At long last I may have finally come to the source of my discontent.
Every memory I have of my childhood, is centered around me having to defend myself. Good, bad or otherwise, every memory I can conjure, the situations are of conflict, competition, or defensive.
There was support, encouragement, but with a price. Always be the best. Be a leader not a follower. If you start something you finish, no matter what. No excuses, no failures, and threats of physical violence toward me for questioning any of it.
At the age of 11, my father showing me how a defensive lineman can get past an offensive lineman, by throwing me fae first into the turf. A fat and bloody lip, a bloody nose followed by a few tears, was met with, “ would you Ike me to give you something to cry about?”.
When I was 16 years old, at the evening dinner table. I was told that if I wanted to look like a fag that was my choice. In response to a newly pierced ear.
I listened to years of stories, regaling the poor choices made by my father and uncles and grandfather, all with laughter and fondness as if being arrested and thrown in jail were just boys being boys. Then told to do as they say, not as they do. And then they’d laugh as they remembered the past glories.
So when I started getting into trouble, I assumed it would be met with the same nonchalant chuckles. And they were. And every time there was no real consequence, my need for attention of any kind made me escalate my behavior. Fortunately for me I was never caught doing some of the truly terrifying and horrible things I did.
Thank the black baby jesus that i escaped.
I left home at the first chance that presented itself. I relearned everything I was ever taught. How to act, how to treat people, what to believe in, who to believe in and everything I currently know and believe.
As it turns out, everything I hold dear is in complete opposition to my entire family. I’m the only one that ever left home. Coincidence? Probably not.
After a recent visit with my family, parents, sister, Aunt, my son thanked me for breaking the cycle.
I could not have been prouder of my Mr. Man. He’s no longer an innocent bystander, he is an Allie.
And suddenly all of my pain and angst, didn’t seem so painful. It may have been what needed to happen for my son to live a better life.
