Embrace the Silence: childhood

Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts

2.17.2013

Embracing Friendship

As my personality can be very intense, sometimes maddening to be around, I have created the following list (in no particular order) of...

18 Things MY FRIENDS KNOW about me ...

or

18 Things YOU NEED TO KNOW if you wish to be my friend:

I am allergic to Tobacco, and thus Cigarette Smoke. If you smoke, you cannot be around me. If you live with someone or spend time with a friend who smokes, I cannot be around you. You cannot have smoked (or been around someone who smokes) within the past hour if you wish to be within 15 feet of me.

Besides being allergic to tobacco, I dislike the odor and will go into uncontrollable coughing fits when exposed to even a whiff of it. I am hypersensitive to the stench of cigarettes and can smell it on a non-smoker even if he or she just happened to walk past a smoker and enter my vicinity. Many of my relatives smoke and I simply do not visit them, specifically due to that, regardless of distance.

I am Atheist, and thus do not tolerate attacks on my lack of beliefs.
If you are religious and want to convert everyone around you to your faith (as most of my family members seem to want, which is another reason why I do not visit them often), then please either keep it to yourself or expect me to lash out at you when you assault my freedom to not believe.

We can coexist peacefully unless you try to make me feel differently about what I consider audacious ignorance.

I neither like nor comprehend sports.
If you enjoy sports of any kind, please know that I was never taught and never learned on my own appreciation for sports of any kind. I dislike them and see them as a complete waste of time, energy, and money.

So, no, I do not know nor want to know "the score" or "who will win" the sporting contest in question.

I do not drink alcohol. No, it's not a religious thing (I'm Atheist, remember?). I simply find the taste, effects, and aroma of alcoholic drinks completely disgusting. I have no interest in losing my inhibitions on the level which alcohol takes them.

I can have a great time just sitting at home watching a fascinating show on TV, playing a game on my PC (no consoles here), or going to a movie and (maybe) dinner afterward (or before)... The dangers of alcohol use and addiction just do not appeal to me.

I do not know anything about the varieties of alcohol, nor do I care to learn. So, for all my high school, college, and former co-worker "friends" who think going out every night (or every weekend) and getting drunk as a skunk is a fun thing to do... I beg to differ.

I am Native American.I will not tell you what "percentage" I am because that is a governmental mandated requirement for registering as an indentured non-citizen within the United States.

No Native on any Reservation will ever talk about "blood percentage."

Certainly, my father's mother is German and Irish. Half of my mother's grandparents were European invaders (immigrants? settlers? don't make me laugh), but in my heart and in my attitudes, in my actions and in my words, I stand tall and proud as an Oglala Lakotah. My mother has explored and researched for years, to find that our families are Miami Native on her side and Oglala Lakotah on my Dad's side.

My morality is unquestionable.I do not tolerate any form of racism or ethnic discrimination, any form of sexual harassment or hateful activities. I am dire in my sincerity and tend to take things very seriously. However, I do fight for the rights and freedoms of the individual and the genocidally-oppressed Native Peoples of the North American Continent.

My tact is (sometimes) questionable.You need to be conscious of my faults and be tolerant of my mildly-OCD personality, which - once unleashed - can overwhelm you with brutal straight talk on topics not found in general polite conversation.

I was abused as a child and tend to not notice when I speak out of turn. Some of my coworkers and extended family members who have known me for years still find me astonishingly shocking at times.

My sense of humor is raw, morbid, and stern.If you crack a joke and I do not laugh, smirk, or even take notice, it may be because I do not find much humor in banal or immature joking.

Your "Common Sense" is not the same as the Common Sense that I was raised with. If I do understand you, I will occasionally indulge you by playing along. This seems to make people think I am gullible, but I simply understand and wish to turn your humor on its head. I am contradictory and impulsive when in comfortable conversation.

I can be offensively contradictory.If you happen to say "Bless you" or "God" in any context, I usually think and occasionally may speak a contradictory term.

Being anti-religious, I do my best to keep my opinions to myself, but if you inadvertently say something relating to God or religion, I may come back with something shocking and dark.

For example: I sneeze and you say "Bless You" I will either say NO thank you or - if I am in a truly dark mood - say "Hail Satan" - not that I believe in Satan, as one must believe in God in order to believe in Satan. I simply say it to get a response and to make people re-think their perceptions.

I am tall but short.I have a habit of talking about my height, the average height of my family (6'5"), shoe sizes, and other aspects of life repeatedly. I am honestly "size-ist" and any time I see photos of myself in a crowd of shorter people, it reinforces my weirdness for talking about how short I am (6'3") in my family.

I am meticulous and verbose, intellectual and introspective.I speak using words which some people seem to find incomprehensible. I will commonly talk in the same manner as I have written here. I use words like "indubitably" and "salacious" and even "auspicious" and "interim" within my writings and in casual conversation.

I am one of those grammar police who will correct you mid-sentence and enjoys marking up manuscripts and other people's writings, as well as my own. I know the difference between there, they're, and their, the misuse of to and too, tend to get furious when people write than when they mean then (or vice-versa).

I frequently make references to movies, television, and books I have read.
Sometimes I will - out of the blue - spout lines of dialogue from them. If you are unfamiliar with what I say it comes off a bit awkward sometimes. The most frequent nuggets of dialogue come from:

The Fifth Element, Highlander, The Butterfly Effect, Die Hard, Independence Day, Hellraiser, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (original Radio Plays or Novels), Red Dwarf, LEXX, Hogan's Heroes, Scooby Doo (the 1970's original), He-Man (the 1980's original), and Inspector Gadget, to name a few.
I am a film fanatic and sometimes just seek out spoilers to help decide if a film is worth seeing, but will ask you respectfully if you have seen the film yet or not just in case you wish me to not spoil it for you.

I do not socialize face to face very often.I have co-workers, former classmates, and family. Outside of that, I see few people at theatrical auditions and rehearsals. I consider most people on the level of "associates" who do not know me outside of a common environment like work or school.

It's not that I am afraid or uncomfortable, but I am just not used to knowing or hanging out with people who consider "going out" a regular thing.

I can be a real downer.I try to be positive. I try to keep my tact level far above my "lack-of-knowing what the heck you think is so fun or funny" level, but sometimes I just seem to interrupt and bring people down.

I have things to say. Some are profound and astonishing contributions, while many still will make you lose your train of thought, or just bring you down. I can be a downer, but - when in my element - I can just as likely be the person who gives you that million-dollar epiphany that changes your life for the good.

Country Music is never an option. Never, ever. NEVER!

I may seem uncultured to many who has a wholesome upbringing.I have no knowledge of classical music. Not a clue. Ditto for Jazz, "classic" Rock from the 1960's (Beatles - who? Who - who? Grateful Dead - who? Stones - who? Not a clue).

My mom loves and raised me on ZZ Top, Styx, and the Eagles. I grew up listening to those as well as Poison, Motley Crue, Stryper, and many of the top 10 bands of the 1980's.

Having been abused by my father, I never received exposure to classical or many other bands that are the staple "MUST HAVE" bands for anyone else born between 1960 and 1980.

Even in my adult life, I simply have never found the desire or any reason to educate myself on classical music or those other bands mentioned. Certainly, I have tried listening to some of them, but just found absolutely no appeal in their vocals or instrumental stylings.

My priorities are thus:

Creativity
Emotional Expression
Financial Security through dedication and alert focus while working
Striving for Success and Advancement of my Dreams
Cat Naps with my Cats
Relaxation and Enjoyment of Life
Coping with my past and finding creative outlets for the rage and instability hidden deep in my subconscious
Relationships with loved ones
Socializing with "Friends" and "Acquaintances."

I am a bit OCD.My Mildly Obsessive-Compulsive personality can occasionally make people dread my presence or fear me.

Having been raised in a hard, harsh, impolite atmosphere of abuse and hatred filled with fear, my lack of social skills may occasionally terrify or shock everyone around me.

Anyone who knows me well enough and wishes to be the kind of friend who will help smooth over the ripples of inappropriate comments or disruptive looks or statements is more than welcome to be my friend.

11.10.2011

Memoirs of a Hunter's Son... Part 1

This blog post, and the series of postings to come, will be a tale of anguish, terror, occasional joy, and yet be completely true to the best of my recollection. This is an autobiographical set of writings which detail my life from 1975 to today. On occasion, some of the details captured in these postings may contain topics and instances of violence, abuse, and sexual references. For the most part, I will strive to keep everything as PG Rated as I can, but I am not making any promises.

Memoirs of a Hunter's Son... Part 1:

One of my earliest memories is waking up to the noise of people talking in the next room. The light came on and my brother called my name to wake me up. Mom leaned down to me on the bottom bunk of the bunk-bed my brother and I shared while we were living in my grandmother's basement. She gently shook me awake and told me she had a surprise for me. The next thing I recall is suddenly seeing my daddy for the first time in a long time.

The context in which the previous memory resides must be filled in for you to comprehend what emotional impact and resounding fear brought to and followed this moment captured in my memory. My father was a man who indulged in every substance he could find which allowed him to escape the pressures, pain, memories, and fears of living in a world where he had always been told he would never be good enough.

Dad was the oldest son in his family, and received an indecipherable amount of abuse, neglect, and accusations throughout his childhood. Other than that, I know very little. Rumor has it that - when his parents would go out to the movies or to parties or shopping, my father - as a child of 10 years - would be locked inside the cabinet in the kitchen of the farmhouse he lived on. Upon his father's return home, he would be beaten if a single tear or flicker of resentment was seen in his eyes or on his face.

The damage to a child's mental state makes the man he will become a bitter, isolated, terrified soul. My father escaped from his memories of anguish and pain by drinking, smoking, snorting, and injecting anything that would numb the pain. As a child myself, I had little awareness of the snorting or injecting, but full knowledge of the drinking and smoking.

The chain of physical, psychological, and even sexual abuse continued with my father upon my siblings, myself, my mother, and anyone who was in my dad's way when he was upset. The scars in my mind are more ingrained within my being than the markings left to this day on my flesh from my father's abuse. The majority of my memories from childhood are so filled with agony and terror that my subconscious has hidden them away behind a wall of depression and fury.

So, upon reflection of what my father was, what he did to my family and myself, I shall return to the tale of memory with which I began this posting.

I awoke to my mother's face, so loved and beautiful back then, before father had his way with her, by battering and bashing and breaking her jaw... Mom picked me up and carried me into her bedroom and - to my sand-man dreary, sleep-filled eyes and groggy mind, I saw my father. The joy in my brother's eyes and the smile on his face was something I remember with bitter sibling jealousy - an emotion I had no name for at the tender age of 8 years.

Mom set me down and I ran to Dad and let him scoop me up as I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him my best and longest bear hug ever.

My father was always doing things which would end with him behind bars. Every time he would do something he knew was illegal, he would always assume he could never get caught. For several years he had been in jail. I had known his presence and his face and his voice and his smell from my infancy, and would remember it all my life, whether I thought I could or even wanted to, but for much of my life, Dad had spent a lot of time in prison or being his party animal self with an unknown quantity of women at every party he went to...

After the bear hug, I recall little of detail. Occasionally, these images repeat their presence in my mind at odd moments. The years following this moment of happiness in my youth would be terrifying and filled with bruising, bleeding, broken bones, silent tears while hiding in the closet, endless screams of pain as my father's leather belt would lash its way across our backsides until we bled out and could hardly walk, much less sit down, and rare, but precious moments my father would take us for a wild ride in the van and get us some ice cream...

These memories are cruel, but I must open the gates and let the compressed oceans of darkness find the light.

11.01.2011

Assumptions about me: Sports...

Being a 6'3" tall man with big hands, large shoes, and an attitude that just seems to confuse people I meet, I have had to deal with so many stereotypical assumptions throughout my life.

At family reunions (on my mom's side) I have been and will always be "the short one," as most of the men in my family exceed 6'4" and a few even stand taller than 7 feet. You can very likely guess where I am headed with this height thing, can't you?

SPORTS (And why I hate them):

When I was a child, I would wake up every morning before school early enough to wolf down over-sugared cereal and watch my favorite cartoons: Scooby Doo, The Flip Side, Dungeon Master, He-Man, and of course Transformers.

My mom, brother, and sister and I lived in my grandmother's basement at the time and shared the house with our grandparents and mom's older brother, my Uncle Bob.
Uncle Bob, being the first male born to my grandparents, was thus the inheritor of everything in the house, including all of the televisions he personally bought for the household.
Having never had a true father figure in my life, I had no one with whom I would ever learn to enjoy, take part in, or even watch sports of any kind.
Every morning, during Scooby Doo, Uncle Bob would come out from his room and do stretches, exercizes, and the like - right in the center of the living room.

This forced me and my siblings to sit directly in front of the television, a mere 12 inches or so away from the screen.
This eventually lead to my need for corrective lenses, as I had ruined my vision by constantly sitting too close to the television.

While on most occasions, Uncle Bob would simply wait until after his exercizes to take over the almighty television and change the channels, there were countless other instances when he immediately changed the channel right in the middle of our cartoons.

So, there's the setup... Now here's the clincher:

Since the television was bought and paid for by Uncle Bob, he was the "god" of the TV.
Every time he changed the channel - right in the middle of Scooby Doo, he would turn on sports...

Tennis
Golf
Bowling
Football

Can you imagine the sheer rage and tantrums I went into when - right as Fred was about to pull the mask off the monster - Uncle Bob suddenly switched to some guy whispering into a microphone as some other guy held a long stick with which he tried to slap a 2-inch ball across half a mile in order to land in a 4-inch hole?

Thus, we arrive at the core of all hatred I have toward sporting events, sports broadcasting, and people who quote statistics like they were presenting information more valuable than gold...

I grew to hate golf, bowling, tennis, and especially football (which seemed to be on all the time when I got home from school).

Uncle Bob seemed to take no interest in teaching me or my siblings the rules of the game or how it could entertain.
The Physical Education teachers at school all assumed that every student had complete knowledge of how to play every type of sport, so they did not bother explaining anything to anyone.

Despite having grown, matured, and educated myself, I still find the fascination with sports an enigma.
I can tolerate and ignore sports games when they are shown on television in someone else's home.
I have blocked and locked all of the sports stations on my Dish Network DVR at home - you'll never guess the password!

And yet, due to my height and build, people assume I play (or have played) basketball or football.

When I deliver food on major football or basketball days to homes where men gather to watch their big-screens, I have to fend off their questions of who I am rooting for, or the declaration of the current score.
Short people always ask me if I played basketball in school.

I did not.
I once had a PE class where they had us playing football and baseball alternately, and I had to ask everyone how to play or what the rules were.

Everyone gave me weird looks, as their own fathers had raised them from birth to know every in and out of every sport imaginable.
People would laugh at my ignorance and inability to know the difference between a home run and a touchdown.

So --- why do I hate sports?

I just do.
I do not comprehend the fascination of watching other people run after/run away from/swing sticks at balls.
To me, sports are for the jocks of the world who have nothing better to do with their time or their life.
To me, Sports is a complete waste of time.

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