymore. Besides, she

was my sister, and I didnt want us to hurt each other.


32/36

Davenport , Iowa

Iowa was a wesome. I was in pr e-

school and f elt smar t because I kne w how t o write my name. Lif e

was pretty fantastic at that a ge. I loved m y little sist er. I even had

a little boy friend named B obby. My mom and his mom wer e close

friends, so we sa w each other oft en. He wasnt really my boyfriend,

but our moms would sa y stufflike that . We would hold hands , and

the grown-ups would go on about how cut e we wer e. I ha ve mostly

fond memories of that time. Mostly.

One d ay we wer e outside pla ying while our moms wer e insidedoing mom stuff. Bobby didnt like what ever I was pla ying with, so

he pushed me. I got mad. H e had no right to push me; we were sup-

posed to be ha ving fun t ogether. So I decided enoug h was enoug h,

and I hit him as hard as my preschool self could. I think it was more

of a shove than a punch, but either way, it was enough to scare Bobby

and make him leave me alone.

What I r emember most is how m y mom r eacted. S he was so

proud of me. She was glad I hadnt been scared. She said to his momand the two of us, Im glad Stacey wont take anything offof a boy.

She really believed that, as if shoving a boy would be the answer if a

male attacked me.

No one was mad for long that day.Te moms stayed friends, and

so did Bobby and I. But I felt more powerful. My mom boug ht me a

gurine with a girl holding a bat. At the bottom, it stated, Anything

boys can do, girls can do better.

I really didnt ght much. Mostly, I was just a little k id who likedto take bubble baths with Mr . B ubbleI c ould make the big gest


33/36

30 STACEY LANNERT

bubble wigs in the bathtub that my mom had ever seen. Sometimes,

Christy and I would take baths t ogether. Tat stopped when I r eal-

ized that she peed in the water.

We dr essed alike, and we f elt so pr etty. Mee Ma w boug ht us

matching Easter outts every year. And anytime we had special pho-

tos taken, she made sur e we had ne w clothes. S he loved t o buy us

things. We would get anything we wantedtoy phones, books, baby

dolls, whatever. All we had to do was ask. She was so sweet to Christy

and me. She was retired then, and wasnt in volved in a lot of things

outside of family . She just t ook care of K en and wat ched Wheel of

Fortune.Im sure there was more to her life than that , but that s all

I remember. She seemed to live for her grandchildrenand my dad.

She spoiled us. Mee Maw knew Mom wouldnt let us have sugary ce-

real because we had ca vities in our baby t eeth, so when we got t o

her house, wed get to choose a box from those six-packs of assorted

sweet cereals. It was heaven. I loved visiting her, and I would do any-

thing for her. I did do everything for her later, when I was a teenager.

Whenever we saw her, shed say, Oh, here are my baby girls!Grandpa didnt sa y much, and I dont r emember him as the

tanned, bespectacled, mechanical genius that he was. He had a dam-

aging stroke be fore I tur ned ve. Grandma Lannert had t o dev ote

her life to taking care of him. I dont think she liked it, but she didnt

concern us with the situation as much as she did m y parents. S he

complained to them.

My dad also liked sugary cereal, but unlike Grandma Lannert, he

would not give us any. He ate Trix, but it was offlimits to us.Christy and I would beg him, Let us have Trix!

Nope, hed say from his spot on his bright orange velour chair.

Wed jump up and down. Trix are for kids!

Trix are for Dad. He was smiling, but he wasnt kidding.

We girls got Kix instead. Tat was the bland, healthy stuffshaped

like little balls. But sometimes, Mom would bring home a box of Trix

for Dad, and we would get to it before either of them found out.

When he got home, hed complain, Whos been in my Trix?


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REDEMPTION 31

We would giggle and hide.

At least he let us eat his popc orn sometimesbut not out of his

bowl. His famous bowl was the big gest, yellowest piece of T upper-

ware y ou can ima gine. When he made popc orn, it was speci al. He

stood over the st ove shaking the metal pan as the k ernels hopped

around. He popped it on the stove using lots of oil and topped it with

this salty, buttery, bright orange seasoning. W hen Dad made pop-

corn, he was happy.

My mom boug ht him one of those air poppers. S hed try to get

him to use it because it was healthier . He didnt want an y par t of

it; he wanted to pop it himself, and shake it, shake it, shake it.Some-

times he was just so much fun.

Mom was fun, t oo, but she was the ser ious parent. S he was r e-

sponsible for discipline because thats the way Dad thought it should

be. When he was a k id, his mom had done the punishing while his

father traveled, so Dad thought that discipline was the mothers job.

Mom corrected us and did the spanking, rarely Dad. Instead, he was

goofy. Hed take the whole box of Trix and mix it with his popcorn inhis yellow bowl. Ten hed tease us with it . Eventually, hed get out

two little bowls, and wed get a treat, too.

It was c ommon f or him t o c ome home, ha ve dinner, and then

relax and eat popc orn while wat ching sports. Football and baseball

were his picks; he didnt car e for basketball. He spent Sunday after-

noons in front of the T V. He loved his c ollege team and other Mid-

western teams. I sat on his lap and wat ched with him. Wed talk for

hours and hours. C hristy was usually with Mom; she d sit still andcolor when I was with my dad.

If he wasnt watching TV, Dad was down on the oor playing with

me. Hewouldnt even take off his work clothes rsthed be in his

polo shir t and br own pants fr om a nic e store called F amous B arr.

He always wore the same leather loaf ers. Sometimes, he wor e suits

when he was work ing. I r emember him shopping at a st ore called

Grandpa P igeons, which despit e the name, was sur prisingly nic e.

Te only time he dressed down was on the weekends. He wore ringer


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32 STACEY LANNERT

T-shirts and shorts that were frayed on the ends and splattered with

paint. He often wore his Marines jacket when he wasnt working. He

usually looked more put together than other dads.

When I was a baby, I had a little ghost on a stick that he d wiggle

behind my head. Hed throw me high up in the air until I got too big;

then hed just hold me. I ha ve a photo of him look ing totally hand-

some and happy baby Christy is sleeping in the cr ook of his r ight

arm; Im on the le ft, with his left arm around me, and Im thrilled. I

have both hands pressed against my cheeks. Im smiling because Im

with Daddy.


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Redemption by Stacey Lannert and Kristen Kemp - Excerpt

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