The Divorced Son: Part One | Reflections


                I am the Divorced Son.  I was born in the early 70s, to a man and woman who probably should never have gotten together.  Hence, why I know God was involved.  I was a little, old man, baby.  My mother was a diabetic, which probably has to do with why I was small and a preemie.  I was born into the world with a vision defect.  My eye muscles would pull so hard I would be cross-eyed.  They fixed this when I was 2, and I still remember being in the hospital with the plastic eyepatches over my eyes.  They say you shouldn’t remember things from when you were two.

                There are many things that happened in my life that guided me toward God.  First, and foremost, I went to a Christian school.  This is odd to me, because neither of my parents seem overly religious.  They act like they are the center of everything that happens, and it pains me to feel this way about them.  Never-the-less, Calvary Christian school had a profound and lasting effect on me.  I love people and forgive them, no matter what.  I get upset with myself sometimes because I can’t stay mad.   It’s that part of me that retains a world view.

                I was born with ADHD.  It has never been clinically diagnosed, but come-on, really, when you know you have it, you just know.  It isn’t exactly something you aspire to, but it shouldn’t be something you are ashamed of either.  I always have to curb my mouth from over-running people in conversations.  Always over-thinking how I talked, what I said, and why people reacted certain ways.  In my old age, I have learned to think less on it, and trust that I am controlling it more and people are caring less.

                My parents were both teachers.  But, before that they managed an apartment complex in Bowling Green, Ohio.  The laundry room door there was heavy, and I got stuck inside one time when my mom took the laundry back to our apartment.  I am sure it didn’t take long for her to return.  Heck, I probably was only in there until she turned around and reopened the door, but it felt like an eternity, and I remember that event to this day.  Always fear.

                Fear controlled a large part of my life.  I knew God was around, but I always felt wrong and had to have the guidance of my elders.  Especially my mom.  I was a true momma’s boy.  I believed everything she said, even a lie she told me to get me to eat the crusts on my bread.  I wanted to whistle, so she told me that if I ate the crusts I would whistle better.  Well, it never got disproven, so at the age of twenty, I stated this to my utmost embarrassment.

                I want you to know that I love my parents very much and this story may seem different.  I call them both all the time, though I get melancholy at times and hold off.  I get stupid, just plain stupid.  You should never use that word in school by the way, because it is considered a cuss word in most of society.  I am using it to describe my actions because they are “having or showing a great lack of intelligence or common sense”, as Dictionary.com states.  And, yes, I just looked that up to put in here.

Ready for part two?

  

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