July 21, 1971. It was Phillip Billie's sixth birthday. Jacob was seven years older than his brother. Both boy's displayed effects of neglect.
Trouble followed the elder son wherever he roamed.
Phillip's connection to his soul kept him seeking something greater than himself.
It was a grand birthday his mother'd planned. Never had she gone to such lengths to recognize either son beyond their contribution to her self-absorbed existence. Both boys were instilled with basic life-skills. Each were left alone to experience all that which life threw at them. Unprepared for pitfalls, the boys faced challenges for which neither was emotionally prepared.
Sixth birthdays became celebrations. There was cake and ice cream; along with a few presents. The couple couldn't afford lavish gifts. Lack of resources was a bone of contention constantly echoing from the lips of Victoria's parents. Vapid humans without inherent value measured worth in the only way they knew; dollars.
Victoria's husband, Johnson Billie, valued his life as all Native Americans; spiritually. He'd lost his father when he was nine years old. Without paternal guidance, Johnson fell for the woman emanating only physical beauty.
The family's connection was no stronger than random strangers placed into a golfing foursome.
Johnson Billie, Jr, for all of his failings, truly loved the woman he married. Never had anyone in the tribe displayed traces of narcissistic behavior. He'd grown up in a time when everyone worked together for the sake of the greater good. The father was incapable of distinguishing between feminine wilds, so deftly employed by Victoria, and that which was truly spiritual.
Phillip's uncle Trey refused to accept the invitation to attend the birthday offered by his sister. There was no way he'd be caught at what he considered some third-world celebration. The man was too important; in his own mind.
The birthday boy's native traits manifested in skin color muted by the contribution of his mother. Easily assessed was his mixed-breed.
Jacob, the boy's older brother, showed no trace of their father's influence. Repeatedly, Victoria had been approached on city streets and assessed as Jacob Billie's mother. Their countenances were spitting images of one another. Maternal DNA was strongest in her eldest child.
Also inherited from his mother were criminal tendencies rooted in her blood-line.
Regardless of family dynamics, the day had been reserved for the celebration of Phillip Billie's entrée into an age whereby he'd adequately matured; or so his mother surmised.
Victoria's inability to grow beyond the age of six hindered her family. Sons no longer interacted with a mother along paths of personal growth. The woman refused to acknowledge the seedier side of human existence; of which she was all too familiar. Never would she divulge family secrets to sons. Knowing personal struggles of their mother would have offered explanations for behavior. Each son may have sought more fruitful paths in life.
It was not to be.
There were no Miccosukee or Seminole friends or cousins invited to Phillip's birthday party. Mostly White friends and a few Black children from the boy's elementary school enjoyed invitations.
The mother possessed an overbearing need to control her son. That was accomplished by separating him from his unique Miccosukee heritage.
Victoria's ever-present desire to be the center of attention was manifested when all child-guests were seated around the picnic table. Once she'd gained the attention of all, the mother and host began. "Today is a very special day for Phillip. He is six years old; and it's a magical age. There's a poem I'd like to recite that perfectly captures this moment in Phillip's life."
The woman stood statuesquely, held her hands together at her waist, and began. Victoria recited a childhood poem expressing her desire to remain six years old forever. It was a time she felt the possibility of a bright future. Her family never offered coping skills to overcome trauma. She felt certain her son could exist perpetually adolescent. It was her greatest gift to him; as she conceived.
Once finished, the mother smiled satisfactorily as she scanned the faces of each child. Some smiled back. Others rocked back-and-forth under the influence of legs being gently and nervously kicked under the table. "That poem is by AA Milne. The same man who wrote Pooh Bear."
When the children didn't react demonstrably, the mother stepped back away from the picnic table and joined the other parents in conversation.
If it'd been left solely to Victoria's discretion, responsibility for Phillip would have been passed to her older brother Trey. He needed to be given the responsibility of teaching the boy to seek financial gain by whatever means necessary. It was a family tradition. However, she'd married a spiritual man. A man who would've dragged perpetrators deeply into the Everglades; never to be seen again. She placated her one-time warrior; eroding resolve. Without the steadfastness possessed by a warrior for God, the man's existence, and that of his sons, became threatened.
Benevolent protection never resonated with the boy. His father was constantly gone; working multiple jobs to earn money that kept his elitist wife happy.
Victoria was the straw that stirred the family drink. Johnson Billie was discarded as easily as a floating fleck in her high-ball glass of life; flicked away by her fingertip. Everything surrounding her was contained and controlled.
The Milne poem acted as justification for the woman to absolve herself of parental responsibility. After all, she'd been abandoned at seven years old by her parents.
Phillip simply existed in the family home for another twelve years. Maturation came slowly to the youngest son.
Victoria didn't care.
Teenage inquiries concerning the world and its machinations were dismissed by the mother with an oft used, and flippant response. "I just don't know about those things."
As horrible as her parents were to her, Victoria did not take corrective actions with her own children. She'd been ordered to respect Marty Markham for his Harvard pedigree.
Submissive nature wasn't in the youngest boy's DNA. He remained curious throughout life; always seeking truth as defined by the mathematically perfect universe.
It was the half of his Native American soul that drove him.
The White half, truly conceived within a blue-eyed devilish family, attempted to wrest control from thoughts echoing truth and honesty.
Phillip was conflicted.
The Northrup's psychoses had been exacerbated by the Germans; those who'd infiltrated via the Everglades twenty-six years earlier. The invaders happily leveraged the family penchant for destruction. Innate disdain for beautiful creation affected a third generation; and would many more.
The father'd been denied the strength and guidance of Johnson Billie, Sr.; someone who'd instill in him the need to establish barriers against evil. God required boundaries. Without them, influences threatened to draw the youngest son away from the spirituality he knew existed; and craved.
Without proper parental influences, Phillip Billie was doomed to a feral existence; of which he was ill-prepared to subdue.