Lessons Learned & Lost: A Book Of Poetry And Prose - Softcover

Hollingshead, Justin

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1463443161 ISBN 13: 9781463443160

Verlag: AuthorHouse Publishing, 2011

Inhaltsangabe

So often in life, bad things happen and we haven't a clue why God would allow such events to take place. We worry, hurt, and shake the preverbal fist up at the heavens, and yet nothing changes. Life continues to be hard and we wonder what could possibly come from such pain. We struggle to learn the skills necessary to survive and function through the turmoil and chaos of everyday life. Yet we endure. Slowly and painfully, we accumulate knowledge and wisdom. We are molded into stronger and wiser people. Life becomes a better place as we learn lessons and un-learn others.

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Lessons Learned and Lost

A book of poetry and proseBy Justin Hollingshead

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 Justin Hollingshead
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4634-4316-0

Chapter One

DEEP IMPACT

POOR FORM

I'm asleep. Okay, I'm not really asleep. I'm pretending to sleep because my father has been drinking and he's stumbled and slurred his way into my room and he's next to me right now. He's close. I can feel the heat from his skin and smell the whisky and tobacco on his breath. I can smell the body odor which has permeated the clothes he's worn for three consecutive days. Above all, I can smell the malice and hatred in his heart. My father has come for me, and he has bad intentions on his mind.

I'm five years old and already I believe in both God and the devil. I've been through too much not to believe. I begin praying in my mind asking the Lord to please make him go away; to keep me safe; to wrap me in His protective arms and never let go. My father continues to loom over me. I know because he has cast his shadow over me and the hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end. My heart begins to pick up pace. Th-Thump. Th-Thump. Th-Thump. What does he want? Why is he just standing there?

Deep inside, I know that this will not end well.

But then a curious thing happens. My father kneels beside me and takes hold of my tiny hand in his own. He begins stroking my dirty hair and whispering things to me that I don't quite understand. I am confused and still playing opossum. After a moment, I realize that my father is crying, and what he is whispering are the words, "I'm so sorry."

Has he come seeking forgiveness? Has my father decided to change his wicked and destructive ways? His grip tightens as he continues to weep and whisper that he's sorry. I am tempted to open my eyes and reach over and hug the man and tell him that yes I forgive him and am eager and happy to have him as my dad.

But then I notice how tightly he is squeezing my hand, and I realize all too late that I've been had. This is no heart-felt apology or quest for forgiveness. This is simply one of his many games. It's a game he started playing with me some time ago where he squeezes my hand harder and harder until gradually he is squeezing with his might, crushing my little hand and fingers. If I cry out then the real beating begins, but if I "Man up" and show neither fear nor pain then I am given a reprieve. I know what's on the line so I keep my eyes closed, and in my mind go to a place far, far away.

Tighter and tighter he squeezes. The pain builds and sweat beads my brow. My father has super-human strength and soon I hear things pop, but I grit my teeth and keep my eyes and mouth shut. I can do this. I can win this time. I will not surrender! Soon I feel my father begin to shake and tremble and I know he is squeezing with all his incredible might. If I can just hold out a little longer, I think to myself, I'm sure he'll go away. So I reach deep into myself and find a strength I didn't know I had. Sweat now rolls freely down my face and my heart is a jack-hammer in my chest. P-Pow! P-Pow! P-Pow! But I hold on, and a moment later I know I have won. My father releases my hand and says, "Hmph". He stands up and leaves the room.

I am flooded with relief. The throbbing in my hand begins to dull and my heart slows down. I think it is a good idea to whisper up a prayer of thanks, but before I can begin, I hear heavy footsteps rushing in my direction. I open my eyes in time to see my father's face distorted by whiskey and rage. The giant closes the distance between us and grabs me. One hand takes hold of my ankle, the other clamps around my head. He picks me up and throws me with all the ease of tossing a pillow across the room. I collide with the wall shattering the sheetrock and I crumble to the floor below followed by bits of plaster and falling debris.

I'm dazed and desperate thinking that this is not fair. I had done my part! I had "Manned up"! I had won the game. Hadn't I? He drags me to the center of the room cursing me; calling me a piece of shit. I try to crawl away, but he stomps my feet and kicks my legs. All forward motion is halted. My eyes are wide with fright, and as I open my mouth to beg and plead with him, he slaps it shut. Abruptly, I am silenced. My father stands me up and savagely punches me in the stomach. The wind is knocked out of me. I gasp and hit my knees. He stands me up again and lands another blow to my belly. My knees buckle and I vomit. He laughs at me as he grabs me by the hair and lifts me once again. He throws a series of punches into my sides and back. It hurts so bad! I can't move. I can't breathe. I thought I was going to die and he just kept punching!

Red faced and puffing hard, he reaches back and sends a brutal right hook into my kidney. This time I shit myself. I couldn't help it. So there I lay in agony. I'm covered in my own blood, feces, and vomit and my father begins to laugh again. He lights up a cigarette and watches with amusement as I struggle for air. How strange that I remember feeling ashamed for having messed myself. My father, having decided he is almost done with me, leans over and puts his cigarette out on my arm. Satisfied, he leaves me soiled, hurting, and feeling ashamed.

You may be holding your breath, Dear Reader, so now is probably a good time to let it out. I survived. That was just another day in kiddy hell. Just one of countless beatings. It's twenty five years later and I'm okay. And believe it or not, this story has a happy ending. But we'll get to that later for there is much more you need to know.

TURTLE STEW

My father hated me. He told me often that he would one day kill me, but that he was just taking his time and waiting for the right moment. I lived in a shroud of fear and intimidation. He was big, strong, and evil. The man scared the shit out of me. Despite poverty, failure, and being an absolute loser I never saw my father sweat. I never saw him panic or be afraid like me. So imagine my surprise the day the old black lady who lived next door showed up and told him that a storm was coming and that he was going to die. She stated it as a matter of fact then returned to her home leaving my father speechless, and for the first time I can remember, afraid.

All day he paced the house, stepping out frequently to gaze nervously at the sky. Sure enough the clouds were building; and building with them was my father's sense of dread and apprehension. He paced back and forth like a caged animal and began throwing dirty looks in my direction. His looks began to worry me and I wanted to know what he was thinking. It wasn't long before I found out.

"The bitch next door says that this storm is going to kill me, but if I gotta go, then so do you."

I was six. Up to that point, my father had held my head under water until I had gone limp. He had pinched my nose and covered my mouth until my eyes turned bloodshot. He had held knives to my throat drawing blood. He had held guns to my head, and even fired a shot at me saying he missed on "purpose". He had beaten me until I lost consciousness on more than one occasion. So by this time in my young life, the concept of death was nothing new to me. I only wanted it to be as quick as possible and not done in front of my brothers or little sister. I wasn't overly frightened or even really surprised by his declaration. I didn't try to run away or even talk him out of it....

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: AuthorHouse Publishing
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2011
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1463443161
• ISBN 13: 9781463443160
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 296
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Friedensallee 273; Hamburg; 22763; Deutschland