Jimmy and I were sitting in the living room simmering in a deep blue mood, as the turntable spun the album Point of Know Return, playing the song, Dust in The Wind, by Kansas.Jimmy was in a cloud of sadness, which blanketed his whole aura. After enduring years of physical abuse, hosted by none other than his parents!
Listening to him I stared off into the sunlight filtering through the large picture window. As Jimmy spoke, trying to make sense of his self worth, my mind flashed back over the 6 years since first he showed me the black and blue welts on his back and legs.
From just below the shoulder blades to above the back of his knees the riddled of abuse was painted. His clothes hid the ugly truth from teachers, friends and strangers who saw his face.
What they didn’t see was a tortured boy, that school officials believed was simply not the A student potential and needed anger management education.
He looked down toward the green 1970s’ carpet that almost hypnotized his gaze as the song Dust in The Wind played, and he said “I feel like dust in the wind, what-do-I-matter any how”?
As Jimmy’s raspy voice trailed off, his hurt and shame spilled all over me. I learned this day, the people you trust to protect you, could also be the ones who inflict pain in this grotesque and beguiled manner. This cruel behavior made my teeth grind and my mind a worry.
Years earlier, Jimmy and I were in forth grade, he wanted to show me something, so he asked me to follow him to the bathroom.
In the cold and sterile stillness of the bathroom he faced me. Putting his index finger to his lips signaling me to keep a secret. He turned his back and unbuttoned his shit, allowing gravity to pull it off his shoulders and to his side. His soft skin was covered with a dozen bruises in a variety of shapes and sizes.
He unbuttoned his trousers, they fell to his ankles and the art of damage was continued to the top of his legs. I could tell where every belt and buckle landed.
Through his tears, he told me how he tried to doge each hit. Every time the abuser swung back in order to gain a powerful blow, Jimmy would kept moving around the bedroom hoping it would stop. First was his mom, next when his dad came home, the abuse had it’s second round.
The vision of my friends anguish left me feeling helpless. Feeling helpless, as a child is a burden needlessly bestowed.
Back in the safety of my own bedroom, in my imagination, I began to rehearse how I’d save him from this crazy madness. I’d see my self-walking up to the jimmy front door, where I knock with a sure degree of authority. His parents answer the door. They look down at me with question in their faces, “can we help you son”?
I stand confident and ready to blow their minds. Telling them “I knew your dirty little secret”, I continue, “ I’m prepared to tell everyone who will listen how you beat your son”. “My god he hasn’t even done anything so terrible to deserve such treatment”.
I’d ask them, “does it hurt when you lose their minds using your belts on your own son" It must hurt you, doesn’t it”? In my head I’m certain this conversation will end the madness!
In my dreamy imagination his parents are shocked by my visit and they decide to handle their frustrations in a better way. Without further ado, everything in our little perfect world, in our little perfect neighborhood is healed. They’d smile, thanking me for helping them to become more gentle and smart. As my dream ends, I have reached them, now compassion is leading this family into a whole new set of circumstances. I did it! Everything’s all right!
However, that’s not what happened.
It’ continued. Later Jimmy drops out of high school, experienced two decades of drug and alcohol abuse, hurtful-relationships. He broke out of his self-destructive demise around 40 year’s of age. He’s been clean sober and successful.
40 years have come and gone since the first day in our elementary school bathroom. It’s noon on Thanksgiving Day 2010, my phone rings, its Jimmy the man, the father. We are both now just shy of 50. On the line he’s thanking me for one of my Think Fabulous tee shirt’s I’d given him a few weeks back, at a dinner party we attended. I felt if any one deserved a Think Fabulous tees-shirt, he did!
I remind him of the day Dust in The Wind.
As he say’s it, I want to reach through time and space to tell those two boy’s who were scared and alone… It gets better.
On this Thanksgiving 2010 I’m proud of my friend who is a kind and gentle father of three children. Here is a man who didn’t allow what happen to him to carry-over to his family!
40 some odd years ago this meaningful situation gave me something as well. It gave me the beginning desire to focus my time and energy on working to find the best ways to maintain, build and develop happy and healthy lifestyles. Determined to search out the best and strive to share what I find with anyone who’s sincerely interested.
No child should live under such terrible stress ever. No matter how freaked out a parent become NEVER.
Camber Hill
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