While going through some things today I found some old pictures of me as a little kid which is what led me to do today's post. The picture off to the left is of me at six years old which was 1972. That little boy is who I see in the mirror every single time I spend more than five minutes looking at myself.
For me it is very painful to the very core of my being. I grew up in farm country in Geauga County, Ohio and we as they say were "dirt poor" the son of a nineteen year old mother in her second marriage and also the son of an abusive father. A child who knew at the time of this photograph that he was different than other boys but wasn't sure exactly what it was.
A little boy who could write and draw with both hands until he was in kindergarten, when his teacher tied his left hand behind his back to his chair to force him to be right handed. Little boys need to only use one hand you know, and their right hands so they are in their right minds. A little boy who was deathly afraid of the dark. A little boy who couldn't fall asleep without his teddy bear. A little boy who had an awful lisp till he was eleven.
A little boy who desperately wanted "Mrs. Beasley" the doll and Barbie. A little boy who used dollies and pillow cases to drape "clothes" over his stuffed toys so they could play dress up and he could make believe they were all filthy rich. A little boy whose father was never home when he was awake until he eight years old, because he worked so many double shifts.
A little boy whose favorite play theme was "beauty queen". He would get his radio flyer wagon and put a cement block in it and then would spend all morning gathering these little tiny white flowers that grew on weeds that looked like miniature daisies. The wagon would be overflowing with them all but the seat and after lunch with an old blanket and a broken plastic flower pot would play "Rose Parade Queen" and wave to the invisible throng of loving fans adoring him.
The little boy who had to be "mommas big man" and help with everything she did so "daddy" would be happy and became in the process "the perfect housewife". The little boy who feared his father so that he NEVER hung around him. A little boy who most nights cried himself to sleep.
The little boy who got one pair of shoes at the school year and they had to last till June, the rest of the time he went barefoot. Cardboard in the bottoms if they wore out. New clothes for school but ALWAYS from Goodwill and the rare dress shirt from Montgomery Wards in Cuyahoga Falls. If they wore then his momma would sew patches on them, till they were nearly rags.
The little boy who was told he could do anything if he tried hard enough or worked hard enough but never really ever given the confidence to try to be something more than his was. "People don't get better than what they are, they just survive somehow.
It is what I see, sad thing is that little boy as a man is still afraid of the dark, still sleeps with a teddy bear, still is afraid of his father and still has a distant relationship with him. That man is afraid of any confrontation, rocking the boat and especially of not being "liked". There are still nights he cries himself to sleep. That man is still the insecure six year old boy.
That man is me---I can't believe I said all of that. Maybe I needed to. Maybe I needed to say it to let it go. Maybe now by being in school again I can become the man I want to be. With that said, that will be tomorrow's post..... the man I want to be.
Until next time I am so glad we had this time together.
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