"Funny how a melody, sounds like a memory." - Eric Church.

Friday, February 15, 2013

TBD.

Author's Note: As I began writing a creative piece for the week, my story grew longer than I expected it would. So, in the meantime while I finish it, here's an excerpt from the beginning of the piece.

Throughout the entire city of Tulsa, Oklahoma, there are only three sounds you can hear; the fast whistling of the wind as a forms a funnel in the sky, tearing up the horizon, the terrified screams of parents demanding their kids come inside and take cover from the storm and my laughter.

Some say I'm mad, and others refer to me as broken, but in all honesty, none of that is true. I may have gone through a hard time, a time that many people would not be able to bare, but it left me as the same sane soul as I've always been -- okay, so maybe I wasn't really sane to begin with.

Friday, February 1, 2013

Coward.


Author's Note: I wrote this piece as an assignment for point of view. The first section is my explanation of how the book A Child Called It is interpreted by readers because of the perspective of the narrator. The following section is my thoughts of how the dad views things.

From the first page of the book A Child Called It, David Pelzer immediately snatches, not only your attention, but your pity. He gives you insight on what life is like for a boy whose mother thinks of him as nothing other than a punching bag and disgrace to his family's name. Hearing, first hand, what it is like in the moment of being abused fills readers hearts with sorrow. And the sorrow has it's way of turning itself into anger when you realize that other people were aware of the struggles he was going through: they just didn't help him.

Take David's father for example. As a father, he loved his son very much; even when his wife disprove of it. He'd sneak David food when his mother forbid to feed him dinner and he'd talk to him when no one else would. But what his father failed to do was stop the abuse. Talk sense into his wife and insist on her backing off the poor child. Instead, David tells the readers that his father would tend to run away. Take long business trips and not arrive home til late at night, sometimes three of four days later.

This is what upsets the readers -- when a character such as he is well aware of the troubles his son is facing and the insanity of his wife and, instead of putting a stop to it, he runs away from it. Some say he's a coward. Others quote that he is just as bad as his wife. But all these people, they don't know him. They don't know his real story. Even David, complaining his father never did anything for him and never loved him; he never knew.

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I quietly opened the door, stepped inside my house and checked the time on my watch; it was nearly three in the morning. I then proceeded to tip-toe down the hall, hoping not to wake anyone, although, seeing the light on in the kitchen indicated that they were already up. I began walking towards it when I stopped myself. I knew better than to go in there. So instead, I sat down on the chair in my cold, dark living room and watched the shadow that cover the kitchen wall. I saw every punch and every kick and each time she hit him, my heart broke more and more. I took a sip of the half empty beer can that was sitting on the table next to me with four others just like it and, again, considered going in there to save my little boy, but I couldn't do it. I knew exactly how she felt about me interrupting them and trying to stop her so I reminded myself that it was better to just keep quiet and pretend nothing was happening. I closed my eyes and all I could hear was the sound of her grunting with each swing and the gasps he drew each time he was hit. I imagined him trying to hold back his tears and cries for help. And I imagined her, not holding back anything; beating him with all of her strength. And then, from the mouth of my six year old son, I heard him repeat "I am a bad boy, I am a bad boy, I am a bad boy".

When this happened I knew it was over and it was only moments later when I heard my wife dismiss him back to his bedroom in the basement. She slammed the door shut behind him, turned around and finally entered the living room. She looked at me. I looked at her. But neither of us said anything. It was as if there were a transparent wall put up in between us, barricading her and her thoughts from me and mine. We were in the same room...but we weren't together. But the wall came tumbling down to rubble as she began to speak:

"You're back," she began.

My hands clenched, my tongue went dry, and I could feel the blood move around in my body.

"Where'd you run off to this time?"

I sat up straight, setting the beer can back on the coffee table table, and answered her. "Some 24- hour motel on the other side of town. Nothing too special, but it was the only place I could find."

"And the bruises?"

"Almost gone. I figured I could hide what's left of them under my clothes but everything visible have been gone since this morning."

"Good. Now that will teach you not to stand up for that runt of the litter anymore."

My tongue was tied; I didn't know how to respond to that anymore. So, in the absence of my words, I just nodded the kind of nod you would give to king or queen, someone superior to you to show them they're in power. That they have total control over you.

"So why such a late return tonight? What, was the motels check- out time 2:30am or something?"

The sarcasm in her voice stuck me a little uneasy, however, I tried to keep my composure calm as my brain scrambled to think of an excuse. My thoughts were quickly cutoff, though, as her stern voice interrupted me again:

"You thought I'd be asleep, didn't you? You thought if you came back late enough at night, you wouldn't have to deal with this, uhh, awkward encounter with me, huh? Well am I right? You're a coward."

She was right. I am a coward. I thought if I came home as late as I did, I could avoid this conversation. I thought I told my wife to stop abusing our son, she'd believe me instead of beating me. I thought if the bruises and scars on the outside went away, the ones on the inside would fade, too. And, above all, I thought that if I ran away from my home for a few nights, I'd come back and everything would be normal. So, as deranged and delusional as she is, my wife was right. I am a coward.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

3,324,047,000 Different Stories


Author's Note: This piece was written as an assignment for my social studies class to compare the book My Brother Sam is Dead to the movie The Patriot. Both of these stories incorporated strong relationships between father and son: one loving, and one hating.

Right now, there are approximately 3,324,047,000 males in the world. Each one of them is the son of another male and each one of those is a son as well. This chain dates back all the way to the beginning of human existence. And out of this vast amount of different father- son pairs, every one of them has a different relationship. Some see each other often but do not seize the opportunity when they're together. Others seldom get the chance to spend time with one another and cherish the moments they have with each other. Some are very close, others haven't even met. And there's a reason for this; for all of this. Each family has their story and each story has its occurrences. But it's the ending that really counts- how they chose to fight their battles of differences, either with or against each other- that determine they way they function as a family.

In the movie The Patriot, Gabriel and his father, Benjamin, recognize their differences early on. Gabriel has high hopes set to join the continental army, while his father doesn't believe that it's a good idea. Gabriel immediately ran away from his father and his rules against going to fight against the British and later came back wounded. It is then, when his father bans him from returning to war, that another argument breaks out about how unjust it is for his father to make all of his decisions for him. And in the midst of that argument, Benjamin admits to his son that he is scared for his safety and doesn't want to lose him. The next morning the British attack their house, taking the life of Gabriel's brother and influencing his father to also join the army.

However, things take a spin in another direction in the book My Brother Sam is Dead. Sam and his father, too, have different opinions about Sam fighting in the war, although in this book, Mr. Meeker doesn't approve of the side in which his son wishes to defend. As a loyalist, he doesn't believe it to be wise for his to fight in the Continental Army against the British. And like Gabriel, Sam runs away to a hut where he chooses to hide out and enlists the army in contradiction to his fathers directions. After being gone, fighting, for several months, Sam returns to town and steals his fathers gun in the night. Mr. Meeker is unaware of the robbery until one night British soldiers invade his tavern demanding for his gun. Witnessing this, Sam's younger brother, Tim, aware of the theft his brother committed, does not say anything although sneaks over to Sam's hut and informs him about the nights events. Though aware of the trouble he has caused for his father, Sam refuses to return the gun.

As you can see, the two stories vary greatly when it comes to the relationships between the two father- son pairs. Gabriel and his father may have had their differences in the beginning, but eventually learn to work together, versus against each other, to concur a bigger battle- that being to win the war. On the other hand, Sam and his father don't even consider working together, therefore creating harder struggles on themselves. Also, as a patriot, Benjamin believed in freedom and wanted the Continental Army to win the war. His problem sprouted from the love of his son and his hope for nothing bad to ever happen to his precious son. But, being a loyalist, Mr. Meeker sided with the British government and refused to associate with someone unlike him. His hatred was so strong that it over powered his love towards his son and eventually he even disowned him as family.

3,324,047,000 males, 3,324,047,000 relationships, and not one of them the same. All different people, all different stories; loving, hating, befriending, disowning. Will you end up loving like Gabriel and Benjamin, or take the route of hatred as did by Sam and Mr. Meeker? No one quite knows for sure yet, everything keeps on changing. But, in reality, when it comes down to the end, the choice is up to you.