The Day The Innocence Died

Eating lunch with a group of my Bio classmates, we somehow stumbled upon the topic of frat parties and date rape. The girls shared about how they never let their drinks out of their sight while us guys talked about keeping an eye on our female friends. The conversation had moved to more pleasant subjects when one jackass from the table over makes the comment that any one stupid enough to be raped, had it coming.

Please allow me to explain something. I think rapists are the scum of the earth along with child abusers and murderers. So when this guy said this as if it was common sense, I had to fight down the urge to throw down right there. Thankfully, The Ginger had to have a death grip on my wrist so I wouldn't make a move.

In the urge to protect one of my secrets, I quickly calmed myself down. Apparently not quick enough. The Ginger pulled me around the corner and asked why I took what that guy said so personally. I felt exposed. I stamped out (barely) the tremor in my voice as I told her that it was personal to me.

Why?

Well because I know how it feels to be on the receiving end. One day in the early fall of 1996, my innocence was obliterated behind a neighboring house. I was held down by four guys who decided to have some fun with the kid who thought he could run his mouth to them.

Two things I took away from that experience.

1. Adults are useless. I remember going home and doing what I could to clean myself. I remember my mom asking how my day was. I said it was OK. Showing just how much she knew her oldest child, she believed me. I think that's when I gave up on her.
   
2. Sex is pain. I was terrified of sex for most of my life. I thought of myself as used goods until Tinkerbell held me and told me that couldn't be farther from the truth. I was stunned. She knew I had been raped and still thought I was worth something? I'm sad to say but it made no sense to me that she would not turn me away at that point. That night, I got over my fear of physical intimacy for good.That night, I finally cried.
   

For so many years I carried so much rage in me. No 8 year-old should ever know what it is like to want to see someone dead. I did not share this with anyone until I was 19 and I didn't share the full story until I was almost 20. Then with Tinkerbell's help, I learned to let go of the hate and forgive them. Which was far more difficult than it sounds.

No one ever ASKS to be raped and to think such tripe goes beyond ignorance into inhumane territory. If you yourself are a victim of rape or any type of sexual abuse, I urge you to seek help somewhere either from a professional or from a highly trusted friend or relative.

You are not alone.

You are not worthless.

You DID NOT DESERVE IT.

Remember There Is Help...There Is Hope.

A Letter To Heaven

For those expecting a post of my normal length tonight, I'm sorry to disappoint. My heart just isn't in it.

I was in Bio lecture when I happened to look down at my cell phone and noticed the date. Like a strike from Zeus himself, the significance of today hit me. In that moment, I felt like someone had my heart in an unforgiving vice grip. My vision began to blur as tears crept into the corners of my eyes.

A year ago today, the woman who restored my faith in family, died as a result of a collision with a drunk driver. She was the one who decided to help an 8 year-old boy learn to love reading and slowly, through pure heart and stubbornness, showed she cared for and even loved him as her own. Two weeks before this, she had found out she was pregnant.

When my life went to hell last year, she was one of the handful of people I could talk to. I regret not telling her just how much she meant to me while she was still alive.

Even though we were in no way related, I had thought of her as my Mom from the time I was 14 and even now. Ironically, I found out later she and her wife had long considered adopting me. I finally felt wanted for once.

You should see Mami, she looks like she's ready to pop any day now. Hopefully I'll get up to Mass for Christmas and sometime after Los Gemelos Nuevos are born to see her. I promise to be a fantastic big brother/godfather to them. She has found love again in an old friend, you'd approve. R can even keep her from being her normal hotheaded self which I know you'd appreciate.

Mom, I would like to say a few things. I love you, I can't stress that enough and I hope I'm doing you proud. I look forward to the day I can see you again. We'll sip sweet tea (I know a bunch of people, yourself included, who'd be madder than wet hornets if Heaven had no sweet tea) and I'll tell you all about my crazy adventures. But until then, I can rest easy knowing you haven't stopped watching out for me.

Su Hijo,

Kendall

P. S. When I finally get where you are, you bring the coffee and I'll bring the cake.

A Letter To My Father

Dear Dad,

I haven't talked to you face-to-face since August and I don't quite remember the last time we talked on the phone. But that's who you are. You don't really show emotion. It makes us look weak. You did all you could to teach me that.

I remember being 6 and riding with you to the corner store. I was looking at the ice cream while you bought a pack of cigarettes. Someone ran into the store with a stocking cap over their face. They had a shotgun in their hands. He wanted Mr. Thompson to give up the money. Mr. Thompson refused. I remember my ears popping when the gun went off. I remember seeing a piece of Mr. Thompson land not a foot beside me. I remember the man taking the register and running away.

That night, I asked you why that happened. I remember you told me to just go to bed as you didn't want to deal with it.

I remember when I was 12 and working on a sketch of Nana's garden. I was so proud of it when it was finished. You and Mom were actually home so I showed you. You took it from my hands, looked at and then asked me why I couldn't play football. That next year I would try out and make the team. I was good. When I stopped playing so I could concentrate on school, wrestling, my job, and the newspaper you actually yelled at me. I was a disappointment to you. I remember you telling me that I needed football for a scholarship as I wouldn't go to college otherwise.

I saw football as basically working out in preparation for the wrestling season so if I was going to cut anything from my schedule that would be it. In the four years I was on the team, you never came to a single match. I remember asking you to come to what would be one of my last. It was my junior year and I was wrestling in the regional tournament. I wanted my family there. Nana, who was sick at the time, was there. Aunt K and Jingles were there. Mami, Rose, and Gabi were there. You? You were just an empty seat. Mom at least told me beforehand she couldn't come as she was terrified I'd get hurt. I won that night.

When you saw said medal, you brushed it off as if I had done nothing special.

I remember when Tinkerbell broke up with me, you told me that it didn't matter as "pussy [was] pussy". You have no idea how close I came to cold clocking you that day.

I remember when me and Mil found the text messages between you and The Homewrecker. I remember Mom saying we were just jumping to conclusions even after we showed them to her. I remember me and Mil laying in bed with her, hugging her as she cried. I remember the fight when she found the lingerie in your work bag.

You always told me that I didn't want to spend time with you, you will never know that I am always thinking of how you were never there when I was growing up so why would you or I care now?

I remember you acting like you were hurt when me and Junior were outside that summer talking about politics and you had no idea I even knew what was going on in the world.

Mom at least has tried to be a part of my life and we've come a long way since I was 15.

You, on the other hand, could never be bothered with it.

I doubt you remember it considering how drunk you were but I remember you telling me that had Mil been born first, you would have left Mom. You will never know that what little respect I still had for you died that night.

When me and Mil were talking to Mom about the possibility of you two divorcing, she was amazed at how angry we were with you after how good you'd been to us. Mil asked her how? Would you like to know what her answer was? You stayed. We should be grateful to you for owning up to that much for how little you were actually around? Mil said it best when she called that a load of bull.

You have no idea that your own daughter will probably never willingly come around you again if she can help it. You have no idea that you will never have a relationship with any children she may have. You have no idea that she will most likely not come to or even acknowledge your funeral.

You have no idea that the reason I never use my first name is because it came from you. You have no idea that I flinch every time people tell me I look or sound like you. You have no idea that once this divorce is finalized I will likely never speak to you again. You have no idea that I hated you for the longest time.

You have no idea that your last name will die with you, and neither me or Mil can bring ourselves to care all that much.

Despite what you tried to tell me, I believe it is possible for someone to love me other than my parents. If what you showed us the last 20/18 years was love, I'm better off loveless. And I refuse to believe that.

I refuse to believe that women are just good for sex and thus you shouldn't care too much.

I refuse to believe that you should look out for yourself first and foremost.

I refuse to believe that people will always stop at the colour of my skin and never care who I am.

Dad, I love you and I forgive you. I can't hate you anymore. Hate takes energy and so does hoping that you will look at me as someone who matters. Frankly, I don't have the strength for either anymore. And since I can't hate you, I have no choice but to forgive you.

Pap hated his dad.

You hated Pap.

It has to stop with me.

I will likely never say even half of this to you. But it's out there and for now, that's enough.

You will never know how many nights I cried myself to sleep growing up. Wondering what I had done that you would take no interest in me. Or how I would always feel guilty when I would see my friends with their dads.

For as long as I can remember, one of my worst fears has been that I will turn out to be just like you. I point blank refuse to let this come to pass. I'll shoot myself in the face before I let that happen. Every time I say good night to Daybreak, I swear in my head that I will be a far better dad to her than you were to me. I will do all I can to keep that promise. I am moving on, aren't you proud?

Your son,

Kendall

On Broken Wings and Relearning to Fly Part II

It took me a good portion of the summer months to believe that Eva had not made a mistake in liking, and later loving me. It honestly surprised me that she was so patient with my issues. There was still a dilemma though.

Could I love her? Could I open myself up again? Would I end up making the same mistakes all over again?

I had to try. I wanted our relationship to work and was willing to work at it. I remember sitting with her in her living room and telling her the worst of me, not wanting her to find out down the road and it cause trust issues. And, as ashamed as I am to admit it, I wanted to see if she would think I was no good and call things off.

Imagine my shock when she merely thanked me and said she was proud of me for being open about it.

So throughout the summer, we spent time together and generally had a blast. Took lots of trips to the park, went with her and her family to Myrtle Beach, went to more movies than I ever have in one summer, did a lot of cooking, and for the first time since September 2007, I was on my way to being happy with my lot in life.

I tried to completely get over Tinkerbell, I had always been told you should put your ex out of your mind. The following snippet of conversation changed that.

Eva: She was your first love and even now, you want her to be happy. It would be unlike you to stop loving someone.
Me: But isn't that a bad thing in this case?
Eva: You're Kendall. I don't think you could help it if you tried. And honestly, that's a good thing. Your heart is too big not to love people.

I decided to give her advice to try and not worry about it so much. Lo and behold, I was much happier with myself as a result.

“Love yourself—accept yourself—forgive yourself—and be good to yourself, because without you the rest of us are without a source of many wonderful things.” - Leo F. Buscagilia

Life is funny in that you only learn the lessons after you've taken the test. I have accepted myself and am working on loving myself. Forgiving myself? That's still a work in progress but I am hopeful.

In a complete turnaround from the last post which had me crying, this one just makes me want to call Eva up, curl up on the couch with a blanket, and enjoy her company.

I think I like this idea.

Here's hoping you all find a little love in your lives,

Kendall (The Odd Duck)

On Broken Wings And Relearning to Fly Part I

Normally I have no trouble getting the words down once I pick a topic. Normally I don't dread making a post. Normally I'm not afraid of what people are going to think when they read it.

I suppose there must be a first time for everything.

My tattered well-loved copy of Webster's defines love as a warm attachment and the passion between the sexes.

My Bible has several definitions but my personal favorite is 1 Corinthians 13:4.

Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.

Through my own stupidity I lost the first person I loved and in doing so broke my own heart in the process. For those first two months at least, the only thing keeping me somewhat sane was that I had disappointed Tinkerbell. I would all I could to avoid doing so ever again. I hated myself but I had to try and make amends.

I lost count of how many sleepless nights I've had, crying to myself.

I lost count of how many times in those first two months the thought of suicide actually crossed my mind.

I lost count of how many times I would try and eat only to throw it up shortly after.

I had no idea who I was anymore. So I had to learn to depend on her, and soon enough, I did. She was the one person I actually talked about my emotions with. Everyone else thought I was getting better much quicker than I actually was. She knew better and would call me on it.

Slowly I started to believe I wasn't trash. I thought maybe I really could have a second chance.

Funny how life works out sometimes, I found my second chance at happiness but not in the way I was expecting.

While taking community college classes before transferring to UNC, I had a Developmental Psych course with Eva. We had gone to high school together even though we were never really friends but we became study buddies and then friends.

Somehow Eva got it in her head that I was dating material. I was actually gobsmacked when she admitted it. Then against my head's warnings, I started to like her as well. The problem? I loved Tinkerbell.

I refused to admit I liked Eva for about a month but at the same time, Tinkerbell had met a very good guy and we were realizing that we couldn't be together. We wished each other well in trying new relationships.

Slowly I let myself develop feelings for Eva. Feelings that came to a head May 24, when I asked her out when we had gone dancing.

What seems like a lifetime ago, I gave my word to hold nothing back from Tinkerbell and had done my best to keep that promise. She said she didn't want to hear about Eva as it hurt too much and I respected that decision.

A bit of trivia about Tinkerbell. She knows me better than just about anyone in the world and she can tell when something is bothering me so when she asked I told her. I guess I pushed her too far because she told me I merely saw her as my shrink.

People, I do not open up easily. At all. In fact, it's taken me hours just to get myself to share this much with you. But to hear that from her, I had to ask myself if I did.

I even asked my other close friends if I treated them like that.

With a higher reluctance to talk to people about my problems, how was I to even attempt a relationship with Eva? Sadly, I will have to finish this story tomorrow. Too many buried emotions have been unearthed as is and I need a break. Sleep would be great too.

To be concluded...

Faith Rewarded Part II

I would spent the next three years or so thinking of God as a sadistic, overgrown child with a magnifying glass and an ant farm. Until a trip to Italy and a walk inside the Sistine Chapel changed my life. Looking at the painted ceiling and hearing people burst into tears, I couldn't believe God to be malevolent.

No cruel being could be the subject of something so breathtakingly beautiful.

At this point, I could not look anyone in the eye. And my gaze completely avoided the pew where my roommate, his girlfriend, my neighbour, my girlfriend, and her daughter were seated together. I had tears gathering in my eyes and was just waiting for Father Oak to tell me to leave and not come back.

The first thing I heard were the sounds of sniffling throughout the crowd. Then I saw them. My girlfriend and her 3 year-old daughter had stood and were walking toward me. Both were crying.

Her daughter Daybreak let go of her mother's hand, moved to stand in front of me, and held up her arms. I gathered her into mine and as she buried her face in the crook of my neck, she whispered four little words.

"I love you, Papa."

Then her mother, Eva, wrapped her arms around my waist and said she loved me as well and that she was proud of how far I had come since then. I am not sure how long the three of us stood there. Just holding each other.

Then I feel another face rest against my back as my roommate's girlfriend hugs me from behind and a hand on her shoulder from my roommate. Finally, a hand wrapped around my free one as my neighbour stood by my side.

This scene alone was enough to make tears actually course down my cheeks but it was the finale that made me start to sob.

Slowly people stood from where they were standing. First the children from my Sunday School class with their parents, then the other people my age in the youth group, my friends from the Choir, and then most of the congregation.

All were circled around us and saying such things as "thank you", "we're proud of you", and "we love you".

The people I had been afraid would scorn me for a mistake I made years ago had started a mass group hug around me. I was not alone. They did not look down on me. They were all a part of my family and were loved as such. I stood there in a sea of arms and smiles and had to smile through my tears.

Sometimes it really is nice to have your faith rewarded.

Marching to the beat of my own drum,

The Odd Duckling

Faith Rewarded Part I

I have toiled for the last two weeks to decide on something to write about. It's not that I can't think of a topic. Not at all. It's that I have about half a dozen floating in my head and I was being indecisive. No more.

Faith.

Way back in June I think, one of our priests asked if we had had our faith tested. This was a group of about 20 college students from the RTP area and I was one of the four who raised their hands. It wasn't followed up on that day so I eventually put it out of my mind.

Today, said priest who I will call Father Oak, asked during Mass if those who felt compelled would share their testimony with the congregation. My roommate's girlfriend who is one of the five people not counting myself that knew the story started nudging me and telling me I should share.

Something you need to understand is that I am not a shy person. In the least. For all my other issues, I am a very extroverted person who has little trouble striking up conversation when I meet people. However this is sharing something that I am ashamed of to this day with over a 100 people.

The easiest way to describe the fear is that I felt as if I may be run out of the church once I finished with torches ablaze. Especially since I taught a good number of the younger children in Sunday School.

Growing up I never questioned that God created and loved me. I loved having either my Nana or a great aunt of mine read stories from the Bible and explain in a way a small child could understand. Something I know now is not an easy task.

Then certain events came about when I was 13 and I was so angry. People told me 'God has a plan' and that just made me madder. I wanted to feel better right then and there. My grandmother (who has largely disowned me, I'll post about that at some point) had me talk to her pastor about what I was feeling.

Think pretty much every negative stereotype of a preacher and you have this guy. Pinstripe suit, Jerry curl, at least one woman on the side, and a Mercedes obtained mysteriously. Needless to say, I did not trust this man so I wasn't too responsive.

I don't remember the actual conversation now but by the end of it I wanted to punch him. He then told me God has a plan. In that moment, I made a decision. I turned to the cross that had been situated behind the altar and spat on it. Cue, shocked gasp from the people of my church as I tell them this.

Knowing what was about to come would shock them even more I asked the parents of children who they didn't want to hear a very strong curse word to cover their ears. Those who felt the need did so and I told them how my last act before leaving that place was to yell, "Fuck God's plan."

To be continued in Part II...