A Search for a Loving God Part Xlll

When your whole world falls apart, and you’re as low as you think you can imagine, don’t ever think it can’t get worse. Things can always get worse. Everyone in life falls or gets knocked down. Life has it’s ups and downs not matter what your status. Hitting rock bottom isn’t a sin, not attempting to get up may be.

I have found when I am down and have nothing, those with nothing will share their little bit of nothing with you. Those that have, don’t want to acknowledge your existence. I have been amazed at the generosity of the poor, and their concern for one another.

I felt alone in the world, and it took all my energy to keep putting one foot in front of the other & keep going on. We are never truly alone, but at times it sure feels like it. My little sister refused to let me give up, and surprised me by paying for and setting the appointment for me to take the GED exam. I know although I had doubts, God was with me, God and my little sister.

Filled with self pity, leaves no room for anything or anybody. Neither I nor anyone I have ever met will abide with anyone filled with self pity one hundred percent of the time. They run everyone around them off to justify their self pity. Oddly enough when you’re that far down the only people around you are down as well. The positive thing, should you arrive at such a place is all roads lead out, just be careful the road you take.

I had not seen my mother for a few months, so one afternoon I decided to visit. I must have timed it right, or God put the thought in my head, because just as I approached the porch I hear my little sister screaming. I ran in without knocking, and ran straight to me mothers room where the screams were coming from, and my mother was swinging a belt, buckle first hitting my sister. I came in from behind and grabbed the belt, mom turned and came after me, I gave her a hard shove and she landed across her bed. I was angry, and yelled at her that if she deserved to be spanked you damn sure don’t hit her with the buckle. I told her I better never hear of her hitting Patricia again, or I would hurt her.

I left with my little sister Patricia in tow, and for the next three months she stayed at my place. I sent her home when I found out she was taking advantage of the situation to have sex with her boy friend. Like the typical older brother I beat her boy friends ass as well.

I began to like being on my own. I didn’t make much money, but most things I enjoyed were free, a pickup game of basketball at the community center, some touch football at the local park, or visiting friends. When I did have a few extra dollars, there was dollar car load night at the local drive in movie, going to the roller rink, bowling a few games, or catching a city bus down town just to sight see.

I met a girl at the local Piggly Wiggly, and began to spend time with her. I would like to say I loved her, but I didn’t. We did get along and she seemed to dote on me. She had a car, a good job, and a nice apartment. I don’t think I thought of it like that at the time, but reflecting back I see with better vision. She made me feel like I had moved up in the world. I did contribute, but she made more money than me, and together we could do more that I could.

I started having trouble with my shoulders, and the pain was unbearable, but I thought it was a muscle strain that would go away. A couple of weeks past and it had not improved, in fact it was worse. We were laying in bed one evening and I could hear my heart, only it was a beat I heard, it was like a saw swishing back and forth. I asked her to listen and she was concerned.

Next day I went to the doctor’s office, and he said I had pericarditis and needed to be hospitalized immediately I didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation and after leaving the doctors office I chased after my little sister as she was driving away. She drove me to moms, and mom took me to the hospital. After what seemed like forever I was admitted.

I didn’t know the hospital had put me on last rites until a friends came to visit. He and I were good friends, but we had been arguing and to see him was somewhat of a surprise. He said we had been friends too long for something to happen and he not see me one last time. I said, “What?” He says, “Man your on last rites.” I said, “What the hell is that? I’m not catholic.” He says, “They don’t expect you to make it.” I said, “Get the hell out of here and I’ll come see you when I get out” He ask, Are you sure? I said, I don’t know what the doctors think, but I know what I know, and I’ll be getting out of here. He gave me a hug and left.

My 3^rd or 4^th day the pain was worse than ever, and I was squirming on the bed when the preacher dropped in. He chatted with me and we prayed, and he left. I was in so much pain I almost wanted to die, but about 8:30PM it all eased and the pain was gone. I slept like I had not slept for a while. The next morning the preacher dropped by again and was relieved to see I wasn’t in pain. He asked when the pain subsided, and when I told him he says, that is when we held a special prayed meeting for you.

I was released a couple of days later with some restrictions, but glad to be out. The girl I met at Piggly Wiggly came to visit almost every day. She insisted I stay at her place during my recovery. I had been out of the hospital for a couple of week and wanted to get out. We went to a drive in movie and watched Judge Roy Beam starring Paul Newman. Driving home it stormed like no tomorrow,

Arriving at her apartment I stopped on the balcony, and I felt a sudden sense of lonely. She turned to ask what the matter is. I glanced and said, it feels like the end of the world. She turned and entered her apartment and I soon followed. That night I was awakened and I heard her on the phone, and I hear her ask, “What should I tell him?” I arose and walked into the living room where she was, and I said. “Patricia is dead isn’t she?” She looked at me agape and says, yes, how did you know? I don’t know how I knew, but I knew.

I dressed and went out, and I had just thing in mind. Her ex boy friend had threatened her and I thought it was him, so I was going to kill him. A few miles down the road my aunt and a couple of her kids stopped me. She said he had nothing to do with it and I should come with her. I did as she asked and got in the car.

My mom was concerned about my heart, or so she said. Some how she had a doctor medicate me, and the next few days were a blur.

My little sister was the only family that always loved me thru thick and thin. She was my pillar and my strength. I will battle with God again for taking her, and not me

A Search for a Loving God Part Xll

I have wondered many times in my life, why? There have been times, I wished I had never been, & wished I could just fade away into the ethereal. All I could do in times such as these was to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
The summer of 1970 about two weeks before football spring training I came home from a party and my head begin to pound. When morning came and my mother looked in to check on me, I could not sit up. She had to help me to the bathroom, and hold me up. She rushed me to a clinic that was just down the street. They performed a spinal tap, and discovered I had spinal meningitis. I was admitted to a near by hospital, and mom called her brother to come carry me. Sights, sounds, and scents all made me sick.
I went into a semi coma state and all I remember for about three days was floating around the ceiling. When I did return to a conscious state I was still in pain, but nothing I couldn’t deal with. I would get nausea when I ate so they would give me a shot in the rump to ease my nausea. The shot hurt as bad as what I was dealing with, and I’m not sure if it was the nurse or the shot but it bled till my underwear was soaked on my right cheek. I informed my doctor and he says, you don’t have to take it. Next morning when the nurse came to give me the shot, I said no. She leaves, but the head nurse came in and verbally lambasted me. She said if you don’t take the shot I better see you eat everything on your plate. Breakfast took till lunch to finish, and lunch till dinner, but I finished it. Mainly just so I didn’t have to listen to her again.
I was lucky and released on my seventh day, but the doctor insisted I take it easy. He said I couldn’t play football for at least a year, said it was too risky. I lived for football, and not being able to play was devastating. A large chunk of my world collapsed. I didn’t know then a total collapse awaited me just around the corner.
I know my mother was struggling, and it was all she could do make ends meet. She would call it living pillar to post. My stepfather and her we getting a divorce, and that left just her and me supporting. I heard him hit her one night and I sprinted to her room and flung open the door. He had her cornered, but when she saw me she came out of the corner like Joe Lewis. When it was over she had broke his nose and cracked three ribs. She had him down and was just pounding him, and he looks up at me and asked for help. I said, I didn’t come running to help you. This was a man six foot three inches tall and weighed over two hundred forty pounds. My mother was five foot five inches and may have weighed one hundred and twenty pounds. He limped around a couple of day, and then left and never came back.
A few days before school starts my mother tells me I have to move out. She says she can’t afford me. I found a room at a boarding house, and the little old lady that owned it liked me. She put me in the only room that had its own bathroom. Not being able to play football I could work more hours to afford my little room. The room even had a small black and white TV.
I started my senior of school, and felt out of place not being on the football team. I didn’t have to feel out of place long a special messenger came to my drafting class with news. The vice principle came to my drafting class, leaned down and whispered in my ear “You cannot continue school here if your not living with a legal guardian.” I said, I’m eighteen, and he says it doesn’t matter. I sat looking out the window wondering how he knew, and what was I going to do. I lay my books on the desk, step through the large open window, and walked away.
I didn’t know what to do, or where to turn. I decided to join the service. I went down town to talk to a recruiter, and next thing I know I’m testing and taking a physical. I knew Nam was still raging, but this way I could get an education even if it meant going to Nam. When the day was over I couldn’t believe it, but I was rejected. People are burning draft cards, and running to Canada to escape military service, and the reject me because I’m blind in the right eye.
This one of the times I wished not to be. I felt like the whole world had abandoned me. I don’t know that there is a word that can describe the depth of loneliness I felt. I was angry with God for allowing me to be. I screamed “What is it you want of me?” I felt Family, community, my country, and God had all abandoned me, but I blamed God for allowing it. I yelled, “What kind of God would create something just to torture it.” I was not afraid of the meanest person alive, but I was afraid of the unknown that lay ahead.
I believe this is the place many future criminals arrive. This is where true fortitude is tested, and decisions made here can define who you are. I too started down the wrong road, and the same God I was so angry with stopped me and straightened my path. I have wished at times things could have been different, but I wouldn’t be the me I am today if they were.

A Search for a Loving God Part Xl

My dad had tried to visit me once during my years at the boy’s ranch, but was turned away. When in custody of my grandparents he had told them I didn’t deserve to live and he should kill me. I acted brave, but one night when my grandfather was grappling for the string in the kitchen to turn on the light I started screaming. He realized I was more scared than I wanted to admit, and until I was put in the boy’s ranch he made a pallet on the floor beside his bed & had me sleep there. Now at 17 years of age my dad comes by and wants me to accompany him on a trip from Dallas to Austin to visit a friend.

The trip from Dallas to Austin was uneventful and was actually quiet. The friend we were to visit was in a mental institution, and I was never able to understand their relationship. They allowed her a pass, and we took her to eat at a Mexican restaurant. She and my dad chatted while I mentally escaped into the sights outside the restaurant window. She was not a pretty lady. She was sloppily dressed, overweight, and didn’t look to be too clean. She also had a large mole on her face with long hairs growing from it, and I couldn’t look at her and stomach my food. I felt bad that I felt that way, but I couldn’t escape or change it.

The time dragged by and after an agonizing three hours we dropped his friend off and started out trip home. The trip back to Dallas would be a complete contrast to the quiet ride to Austin. Dad had to stop for a couple of beers before we headed out, and we took a different return route than the one we had come down on. Dad said it was the scenic route, but he should have called it a drunkard’s route. We must have stopped at every lounge, tavern, and bar there was between Austin and Dallas. I have never seen the drinker’s route on any map, but it seems my dad knew it well.

We stopped just outside Temple at what is known as the crossroads. The crossroads is the county line and the only place for thirty miles that alcohol is sold. There are several dives to choose from and my dad chose a fine establishment where the lights didn’t need to be dimmed, the smoke that lay heavy around the room would accomplish that very well.

Dad found himself a seat at the bar, and was soon embellishing himself with the nectar of his God. There were two empty pool tables and to pass the time I inserted my quarter racked them up and shot some balls. Two soldiers entered the bar and one walked over to the table and says, “Shoot a game for a beer” I shook my head no, and informed him I was too young to drink. He says, “Shoot a game for a dollar” I said no it’s my table, you win you can have the table, but my dad turns on his barstool and says, “I’ll cover his dollar. The guy inserted his quarter and racked them up.

I broke, and nothing fell. He dropped three or four balls before I was given another opportunity to shoot. I made another well intentioned attempt, but again nothing dropped. The soldier them ran all his balls and called the eight in the side pocket. He shot and the eight dropped in the called pocket, but the cue ball rolled into the corner pocket. The soldier looks at me with a smile and says, “Ok where is my dollar?” I looked at him and said, “I not a dummy, you may have run the table but a scratch on the eight ball is a loss.” He says, I want my dollar and he starts walking my way. I raised my cue stick and would have stood my ground, but my dad spun in his barstool, pitched the guy a dollar, and yells at me, “Come on, we’re leaving”

I had driven once or twice and was not proficient, but dad pitched me the keys and says, you’re driving. I eased across the graveled parking lot and onto the two lane black top. Dad started growling at me calling me a punk, and a trouble maker. I sat silent and concentrated on driving. I was doing the speed limit, and he called me a mama’s boy, and a sissy, and instructed me to drive like a man. He hollered for me to drive faster, and I eased on the accelerator, but it wasn’t fast enough to appease him. I recalled times when I was very young when he would drive a hundred miles per hour screaming “Are you afraid?” I eased on the gas some more, but again not to his satisfaction. He continued to berate me yelling how I was raised by a woman making snide remarks about my manhood. I sped up more and the last I looked the odometer revealed I was driving ninety five miles per hour. He yells, “Scared boy?” I said no. He then again called me a punk and said I didn’t deserve to live, and says, “I’m gonna kill you.”

Dad attacked me hitting me on the side of the head, but all could think about was getting the car stopped and pulled over safely. I kept him at bay with one hand while guiding the car with the other. I’m not sure how I did it, but I managed to get the car pulled to the side of the road, and stopped. I then gave dad my undivided attention. I may have yelled, “:we’ll see who kills who. “ I overpowered him and had him draped over the front seat holding him with my left hand while pounding away with my right. Everything happened so fast I couldn’t keep up with details, but somehow he managed to get out the passengers door and start running down the highway.

I eased out of the car and watched as he ran stumbling, falling, getting up and falling again. He was crying like a baby and screaming at the top of his lungs for someone to help him, Yelling, “Please help me, he is gonna kill me” Earlier, years of anger kicked down the walls and rushed forth in a flurry of fury. Now, I walked slowly watching my dad, and all I saw was a scared, angry little kid that had never grown up. All my hatred and anger was washed away and a feeling of peace wrapped me like a blanket. I walked up to dad, and he looks at me his eyes filled with tears and fears, and flinches like he thinks I’m going to hit him. I reached down, lifted him up and just held him close. I said, come on lets go, and I walked him to the car and helped him in.

The time was late and per my dads request we drove to his mothers to spend the night. The next day I’m awakened by he and my grandmother talking over their morning coffee, and he was telling her he had fallen down some stairs. I got up and walked into the dining room, and couldn’t believe when I saw my dads face how badly I had beaten him. I was saddened looking at him, and the pain of hitting him was more than all the pain his hands had ever caused me. I still bear the scars his hands carved in me, and a blind right eye from a backhand, but I would add a couple of more if it took away my fist from hitting him. On the other hand I may never have been given the picture of him I saw that night, and may to this day carry around anger and hatred.

A Walk on the Beach

Swells of rising waves breaking as they crest

Crash ashore, crawl and gently come to rest

Whispering winds beckon come into the sea

Caressing my face assuring bliss awaits for me.

Deep blue pressed against an auburn sky

Morns first ray reached to touch my eye

Come dance the dance just you and I

The time has come to say goodbye