My Mother’s Love

20161213_123655When kids personality changes it’s for a reason, something they encountered and are not telling. My Mother’s love and prayers brought me back, from horrific encounters early in life. She told me that I was born the most loving and trustful child in the world. All that changed when she was in the Hospital and left me in the care of relatives. I was seven or eight years old, I went to the refrigerator took a glass of milk, my older cousin who was in college observed. He called me a thief, began whipping me like a Jockey on his way to the finish line. During that period when Ma was not in the Hospital she was home too sick to work, we just about starved. There was no charity from the family or the Church. If not from something I picked up from my Grandfather, living off the land we would have starved. At six years old my brother five years older and his friends, took me out on a Canoe in the ocean. No less than a hundred and fifty yards in deep water, dumped me out of the boat. Their goal was to teach me how to swim the hard way. Unbeknown to them they almost committed murder. On that day I learned how to swim in Ochoa Rios Bay a channel that accommodated large Ships. Living in Buck’s Field Ochoa Rios, it was there that my religious faith was shaken, by the way the Church and Family treated us with obscurity while we starved. I started stealing from the Church’s  collection box in the Rectory’s office, I moved on to the neighborhoods grocery cash registers. I learned to be a good sneak thief, offering my services to do some odd job like sweeping the floor. At nine or ten I was a clever thief, using pretense to gain access. Once they walked away I would only take small change not enough to be noticed and be detected. One day I hit the wrong store , brother  Scott was a big burly Shoemaker , he caught me red handed. If he was caught beating a Horse the way he beat me he would have been arrested. The density of the rope he beat me with could have tied down the Titanic. He whipped me into unconsciousness. Once recovered laying on the floor there was a huge ice pic type tool used to make holes in leather, I picked it up shielded it in a close palm behind my back stealthily sneaked up on him, premeditatedly planned to stab him in the kidneys, God interceded, a customer walked in the store. Hard to conceive a ten year old murderer who was born the most trusting loving child? very feasible I was well developed from swimming every day. He threw me a half Dollar and chased me, I guess the charity was for me to keep my mouth shut about the abuse. With two severe beatings before age eleven I became impervious to pain. I became a fierce fighter willing to take on adults who wanted to leave their marks on me. Also there were three older boys in the neighborhood whose only ambition in life was to kick my brother and I butt on a daily basis. The fights we had with them for the duration of time we lived there would have made Chuck Norris proud. Always three against two the fights we had were like Booth camp training for later years. This environment was detrimental to my young soul. I was on a runaway train to hell Three times I tried to kill my brother five years older, and once a friend. If this was not time for intervention then when. After the episode with Brother Scott, I became good at not being detected. I graduated to the neighborhood Drug Dealer’s hiding place in the woods where he hid his cash. This time it was detected although he did not know that it was me, he would have been relentless to send a message to future rip off artists. My deviousness was undetectable even to Ma, all the time bringing money home in small increments telling her that I did odd jobs for people, which was the truth at times. I was very industrious early in life. I was her little man a provider, until she found about the brother Scott incident. She threatened him for the severe beating, and put me on a tight leach, to deter me from my robbing the hood activities. Needles for me to tell you that Mother and could no longer show our faces in the Church. I was a thief and she was the mother of the thief. Not only was I putting my soul in a pit, but I was dragging hers  with mine. that woman was a Saint not once did she abused me for embarrassing her. Instead she annihilated with guilt by offering prayers for my soul, instead of more beatings . For that she got my respect for life. Mother’s health improved, she got a job offering in Kingston. we were now upward mobile. Except for one thing Mother was now aware of the little demon called me. Moving someone that had  my propensity to a place like Kingston a bad mans town where street gangs battled with cops daily, a place where murder was the theme for years. She had no choice there were no jobs in Ochoa Rios.

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