The Scars of who we are Part III

The Scars of Who We Are Part III
    ~Pull back the curtain and tell me what you see and tell me who is it you’re trying to be and how they compare to the person that you are? So take my hand and hold it tight, I promise not to lie to you tonight, for tonight is only the beginning, when we rediscover and find out who it is, we really are.

                I actually meant to have this up last week; unfortunately I came down with the flue and bronchitis, which as you can imagine pretty much wiped me out. Granted I tried to write a little on my novel but couldn't get very far. I also attempted to work on my blog, which became difficult when all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep (I'll spare you the other details.) I also want to apologize to the community boards I’m a part of, I really want to be more active on the boards, but while I was sick, I lacked focus. But with the help from my doctor and some good friends I’m finally better and find myself able to sit down and really write.


         
            I’ve always been a firm believer in dreams, there’s enough automatons in the world, who are those who simply give up, or surrender their dreams, often becoming bitter, resentful and pessimistic. What the world needs, what it really needs, are dreamers. It was Robin S. Sharma who once said “Dreamers are mocked as impractical. The truth is they are the most practical, as their innovations lead to progress and a better way of life for all of us,”

            Dreamers are the ones who inspire us with their works, awe us by their creations or move us by their words. I’m sure we’ve all seen one movie, or read a book that inspired you to do more, or to make more out of your life. Almost always it makes you feel like you’ve been sleep walking through life this whole time and that now you're finally awake and seeing things clearly for the first time. Seeing just how different the world really is, but change can be difficult, but sometimes it the change that you need.

             I know people look down on me and I know it's because they sometimes see me as a dreamer, who’s head is always lost in the clouds. But it’s my dreams that me strong and it's my dreams that kept me young at heart. Because of my dreams I learned perspective. I can see beyond and past myself and all my insecurities, I can see a world where anything is possible. A world filled with incredible joy, happiness and wonder. I see this world whenever I close my eyes, I see what we as a people can really do, I see our potential and I see it in everyone. This is why I write, because it’s my dream to do so and say what you will about my dreams, I believe that my dreams, along with yours are given to us directly from the hand of God himself, who puts those dreams within us.

Now following and believing in your dreams rarely comes easy, like all talents or gifts, they must be nurtured, given time to grow. They need to grow as I had in my earliest of years, when my mom had left home with my older brother Dominic, leaving me behind for my father to later find and rescue.
         

                                                      We are the fallen,
                                                 Who tear down the world,
                                                      We are the broken,
                                                        Who are lost,
                                                    We are the weary,
                                                     Who lost our way
                                     Yet we’re looking forward to a better day,
                                             Looking forward to a better day.
         

                Unfortunately, I have seen proof of this, in old home videos that my dad had on rare occasion let me watch. On them, I see myself a young boy playing with my toys on my grandma’s couch. In the background I hear my grandma asking my dad about me. I hear his tale as I had heard him tell it over a dozen times before. Only this time I think it was his first time telling anyone of his account. There’s a note of disbelief in tone, and I hear his voice breaking. My dad rarely ever shows his pain, I think I only seen and heard him cry twice in my entire life. This being one of them, where I hear my father crying and from what I was told and from the numerous home videos they had me. Videos of other family who came to visit me, I know I was with my dad for over a week before my mother had the courtesy to finally call and check up on me.

                Listening to stories of my parents converging has never been easy and I find the retelling incredibly difficult, (So bear with me, a lot of this I put together on my own because my mother told only part of the story, enough of which to make herself into the hero, while my dad had been more forthright.) Looking back always leaves me wondering, what if things worked out differently?
             
                Something you need to understand my mother, she’s a masterful manipulator, I can speak from experience, she can spin a lie so fanciful and beautiful, fill it with endless depths she could make you believe you’re right handed instead of left, or that ice was really hot instead of cold. She can spin any lie and tell it with such conviction you can’t help but believe it to be the truth. She was incredible to watch, because she could feign any emotion, anger, great sadness, she could even go so far as openly weep, with tears streaming down her cheeks and a snot bubble in her nose, the sight of which will always leave you with your chest swelling with pity. I say this, because years later she once struck me so hard and so repeatedly, she caused permanent nerve damage to my right eye. Then had be convinced it my fault and had me scared to death to tell anyone the truth. When even now I still can’t control how my right eye twitches, usually when I eat, but I’ve learned to live with it.
             
         But the truth about my mother is this, she was the greatest actress I ever seen and even in so knowing all this, my love for her was still boundless and all I ever wanted was for her to love me. (So when she manages to get my dad on the phone, this is who he’s dealing with)
             
                She cried, begged and eventually talked him into bringing me over to her mom’s house. My Grandma Agnes, lived with her elderly mother Aida at the time, so my dad figured it’d be a safe as a meet as any. When he shows up, my dad tells me she’s super sweet, kind and very complacent. (So naturally my dad is suspicious that something is up) However, no one save myself is truly immune to her charms and that took me practically twenty two years of my life to develop, so my dad didn’t have a chance.
             
                                                                             
                                   We are the beaten and the downtrodden
                                 Searching for answers in a life gone wrong,
                                  Picking up the pieces of what's already gone.
                                                Living in the past, 
                                And Standing in the midst the broken glass.
                                 Believing we're the lost and forgotten.
                                Because the flowers had yet to blossom,
                                          But the pain is going to end, 
                                           And the sun will rise again
             
                Before he knew it, she had talked him into bringing me into the house, showing off all the new things that her and her sister Terry S, had gotten me. One of which being a new carrier, that she kept trying to talk my dad into letting me try out. Which he reluctantly he permits, letting her put me in the new carrier. Then she attempts to talk him into putting my diaper bag down which he adamantly refuses. (Thank God my dad has some limits) So she decides to try another tactic, by convincing my dad she needed to talk to him privately upstairs and convincing him into letting my grandma Agnes watch me. Now my dad liked her enough to trust her, in his eyes she was good church going woman and she was old. So he lets himself be talked into letting her watch me, while him and my go upstairs to talk. Again she tries to slip my baby bag from my father’s shoulder, insisting that her mom may need it while they were upstairs, but my dad refuses, insisting that it’s staying on him.  (Another win for the good guys…for now at least)
             
                Somewhat defeated, but not completely out of the game yet, my mom takes my dad upstairs into Agnes’s room, which is right next to my great grandmother Aida’s room. Once alone in Agnes’s room, my mom begins telling my dad how much she missed him, apologizing to him for everything she’s done, kissing on him as she tells him how much she loves him, needs him.

                My dad resisted for a bit, but his resolve begins falter, (Hey, the poor guy is only human; give him a break and now my least favorite part of the story.) My mom proceeds in her attempts of seducing my father…he tries to resists, keeps telling her no and freaking out that her mom was right downstairs and that her grandma was probably next room. But she ignored him and pressed her advantage, waving off his concerns of her mother or grandmother walking in. She begins taking off his belt and pulling down his pants and my dad tries to resist. But she manages to distract him just enough to get his pants down around his ankles.
             
                This is when the cobra chose to strike, she rips my baby bag from my dad’s shoulder, shoves him down onto the bed, turns and races out of the room. My dad realizing that this clearly was a setup is back on his feet in no time, pulling on his pants and giving chase. He already knows she intends on taking me back, why he had no idea, but he couldn’t risk letting her having my life back in her hands. So my dad explodes out of the bedroom after her and she’s already down the stairs, he hears her shouting to her mom and my dad’s heart sinks. He walked right into a setup and he bolts to the stairs in hopes of catching my mother before she could escape with me.

                Now, did I mention my mom immorality? Because as my dad reaches the stairs he hears my mom sending my great grandma Aida up the stairs, costing my father precious time as he tries to quickly push past her without sending her spilling down the stairs, or causing her any harm. By the time he gets past her, my mom is already outside with me.
                “How can you let her do this?” My father asks, looking to my grandma Aida, sickened before he races out of the house just in time to see my mother pulling away.
             
                Determined to get me back, my dad races to his truck and floors it all in hopes of getting me back. (My dad tells this part slightly more colorfully with how he’d swore he was going to kill her for abandoning me, then stealing me) So then begins the car chase, out of a subdivision, onto a freeway, then a highway, all the way up to Cincinnati Ohio, back to Kentucky, then back up to Ohio because my mom was trying desperately to lose him. She hadn’t expected my father to be chasing her, never thought he’d enter a high speed car chase in order to rescue me. She wanted me in Ohio, because that’s where her sister Terry S lives up that way, which she figured it’d be safe since her husband was truly loaded, mansion and all. (Seriously her house was literally a mansion; every home I grew up in could fit inside) My mom almost makes it there, when she gets pulled over for speeding and erratic driving.
             
                Thinking quickly and knowing this cop was costing her valuable time, my mom leaps out of the car, crying. Balling, with great big tears streaming down her face,  making her breath catch in her throat as she races up to the now alarmed police officer who’s not quite sure what to make of the theatrics. She proceeds to tell the cop, that her husband just found out she was leaving him and that he was crazy, having threatened to kill her,
                 (Now imagine two things if you will. One your deranged spouse just kidnapped your kid who she tried to kill a few times before, not to mention had abandoned. Now imagine how angry you’d be, how mad you’d look. Now I want you think of a cop who hears that you’re crazy and trying to murder said spouse, which let’s be honest you’re probably considering. So in case you’re wondering yeah, it’s not looking too good for my father) almost like clockwork, my dad pulls up behind the cop thinking that he finally had her and there was no way she could continue her escape now that a cop was involved. Then my dad’s heart sinks as the cops sends my mother on her way.

                The officer and my old man end up exchanging some heated words, (Which doesn’t help his case) and the end results in him being forced to turn around and return home, defeated.  
                                                                                       The days grow shorter,
                                                                                       The nights ever longer,
                                                                                      As I grow endlessly colder….
                                                                                      But clinging ever so tightly,
                                                                                     To this little light of mine.