#SampleSunday Mother's Day Edition
"Sixty-seven percent of juvenile males who are in jail for murder are there for killing their mother's abuser." This Mother's Day, I share a sample of
Sixty-7
with you:
The entire courtroom watched as I sat quietly in the witness chair. I could not keep my legs still because of my nervousness. I looked over toward my mom. Her head was bowed like she was in prayer. I saw tears dropping from her cheeks into her lap. I thought of a statistic I read: "67% of juvenile males who are incarcerated for murder or homicide are there for killing their mother's abuser." "Mom, it's not your fault," I slowly said to her. She was sitting across the room. "You did all you could do for me. I know you wanted better for me," I looked her in the eyes, "all mothers want better for their children. I know you didn't have a lot growing up and you wanted me to have the best. But you are not the only reason why my life has changed. There were many factors that shaped my life and my decisions." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as I began to tell the court room my story. I didn't really mind the fall, or winter, for that matter. Some people complained because it was so cold but the cool fall air always made me feel like things were going to change. This usually happened to people in the spring but I guess I felt this way because as a child my year revolved around school. It was cold the day we got in his car. Me and Mom stood at the bus stop with orange and yellow leaves raining down on us. I looked up at the trees and saw their branches were becoming naked. As I breathed in and out, I could see "smoke" coming out of my mouth. I turned my mouth into a puckered circle and tried to blow "O's" like the ones I saw some grown-ups blow out of their mouths when they smoked cigarettes. My "O's" didn't work. I shrugged my shoulders, knowing I wasn't defeated. I just needed more practice. I thought about Dad. He always told me to practice everything I did. It would make me better. I pulled out my favorite comic book, it was rolled up neatly in my back pants' pocket, then sat down on the cold bench. We had just picked up the comic from the magazine aisle of the grocery store. I sat down and read as my favorite superhero continued his adventures from last month. I knew he was stuck in a jam and needed to fight his way out of it. His arch rival always seemed to win at the end of the previous comic but within two pages next month's comic, he was on top. He would fight his way out of his mess any way he could. I loved that about him. He would figure out a way to make things right, no matter what. I was wearing my favorite winter gloves, the ones that showed pictures when they got cold. But, the thick gloves made it hard for me to turn the pages. I took one off and delicately turned the pages of my newest beloved comic book with the ungloved hand. I looked up at Mom's pretty, dark chocolate face. I wanted to be sure she was not going to fuss at me about taking off the glove in the cold. She checked her watch impatiently. The frown on her face let me know the bus was late. That was when he pulled up in a little silver-blue Omni with a hatch back. Rock Box was blaring from his car stereo and poured out of his closed windows. Mom looked at his car as he pulled up in front of us. She was not impressed. When the putt-putt stopped in front of Mom, he reached over the passenger seat and slowly rolled down the window. "Hey cutie, I noticed the bus was running late. Where you going?" when Mom didn't answer he shouted out the window, "Do you need a ride?" Mom rolled her eyes and said we were heading home. He continued shouting out the window, "There was an accident downtown. I don't mind taking you where you need to go." Mom looked at her watch and hesitated. She told him she didn't mind him dropping us off at home. He smiled and got out the car to open the passenger side door for us. Mom looked at me and took a deep breath, "Get your things together. We're gonna get a ride home so we don't have to wait out here in the cold." After hearing her, my mouth hit the floor. She told me to never ride with strangers and I wasn't sure if she knew him or not. "Don't ride with strangers, don't talk to strangers", but she was always talking to people she didn't know. It seemed like those types of rules are different for adults. I welcomed the warmth of his heater as we got in the car. My butt had gotten numb from sitting on the cold bus stop bench. Once we got in the car he started talking slick to my Mom. Yes, I may have only been ten at the time but I knew game when I heard it. I discreetly looked him up and down, out of the corner of my eye. He was wearing a black leather jacket, white sneakers with black stripes and blue jeans. There was something about him that made me not trust him. I couldn't figure it out. They say children have an intuition about them that goes away as they become adults. Mine was kicking in, big time. He asked about my father, "so when was the last time you saw him?" Mom told him about the last visit we had with my father. The one when they broke up. Mom confronted Dad because he had some broad's name on the visiting list. Dad tried to deny it, but I saw the name there too. I didn't say anything, though. I knew to stay in my place or they would both gang up on me like they always did when I tried to defend the one I knew was right. The more Dad denied her name being on the list, the louder Mom got. It wasn't until a guard threatened to end the visit that she calmed down. Once she was done arguing, me and Dad talked about my comic books. It was a nice visit for the last twenty minutes, but when the visit was over, everyone understood that Mom and Dad had broken up. *********************************************Want to know what happens? Order your copy of Sixty-7.
The entire courtroom watched as I sat quietly in the witness chair. I could not keep my legs still because of my nervousness. I looked over toward my mom. Her head was bowed like she was in prayer. I saw tears dropping from her cheeks into her lap. I thought of a statistic I read: "67% of juvenile males who are incarcerated for murder or homicide are there for killing their mother's abuser." "Mom, it's not your fault," I slowly said to her. She was sitting across the room. "You did all you could do for me. I know you wanted better for me," I looked her in the eyes, "all mothers want better for their children. I know you didn't have a lot growing up and you wanted me to have the best. But you are not the only reason why my life has changed. There were many factors that shaped my life and my decisions." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as I began to tell the court room my story. I didn't really mind the fall, or winter, for that matter. Some people complained because it was so cold but the cool fall air always made me feel like things were going to change. This usually happened to people in the spring but I guess I felt this way because as a child my year revolved around school. It was cold the day we got in his car. Me and Mom stood at the bus stop with orange and yellow leaves raining down on us. I looked up at the trees and saw their branches were becoming naked. As I breathed in and out, I could see "smoke" coming out of my mouth. I turned my mouth into a puckered circle and tried to blow "O's" like the ones I saw some grown-ups blow out of their mouths when they smoked cigarettes. My "O's" didn't work. I shrugged my shoulders, knowing I wasn't defeated. I just needed more practice. I thought about Dad. He always told me to practice everything I did. It would make me better. I pulled out my favorite comic book, it was rolled up neatly in my back pants' pocket, then sat down on the cold bench. We had just picked up the comic from the magazine aisle of the grocery store. I sat down and read as my favorite superhero continued his adventures from last month. I knew he was stuck in a jam and needed to fight his way out of it. His arch rival always seemed to win at the end of the previous comic but within two pages next month's comic, he was on top. He would fight his way out of his mess any way he could. I loved that about him. He would figure out a way to make things right, no matter what. I was wearing my favorite winter gloves, the ones that showed pictures when they got cold. But, the thick gloves made it hard for me to turn the pages. I took one off and delicately turned the pages of my newest beloved comic book with the ungloved hand. I looked up at Mom's pretty, dark chocolate face. I wanted to be sure she was not going to fuss at me about taking off the glove in the cold. She checked her watch impatiently. The frown on her face let me know the bus was late. That was when he pulled up in a little silver-blue Omni with a hatch back. Rock Box was blaring from his car stereo and poured out of his closed windows. Mom looked at his car as he pulled up in front of us. She was not impressed. When the putt-putt stopped in front of Mom, he reached over the passenger seat and slowly rolled down the window. "Hey cutie, I noticed the bus was running late. Where you going?" when Mom didn't answer he shouted out the window, "Do you need a ride?" Mom rolled her eyes and said we were heading home. He continued shouting out the window, "There was an accident downtown. I don't mind taking you where you need to go." Mom looked at her watch and hesitated. She told him she didn't mind him dropping us off at home. He smiled and got out the car to open the passenger side door for us. Mom looked at me and took a deep breath, "Get your things together. We're gonna get a ride home so we don't have to wait out here in the cold." After hearing her, my mouth hit the floor. She told me to never ride with strangers and I wasn't sure if she knew him or not. "Don't ride with strangers, don't talk to strangers", but she was always talking to people she didn't know. It seemed like those types of rules are different for adults. I welcomed the warmth of his heater as we got in the car. My butt had gotten numb from sitting on the cold bus stop bench. Once we got in the car he started talking slick to my Mom. Yes, I may have only been ten at the time but I knew game when I heard it. I discreetly looked him up and down, out of the corner of my eye. He was wearing a black leather jacket, white sneakers with black stripes and blue jeans. There was something about him that made me not trust him. I couldn't figure it out. They say children have an intuition about them that goes away as they become adults. Mine was kicking in, big time. He asked about my father, "so when was the last time you saw him?" Mom told him about the last visit we had with my father. The one when they broke up. Mom confronted Dad because he had some broad's name on the visiting list. Dad tried to deny it, but I saw the name there too. I didn't say anything, though. I knew to stay in my place or they would both gang up on me like they always did when I tried to defend the one I knew was right. The more Dad denied her name being on the list, the louder Mom got. It wasn't until a guard threatened to end the visit that she calmed down. Once she was done arguing, me and Dad talked about my comic books. It was a nice visit for the last twenty minutes, but when the visit was over, everyone understood that Mom and Dad had broken up. *********************************************Want to know what happens? Order your copy of Sixty-7.
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