Time Out, It’s Me, the Protagonist

8Twenty 8So what’s my next step.  There’s a new conflict in my life.  I thought I was going to enjoy this three-day weekend.  I thought that although not perfect, everything was manageable with my family.  I found out this weekend that issues and emotions had been brewing all week.  I was thrown into a conflict that will likely take 3 months to resolve, and will probably have longer ramifications, hopefully some positive.

Then I realized, I’m the protagonist.  The book – My Life.  And I ain’t the one writing it.  I guess we all are protagonists in our own lives.   Place a bookmark here for a second.

I flipped back several chapters and thought of my life growing up in the 70’s.

Just out of curiosity, I put my old address in Google, and it brought up a map of the street.  Much has changed.

  • My family home is the only one that is non-existent.  It was demolished years ago.  It had been considered a fire hazard when my mother moved us out, because rats had chewed on wires in the attic.
  • The Baptist church on the corner of that street is still there, and turned our lot into their parking lot.   I am saddened, because most of my childhood was spent there.  I know it’s bad, but I’ve resented that church for years.  Ever since they told me I had to get baptized in that big scary looking pool when I was about seven, I scoffed at them.   I had run home that day and told my mother who then  assured me I was already baptized.   I sighed and later my sister and I watched the other youth go through it.
  • The cinder block wall at the back of  yard is gone.  When I was about nine, a boy who befriended me and my sister would sit until he felt comfortable enough to jump down and play games with us.   He spiked up the day for us.  Everyday that summer he did that, then he just stopped coming.   It puzzled me why until a couple of years later I overheard his sister (whom I didn’t know well at all) saying that he had drowned that summer when he went fishing with his Dad.  That saddens me to this day.
  • The pine trees were also gone.   The steps with our address engraved on it, gone.    Now that I think about it, there was a house between us and the church that’s gone as well.  I recall my earliest fear of a frog took place between the two houses.
  • The sidewalk on which I rode my bike  and my younger brother, his Bigwheel is the same; the famous corner grocery that was owned by a wealthy loud-mouthed businessman is now an empty lot.

Flip back to the current chapter.  Now, I always thought that my siblings and I would get along relatively well forever.   The thought of being estranged from a sibling or parent always baffled me.   NOW I SEE why that happens.   When people act up or are stubborn, there’s no parent you can go run to to “tell”.    There’s no parent to intervene when there is a dispute.  You absolutely cannot reason with a person who has selfishness in their nature.  Sometimes helping them is actually hurting them.  And  I have my faults, too.

While time is erasing evidence of my past,  I try to respect my memories as chapters that are perhaps recorded somewhere up high.  I can’t flip ahead, but I hope that things work out better for me and my family somewhere down the line.   I hope the book’s readers aren’t getting joy out of  seeing their protagonist go through this part.

We’re all protagonists, right?

I’m really just venting here.


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2 Responses »

  1. I wrote a song a few years ago called, ”I’m not even the main character in my own life.” It feels like that, sometimes, doesn’t it?

  2. Right. Esp. when I’m engaged in my monotonous daily routines – that has GOT to be boring. You should share the lyrics or the song – I’m curious.

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Writing Goals

My First Completed EbookNovember 11th, 2013
I will put my first Ebook on Amazon

The Background: Swamp Scene in Avoyelles Parish

The scene is a swamp in Louisiana, my home state. It is also the setting of my beloved story that I will finish one day, even if I have to take it up to Heaven in a folder with a pen. God would say, "you're still carrying around that thing?" I would nod my head and give him a humble blink, my pen and paper in hand. He would then ask, "so how are you going to get it to your audience when you're done?" I would gulp and give him another humble blink. Then I'd look down at my work and a grin would grow on my face . . . (you won't get it until after you read my book, once I do finish it. . .)
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