A fictional story about reality
To see me as a child, you would have been absolutely correct to call me a momma’s boy. Back then it was a term of endearment, unlike today where its intent is solely to mock and ridicule the receiver. If my mother liked something, then I would like it. If she didn’t, well you get the drift. Mind you, this was only true until I was no longer the only child. Our family dynamic changed as soon as my two stepbrothers arrived. I was now competing for everything. I went from the only kid to one of three kids with one older brother and the other the same age as me. I was ten and hell had come to my house.
I no longer got what I wanted, nor could I run to my mother without fear of being mocked, ridiculed and sometimes even beat up by one or both of my new siblings. When something was presented for supper I didn’t like there was no choice but to eat it because nothing else would be made any longer.
**Note to the Reader: This is not going to be a oh, woe is me tale, and it’s not going to be an I blame my parents or siblings for everything, so you can continue reading.
The hell I believed I was experiencing was of my own design as a result of my own feelings which nobody forced me to think or believe. On the whole, I can say with all certainty, a bigger part of the problem was the lack of meaningful and effective communication all around. Idioms such as men don’t cry or being told not to fight, the watching my father break down in tears in a drunken stupor or giving me a dollar for “winning” a fight at school were confusing, but not the cause of any poor choices I have made.
The biggest shock of my young life was being kicked out of the house at sixteen years old for doing the right thing. I absolutely believed it then, and I still do to this very day. The problem then was that I could not comprehend the reasoning as I do today. Without going into too much detail it will suffice it to say it was a household of substance abuse and domestic violence. My mother and I took the brunt of it and one day I snapped and defended my mother only to have her kick me out of the house.
How I turned out is still not their fault. The parenting tool box they inherited was incomplete and they didn’t know how to replace the old tools or where to find the new tools they needed. So, they made do with what they knew. Was it ideal, by no means. Did it work, not fully.
This is not going to read like Lemony Snicket’s Series of Unfortunate Events. There’s nothing cute or comical about this story. You might now be asking, then why pre-tell are you writing it. And you would be wise to do so. The only true response I can offer is this; in the hope that someone reading this may have that AHA! Moment of realization to help them cross that line or break that cycle which has them where they are at that moment.
It is my belief that the best teacher is experience, but the best experience derives from decisions made with foreknowledge. As the expression goes; forewarned is forearmed. That would be the first reason why I am writing this. We may never experience things in the same way, but there is always something slightly similar from which we can glean insight from. Taking that wee bit of insight, we can make an informed decision with the hopes of being better prepared for just about any outcome.
The second reason, is equally as important, but there can only be one first. It took me forever to understand and realize the importance of owning my decisions and not to blame others for the circumstances I was facing. Unless someone is literally holding a gun to your head forcing you to do something, it’s on you, me, to own that. Once I realized this it became so much easier to work through things and rectify them and change the trajectory of my life. Am I where I want to be? No, but I am a lot closer now than ever before. There is freedom in owning your decisions and mistakes.
Many years ago, I heard someone utter the following phrase, “Have a day. What kind is always up to you.” When I asked him about it he replied, “I never tell anyone what kind of day to have. It’s a choice and every choice will determine the following choices.” Basically, I interpreted it to mean that we can either respond in a positive or negative manner to every situation or circumstance we encounter. If we choose negative it becomes harder to respond in a positive way. Is it as simple as op
timism and pessimism, possibly. All I know is that it works for me, and it could for you as well. Try it for a week and track yourself. You might be surprised at the results. What have you got to lose? At worst you failed to see any change for the better. At best, you feel different about how you approach life.
There’s a lot of pressure in these days to do whatever makes you feel good and never mind the consequences. What’s the other big one, oh yeah, that may be your truth but it’s not mine. I challenge you to determine the motives for your truth. If you’re honest with yourself your truth is self-serving and as soon as your truth ceases to serve you, you’ll be blaming someone for it.
As I sit here on death row it would be easy to look back on my life and the choices I made and blame it all on my childhood. Being a momma’s boy, the conflicting messages displayed to me by my parents. It would be even easier to say that the person I killed reminded me of my stepfather so it’s his fault this guy is dead. But it wasn’t. It was my unresolved issues and my poor decisions through and through. Moms, if I could give you one piece of advice, do not smother your sons, it does them more harm than good. You’re not protecting them at all. Dads, display the qualities to your children you want them to have, don’t talk it.
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