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Chapter 6: Being Beaten & Being Dumped

Updated: Jul 13, 2022

At some point when I was in 6th grade, my mom upset me so much that I barricaded myself in my room. Unfortunately, by that time, she had already taken the doorknob off my door for previously locking it. They needed access to the washer and dryer, but I didn't want people walking in my room 24/7. My ex-stepfather was over when this was going down and was doing as she asked when he tried to push the door open. He complained that he could not get it open as my legs were too strong. My mom brought out the big guns.

Shoving a fire extinguisher head through the gaping doorknob hole, my mom released it into the laundry room/my room, covering me in white, toxic-smelling powder. As I leapt up and tried to run out of the room, my mom grabbed me by my 8-inch-long hair and slammed me against the olive-yellow colored fridge (as the kitchen was right outside my room).

At that point my mom guided me, blinded by the power in my eyes, to the bathroom, and begin crying about how she was trying so hard with me, but I just wouldn't comply with her. All I could think was "You psycho, you just sprayed your son with chemicals." There was no sympathy for my mom then, not like when I had actually done something wrong, like destroying an abandoned-looking car with my friend using a hammer. No, this time, my mom had physically attacked me with a chemical, and then physically slammed me against a massive kitchen appliance. She was out of control. And now she was crying about it?

As I recall, that was what I got for saying "No" when she asked me to do a chore. I ran off to my room after, and suddenly, to my mom, I was just target practice for a fire extinguisher, in a room with zero ventilation.

My mom went on to date another man, and another man, and another man, all of them failed attempts at creating meaningful relationships. One really disturbing boyfriend she dated, for only one reason, was named "Greg". My mom had a real problem of being loud when she got with her partners at night inside that tiny house. My sisters and I would have to listen to my mom whooping and hollering in her bedroom with "Greg" and the others, until eventually I screamed "WE CAN ALL HEAR YOU YOU KNOW!?"

Didn't hear her again, ever.

Eventually my mom moved on to a dude who lived in Sumner, we sometimes stayed at his house, all three of use, in one room of his duplex. I got the privlege of sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag every night next to a tiny, 10-inch TV which accompanied me on the floor. He had cable TV in his home, which felt nuts because I no longer had to fight to get a clear image on the TV screen. He had a leather couch and a cool sports car. Unfortunately for my mom, whenever she'd start dating this guy, he'd get fat. Then she'd dump him, and he'd get skinny again. Date him again? Fat again. It was just stupid.

Regardless, the 6th grade school year ended, and a beautiful summer was ahead of me. I flew to my dad's again, and I found out, yes, the little brother friend I had in Ohio was in fact now dating the girl who took me to 3rd base the year prior. Everyone around seemed to have no problem with the two of them dating, maybe they didn't exactly know they were dating. They definitely didn't hide it from me. She was in fact 16 now, and he was, being one year younger than me, only now, 11. Quite an age gap considering the developmental differences both cognitively and physically.

But I was non-confrontational about it. They had no problem holding hands in front of me, cuddling in front of me, and acting like full blown boyfriend/girlfriend in general when others were not around. But in modern times? Those two would have been in for a world of backlash.

Not too long ago I saw a girl on social media publicly bragging about a similar age difference with her boyfriend and people lost their minds. Only with that situation, they were each a couple years older.

So? That summer was pretty normal, all the same routines, but this time around, no more interest from the girl I was previously infatuated with. I hear the story about the little brother and her sleeping together from him directly. He told me during a slumber party at my house. That night I talked to him about how much I hated Ohio because it was so humid and hot at the same time, seemingly all the time, during the summer. He laughed and said, "I don't know, I really like it dude." Always the optimist. He, unlike me, was going to succeed with people in life. He, unlike me, had a great personality (I thought).

After talking about how much he loved Will Smith's music, no doubt, he brought up how he and the girl I had been to third base with, went all the way. I was shocked, but I wished him well. To guys, this kind of thing is often like a "Wow!" situation, because we're all eager to be men: Part of what a lot of people consider manly, is being with someone who is womanly. It's very herto-cliche, but that's how we were back then. Now? We have non-binary folks, the more popular concept of avoiding body-shaming at any costs ("FLAT CHESTED WOMEN ARE WOMEN TOO!" and I'm not saying that's inaccurate), the horrors of chauvinism jammed down our throats and political correctness taking hold of our free speech like a snake eating its own ass.

The reality? We were boys, we felt how we felt. 7th grade was awesome in a number of ways. I was deep into the band "OFFSPRING" and loved pretty much every song on the one album I had. I listened to that regularly after school when I wasn't playing video games. One day a boy, on the big yellow bus I took home, asked if he could borrow it. So, being the nice generous guy I was, I let him borrow it, and after asking for it back some weeks later, then again weeks later, then again... weeks later, I just gave up, and considered my favorite album, gone forever.

Amazon Wishlist idea, I guess.

I also had managed to get a girlfriend in 7th grade, multiple ones. The first I had was a middle eastern girl who was in my band class. The relationship I had with her was very short, and I remember pretty much none of it. We didn't kiss, we didn't hold hands, and we basically didn't even act like we were dating in any other way. We did however call ourselves girlfriend and boyfriend, so, that's how I see it.

After we broke up, as I recall, due to my boredom, I asked another girl out. She was the first girl I held hands with outside the 4 years my senior lady. We were able to hang out one time out of school, at yet another student event. It was awesome because we held hands and walked the local high school football field together. I remember her weird, brunette curly hair. Her pale skin and her prominent braces. I was super into her and thought she could be "the one" for me. We loved talking, we loved spending time with each other, and then, she dumped me. *laughs* Yeah, it felt so out of the blue, very weird.

See, that girl had a friend who loved staring at me. But it wasn't a "I like you" stare, it was a "I am plotting against you" stare. She was a black haired, darker skinned girl with a bob-cut hairstyle. If I had to guess, I'd say she was Vietnamese. I point that out, because the image you think of, will be pretty accurate. Just a little Vietnamese girl with an Incredibles costume lady haircut (know what I mean?) and a pale "America's Sweetheart" Jennifer Love Hewitt looking girl next to her (only with big ole braces). Get the picture now? When I asked about why I was being dumped, my now former girlfriend explained that her friend didn't like me. I couldn't get my head around why a girl would let her friend decide who she dates, but it did one thing for sure: From that point on, I automatically had a chip on my shoulder over the friends of the girls I was destined to date. I had been hurt by friends of my love interests before, I didn't want it to happen again. The friends of girlfriends not liking me? A theme to come again in my life. It was no surprise either. Before me, all the girlfriends to be ever did was spend time with their friends. Now that I'm around? All they want to do is spend time with me, eventually build a family, and see those friends once a week instead of every day. I know, what a monster I am. "He must be stopped! Hiss!" Makes me wonder if it's really about not being able to spend as much time with their friend, or if it's more about the fact that they're still single, and jealous their friend is with someone. My guess? *laughs* You know what it is.

Anyway, again, it was her loss in my opinion. I was a loyal boyfriend, I was a good guy, and I was honest/true to my significant other, whoever that was at the time. Hope she had a great time being single with her single friend. Must have been a blast.

Regardless, I have to admit, I was a simple 7th grade boy. The only other girl I was interested in dating back then was another girl in my grade. This one just happened to have a chest the size of a grown woman, and then some. She was the only person in our entire school who clearly drank way too much milk or something because she looked like an adult in pretty much every way to the rest of the students. But I never got up the courage to ask her out. Whenever I talked to her, she would beam ear to ear smiles at me, and made me feel amazing. To be blunt, my insides were like a circus of sensations and emotions whenever I was around her. I was just overwhelmed that there was someone who looked like a full-grown woman, that I could date, despite being the young age I was. And yet, I never did. I never even tried. What a ridiculous boy.

One day there was another student who I witnessed balling with tears running down his face as he ran into the outdoor bathroom. My natural hero complex kicked in, and I followed the boy into the bathroom as his sobs grew louder. I asked him "Are you ok? What happened?" and after crying a little more he replied, "I got kicked in the balls." But why would someone do that to him? Well, apparently, as I understand, he had tried to get fresh with the big breasted girl, yes, the same one I was infatuated with, and she responded by full force decimating his junk with her boot. I don't know how it went down, but I remember thinking "She has bite if you push her, good for her."

After he told me what he had gone through, I couldn't help it, I lost a little sympathy. I did however feel somewhat sad for him, as kicking people in the crotch, can have seriously damaging consequences. We're talking lifelong, disabling effects. At the same time, you're not supposed to talk to/interact with girls the way he did. Again, not sure how he did it, or what he did. It was a complicated issue.

That year I had some strange teachers. One teacher was obsessed with Steve Jobs and Apple computers. His weird quirk was one of his shoes had a couple inches lift on it, because his body was simply disproportionate. He had gray hair, almost white, and was very pale in skin tone. Just an average, old, computer nerd.

His classes involved changing fonts on the old Mac computers, turning text into speech and generally developing a basic understanding of the computers I had worked with since 4th grade (Remember the Oregon Trail? The original? No? You're not a Dinasaur? Ok.) My English teacher was not so interesting. She needed to leave for part of the year because she had to get gallstones removed from her body. She was a pale, brown haired, semi-fat woman. Kind of reminded me of my stepmom.

The gallstones teacher was the one who most heavily introduced me to poetry. We learned about rhyming, metaphors and stuff I've probably since forgotten. But the teacher I remember with more prominence than her was my Geography teacher. He did a couple problematic things during my school year. He was balding with curly black hair, also semi-fat and had tan skin, as if he was from South America.

What did he do? Well, he promised if any student could come up and recite all 50 states in under a minute, he would give them an entire bucket of licorice. We're talking, maybe 300 red vines? Do you remember the earlier writings in this book? I learned all 50 states when I was a very young boy, living in Spokane, Washington. So? In that moment, knowing I had this down, I raised my hand, went up to the front of the class and said the following: Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Main, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New Hampshire, New York, North Carolina, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virgina, Washington... and I forget the rest of what I said.

The point is, while I rapped all that off in under 60 seconds he immediately said "Nope! I was looking for Rhode Island" and a couple other states he had listed. And yet, I knew for a fact I had said the states he stated he was listening for. I also knew, yes, I missed a couple states on the list, but not the ones he said I missed. As I thought about this, I looked up and found he was standing in front of me, offering me one piece of licorice, holding the restd of the bucket away from me. I felt like I just wasted my time, and I was probably right.

What else did the teacher do? There was this girl in class who I thought had an awesome face (reminded me of my Ohio friend's older sister). She was of Asian descent and had a first and last name that both started with K. Our Geography teacher had a curiosity he just couldn't resist. He asked her what her middle name was, only her, when doing roll call. You probably know what he was really asking.

If you in fact don't know, well, I'll leave that up to you to ponder for a while. But I'll give you a hint: Who wears outfits that look like bad Halloween ghost costumes? Yeah, he was trying to find out if his student, had something a little off about her name, which of course, could give her lifelong trauma and cause her to hate her own name due to the implications attached. She in fact, did not have the middle name he was looking for, thank goodness.

Regardless, *opens juice box before continuing to type* that summer went just fine. While I was visiting again in Ohio, my father began shaming me for not living with him and began suggesting I move in with him. One example of this is that we were at a swap meet (an event where people sell stuff they have way too much of, I don't know how it works, but it's like, if Target or Wal-Mart was a person, and wanted to sell stuff to you on a picnic table instead of in a massive organized building), at the swap meet I saw an awesome go-kart. This thing had massive back wheels, was red and had flaming paint exploding down each side, I really wanted it. But, my dad said "No, I would get it if he lived her, but he has to move in for me to get that for him." As a result I thought "Hell no I'm not living here" and abandoned the idea of the go-kart dream as a result.

My whole life, it seemed, I had wanted some kind of little car or scooter for myself. It started in Spokane, Washington, where I learned the 50 states. The boy across the street had a child-sized red truck her drove around that I never got to ride. I was so jealous of him, but we were poor and could afford very little.

My cousin had an assortment of motorcycles, but again, I was not allowed to ride them. I was however allowed to ride a four-wheeler that belonged to my former stepdad, however, that was gone. The snow mobiles? Yep, also my stepdad. So, in all? I had no gas or electric big boy toy to play with, and oh did I want one. Seeing the red go-kart, I thought "Maybe, finally?" and had those dreams shut down once more, as to get it, I'd have to sell out my life back home in Washington. Hell no.

At one point that summer, we were at a church event, and one of the girls there, a blonde haired, blue eyed pale girl, came up to me. She said right away, with a big smile "Your dad is hot" I replied "...ok" she continued "You look just like your dad." I was really confused and flattered at the same time. A very young girl, just called my, grown-ass man, father, "Hot". That was one of many reminders that: little girls are creeps. But I couldn't blame her too much, I was constantly thinking about every hot grown woman I encountered in a perverse manner. With that in mind, who was I to judge her for also being attracted to folks much older than myself if I was also attracted to older people too?

I think it was just that she told me, directly. Like, how socially inept would I be to go up to a girl and say, "Your mom is hot!"? Yeah, doesn't have the same vibe.

This year, I was at my father's house during the 4th of July celebrations. My father would take me to massive gatherings, where they blew off massive fireworks, and we'd watch the show. A lot of times church members would be there, which was just a reminder: Church is more of a social thing, than a God thing. It's almost as if God just existed to get people to network business-wise, social-wise and was a great tax write-off for them, I guess.

If you ever are feeling super lonely and need friends, go to church. That's the lesson here it seems.

The fireworks were always cool, but almost always basically the same. I kind of missed home, where I could just set off the fireworks myself, instead of merely observing like we did there. I think at the time, fireworks at home were illegal in Ohio, but I just looked it up, and they're now legal (allegedly, I just read it). Seems kind of dumb to live in a state where you can't set off your own fireworks. But it is a very hot state during the summer, so I imagine the fire risk is overwhelming.

And back to the girl who said my dad was hot: I'm pretty sure she wound up marrying the little brother friend of mine. Also, pretty sure she had multiple children with him. That or he married her sister, one of those, for sure. I'm telling you guys: Church.

Mind you I still don't go to church, but I know damn well, Church has potential connections to lifelong friendships, relationships and the God thing is just background for many.

I had only seen that blonde girl one other time, outside the "her calling my dad hot" event. The other time was in her basement where we watched a Pixar film together. I'm sure she was giving me hints all night, as she was constantly grinning and staring at me as my dad and stepmom socialized upstairs... but, one of the things I am infamous for, is not understanding when females are hitting on me. It drives people around me crazy. I just assume they're being nice. I have the opposite problem a lot of guys have, so I hear.

Flying home felt like the same old same old, but actually arriving home was different. We were moving. 8th grade wouldn't be in Auburn. It was to be in Lakewood. I was destined to go to a middle school that essentially sucked and live in a condo that definitely, for the most part, sucked.

Think of it this way: I went from half an acre of property to zero property. I went from sunshine, and waterfront access, to shadowy trees and the closest creek about a mile away. In summary: I was feeling robbed at the new place, however... I did have my own room, a legitimate, real, room. I didn't share it with the washer, the dryer, the furnace or the water heater, and instead of it being tiny: It was average. Falling off my bed no longer meant landing on my dresser. I would no longer boil in the winter with a furnace blaring next to my head. I would no longer have to endure people coming in and out of my room to use the dryer or washer, and I would no longer have to climb a ladder just to lay down. You know, basic stuff most people take for granted.

In that room I was able to set up my own cheap computer, I had a basic $90 TV, my PlayStation, a closet... man, the room was my new palace. And in that room? I gradually became a hateful, gothic & extremely atheist maniac.... kidding.

I was actually a great kid still, but I did eventually fantasize about murdering my peers in a blaze on gunfire... I WAS A TEENAGE WHITE BOY LIVING IN THE GLOOMIEST STATE IN THE USA, COME ON! In almost no other book will you find someone is this honest. Instead, they fill you with all their "Oh boy, I'm super, I acted perfectly pretty much my whole life and I promise I'm not damaged or anything! La di da!" no, that is not the book you're reading.

So yeah, as a teenager, in that Lakewood condo, I was going through the typical white goth boy fantasies of bringing justice to the world by shooting everyone who was mean to me or mean to the people I cared about. It's a real thing many teenage boys go through in their heads (not exclusive to white kids or goth kids, but probably more common), so maybe, stop bullying people? I guess is the moral of the story here?

Don't worry guys, I've come a long way. I'm a certified conscientious objector (would never kill anyone) recognized by the US Government for this "prestigious" status. But as a boy? I was in fact, quite angry, a lot. I was, however, quite serene when hanging out with my friends of course, especially the female types.

They gave me a lot of what I praised and loved at the time. I celebrated women, even worshiped them. It was, in hindsight, gross. Women in fact, suck just as much as men. Those who say differently are either lying, or simply lack life experience.

Regardless, let's get into the 8th grade year... next chapter, I mean. *laughs*

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Unknown member
Jul 07, 2022

As I read more, I find this interesting, considering the man you are today. I mean that in a positive way. I don't think many people could have gone through this and not ended up either dead or in prison. Plus, I'm impressed about the details and the fact that you are able to express such things openly. Thank You for sharing.

Unknown member
Jul 07, 2022
Replying to

When you start writing about the things you have gone through, memories start popping up like weeds or whack-a-moles... it's actually awesome. I'm pretty sure it's not so different from memory exercises of sorts.

Anyway, I appreciate you reading and commenting. Stuff like that always gives me a little boost :)

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