My past, my present, my future. Part 2
Where did this all start? The easy answer would be I was angry and chose to misdirect it on things I had no control over rather than work on myself to find the solution. After all, that is what most of us were like in the far right. Angry.
That answer would be only partially correct. A person only falls into hate with a story. I am no exception to that rule.
Let me preface this series with a few words. I have had multiple concussions from sports and violence, not to mention exhibiting some disassociative traits due to some of the trauma. My memory is spotty with times, dates, and names. I remember many events, despite some being fuzzy with specifics. I often forget dates and how long ago some of these are, but I will do my best to recreate much of my life so you can learn.
If you are to start this story correctly, it must begin from the lens of an elementary school child.
I was a blonde-haired and blue-eyed kid. Good at sports and more intelligent than most, with two parents who were diametrically different in how they raised me. My mom wanted me to excel, and she pushed me hard. My father was fond of saying, “if he doesn’t want to do it, he doesn’t want to,” while only disciplining me when I did something terrible. That discipline came in the form of a leather belt. My mom used a green Tupperware spoon and pepper on my tongue. I wish I could say, “well my parents hit me and I turned out ok,” but that would be a lie. Truthfully I don’t think that discipline was the reason, and I know my mom has expressed regrets over it to me — which I accepted and forgave — but it did happen, and the early 1980s were a different time.
My mom pushed me to excel, and I was among the “smart kids” enrolled in PEP and BEEP. Those were academic programs for young gifted students. They were one day a week where we read advanced literature, worked on computers, did scientific experiments, and more. I was a 10-year-old kid reading “Hamlet.”
I was a sixth-grade spelling bee winner and came within a few spots of being that kid on the stage in the National Spelling Bee. The example of my mom wanting me to excel came out full force for this event, as I was quizzed daily on words, often while driving to relatives’ homes in the car. I had to be prepared, and she made sure of it. I did well at these bees, but it wasn’t fun. It felt like an obligation.
I did this while being bullied and wearing two hearing aids. In the past, hearing aids were unsightly devices you wore over the back of your ears. Being different meant getting picked on, and kids can be cruel. I didn’t understand why, and I still don’t, but I have long since moved past those days mentally, but they laid the foundation for a very angry person.
I would be in fights after school because of being picked on. The obligatory “after school,” was said often. I can’t recall how many fights I was in during elementary school; no child needs to experience this.
I won some and lost some, but the bullying never stopped. It wasn’t just bullying, as there was a sexual assault incident I had never talked about until recently.
When I was in first grade, an older kid in 6th grade said he had a porn magazine to show me. We went into an alleyway near the school; he showed it to me, then pinned me to the wall trying to grab my penis through my pants. I panicked and somehow got away, running all the way home. I lived close to my school, so when I felt it was safe to walk, I did. Later in life, that memory resurfaced as I buried it so deeply I forgot about it.
Feeling like I never belonged was a recurring theme throughout my younger years. My parents were sympathetic, to a degree. My mom was angry, but my dad said, “he can fight it out.” Let’s be honest; no child needs to defend himself against bullies constantly. I understand that kids fight, and in the 1980s, it was a lot different than today, but it was excessive for me.
The sad part is that I have long since forgiven those people, but I never forgot who they were. We mature and grow, and kids can be vicious people at times. I have since moved on from the anger, but it set the table for much of my life.
Imagine what it felt like to be a smart kid, a good athlete, a good-looking kid, and be picked on relentlessly for something I can’t control. I was born with a hearing impairment, and even if I wasn’t, do you think I asked for it?
I had few friends in school; by the time I got to high school, almost all of my friends were from other schools. The ones I did have in my high school were the kids my mother never wanted me to be around.
In high school, I started to feel more rage and defiance than I ever did.
