Fragments Of Me (Time)

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Adults always complained about time.

Never enough time for this; not enough time for that.

My parents were at a dinner party; while I stayed at my friend’s house. I was summoned to the phone.

Barely eleven, I listened to my mother sobbing. Apparently, my drunkard father slapped her in front of all their friends. “Please check  on the house.”

Two flights up, I unlocked the door with a spare key. Moonlight filled the dark apartment.
Terrified, I walked through the quiet living room until I reached the long hallway leading to the back of our home.

I froze.

The man I hated for all of my young life, the tyrant who abused us, lay on the floor with a gun resting inches from his hand.

Fear, relief, joy, and sadness flowed through me like light through a prism.

Fighting the urge to run away, I approached him. The rise and fall of his back confirmed he lived.

Time for my first adult decision even though I knew it meant a beating the next day.

Dropping to one knee, my trembling hand reached for the gun. The weapon appeared to weigh a ton.

I thought of tucking it in my pants like they do in the movies. Then a odd thought crept into my mind.

Whoever said dog is man’s best friend didn’t have a pee-pee.

Shoving the weapon in my jacket pocket I ran out and didn’t stop running until I reached the black railing overlooking the East River.

Removing the gun from my pocket I stared into the barrel.

Why would anyone want to end their life?

There by the river, in a city of eight million people, surrounded by a magnificent skyline, I never felt so alone.

Making my second adult decision, I tossed the gun into the river.

That little boy stood there another hour, admiring the crescent moon, the river, and the city he called home.

He wouldn’t help but wonder…..

If time was as precious as people say, why do adults waste so much of it on hate and violence.

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277 thoughts on “Fragments Of Me (Time)

  1. Oh my.. Your growing up story sounds like my papa’s.. It was horribly horrible – took many years to grieve it out – forgive and live a good life.. He has been an amazing gentle husband and father.. He asked me to write his story as his final putting to rest the demons that robbed him of peaceful sleep.. I did and he is so grateful.. I’m really proud of you and the little I know.. You chose to rise above it all and love ❤️

    Liked by 3 people

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  3. It is sad to think of father’s who didn’t try nor change. My Dad is often in my thoughts. He totally overcame his impoverished childhood. Thanks to a truck driver who took him home in the wee hours of the night, since at age 11 he hitch hiked to Covington, Kentucky to help his mother by working to pay Rent. His friend, who was older and wiser, drove him in his semi to the top of Cincinnati. He told him he could become “someone” if he went to school, tried hard for good grades and got into a work co-op program at U of C. Dad listened and did this, became a nuclear engineer and “rocket” part analyst, testing metals for their ability to withstand heat. But, he had a father who was in the mental ward, results of his military service, dying while my Dad was in his 20’s. So, my Dad saw my Mom across campus and trailed her path, joined organizations she also belonged in. Mom viewed him as a “punk.” He showed over time a drive for improvement. When they married and had kids, he practiced with a cloth diaper and old fashioned diaper pins so he could change diapers, (Mom saud there was blood on the diaper fron trying to learn how to poke through the cloth whilr protecting babys skin. He chose in the 1950s, to bathe us, read to us, build us bookcases, a sailboat sandbox with 3 sections and playhouses. When he died he had asked we include his humble beginnings story, learning goal setting from sweeping out a White Castle in a state where there were no Labor laws. People make me mad when they blame their past and roots, which makes me mad at your Daddy. He could have loved this precious boy, YOU, in the photograph, Andrew.

    Liked by 3 people

    • Smiling. Thank you for contributing your family story on this post. It was amazing. It makes me furious to hear people blame their past or parents for the mistakes they make later in life. I never used the abuse as a reason to drink or try drugs. I have stuck to my guns & never laid a finger on a woman or my daughter. The memories have faded and no longer bother me, but I do wear them like badges to make sure I break the cycle of violence that’s so often is passed down from generation to generation. Thank you so much for stopping by to read an comment.

      Liked by 2 people

      • I am very glad you didn’t get upset for my lengthy story and am very proud (as a new friend) of how you handle your life! 🙂 You also pass on the pain and anguish as lessons learned for others to read.
        You are exactly correct that the past should be used as the impetus to let others know your story which shaped you into a deeper thinker and warmer person. Glad we are connected in writing now. Enjoy your weekend, A.

        Liked by 2 people

    • Carrie, I just had a few dozen notifications appear out of no where, this being one of them. It was hard for me. I try to use these scars like medals of honor in hopes of never being an abuser myself. Thanks for stopping by to read and comment. Appreciate it.

      Liked by 1 person

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