World Of Shadows

                                                                    What is my world like? I have to first explain to everyone what my world is. My world is a population of one where each day I am alone regardless of where I am, or what I may be doing, I am alone.
                                                                                                  During the formative years of one’s life which is grade school or elementary school where we learn, and we learn to interact with others. From the first day of grade school I was different from my classmates. Back then I wouldn’t say I was shy, but at the same time I was not an outgoing person either. To know me now and to have known me then you would say I was two different people. What I dealt with all those years ago affected me in ways I am still sorting through. These are what bind my world of shadows together 
                            When I was born I had Cerebral Palsy, and my mom told me many years later how she and my dad had discovered this. I have a younger brother who is thirteen months younger than me, and he was walking before I was. This was why mom took me to the doctor to try and figure why I was still crawling. My mom also told me when I was born they had to use forceps on me in some fashion, and when they did this they had done something to my head. What this was I still do not know, and it’s like everything else connected with my CP where in everyone else seems to know more about it I do. Yet I am the one dealing with it 24/7. There is not one thing I do on a daily basis where I am not either thinking about Cerebral Palsy or having to do things differently than others.
                                                        In my first grade year I had an accident; I messed myself. My teacher, Mrs. Helen from what I can gather wanted to teach a little boy a lesson so he wouldn’t shit himself again. She sat me in front of my classmates and had each of them make fun of Stinky. I also failed the first grade, and it makes me wonder if one had something to do with the other. Many years later, when I was in my early twenties, I overheard mom talking to one of my older sisters; they were talking about different things when I heard my name mentioned. Mom went on to tell this story of when I was in the first grade and I shit my pants, and how my teacher sat in front of the class then had others make fun of me.
                                                                                        I went off to be alone with my thoughts and to think about what I just heard. I sat alone thinking, trying to remember this event of my past, but for the life of me I could not remember this and I still do not remember. What I do remember from those grade school years is hiding in the shadows because of things I had no control over.
                    Everything I wrote here concerning my accident comes from second hand accounts. I have been at war with myself for many years because of this and other dealings I have dealt with connected to Cerebral Palsy and later, Epilepsy.
                                                                            It’s a good thing that God created the limp when he created mankind because there is a reason for everything. What does having a limp have to do with me and my Cerebral Palsy you ask? It’s simple if you think about it in terms of how we walk. With me, my left leg is weaker than my right, and the muscle mass of my left is smaller than the right. This is where God’s limp makes sense; if I had no limp and my left leg worked as my right leg, with my left leg both smaller and weaker, I would walk in a circle. By God creating the limp, it allowed me to walk a straight line. Although I look like an Accordion when I walk, I can still walk a straight for the most part.
                                                                I recall that when I started the first grade, my classmates did not make fun of the way I walked. I remember a girl whose name now escapes me, broke her leg, and our classmates were fascinated by this for lack of a better term. This is one of the few memories I have of those years where I was just another classmate wondering and being a part of the whole. When I had my accident this all changed, and I would never again feel I was counted as part of the whole. I remember after having my accident, and what Mrs. Helen had done, like a door had been unlocked.
                        From that point forward I was fair game; was what my teacher had done the key that unlocked that door? I don’t know the answer to that question, but living with the ramifications of her action I would have to say she was at least a part of that key. Before my accident I have no recollection of being call Knock Knee, but after my accident it was like the flood gates opened. I was called Knock Knee, Stinky, and many others I still hear these many years later.
                I remember a boy named Jesse, he was that kid that every class had who wanted to be top dog, but everyone else thought him a moron. He was one of the worst with the name calling, he used me to try and score points with the rest of our classmates. I moved away from Baltimore when I was thirteen in the seventh grade, and Jesse had never called me by my given name, it was always “hey stinky” or “hey knick knee”
                                                                As I moved through the first, second, and third grades I messed myself three times. Which asks the question why hadn’t my parents looked into the reasons why there son of grade school age was still shitting himself. I now know why I had this problem, but I didn’t learn that answer until I was in my late twenties. Messing myself, was a symptom of epilepsy, one of the early symptoms from what little I know of it. Like I said I messed myself three times during this period, and I had no one to help me or guide me. There was no one to say do this it will help you control your boil movements, or tell me why I walk in a circle.
        The one person that helped me figure out how to stop shitting myself to this day does not know what it was he did for me. He was my best friend Ronnie, and boy did he love to talk about baseball. It seemed everyday he came to school he had another base ball story to tell. Most times when I had to use the rest room was during class, and like most folks I know they can hold themselves whereas I never could. I to this day cannot hold myself, but thanks to what I learned from my best friend Ronnie I never shit myself again.
                                                                                    As I was saying most times when I was in class when I had to use the rest room I would sit stiff on my chair with my hands gripping each side. I would pull myself down on the chair so as to try not to mess myself. This would work most of the time, but there were a few times it hadn’t. This is where my friend Ronnie comes in; we were just starting the school day, and my classmates and I were lined up in the hall waiting for the bell to ring. I was talking to Ronnie and he said he forgot to sign his homework. He pulled out a pencil and his homework, knelt down on his foot, and signed his name on the hallway floor. I do not know where this crazy idea came from, but seeing Ronnie kneeling there signing his homework gave me the control I needed. I thought to myself, if I ever find myself in a place where I cannot get to a restroom and I have to go I would set on my foot. I would use tying my shoelaces as a cover so I wouldn’t look like an idiot sitting on my foot. I never again messed myself in school.
                          That was the most important thing I ever figured out, thanks to a friend signing his homework. I found a way around my problem of messing myself, this showed me how to fight my war. With being different and seeming to have no one want to help me; I found a way to win this small battle. I found a way around my problem, and I did this on my own by myself. Having Cerebral Palsy handicapped me until that day Ronnie knelt on his foot to sign his homework. From that day onward I was never again handicapped; did I still have Cerebral Palsy yes I did.  Did I have to deal with being different from other, yes? Was I limited in what I could do, Yes? Did any of this stop me, No?
                                                            The key for me in this was realizing I was different. I figured out, just because you may do some things a certain way, does not mean I have to, even if I were able to.  If you needed to be somewhere and had to use the restroom, and you were unable to, you just hold yourself. With me being in that same situation, I may have to sit on my foot, but we accomplish the same in the end. This is but part of my war; my war is I refuse to be handicapped.
                                                                                                                                  I do the things each and everyone who reads this story does; I may take a more difficult road in getting there, but I promise you I will get there one way or the other. Because of the name calling and the limp, I shied away from my classmates; except for three: Ronnie I have mentioned, and there was Melissa and Lisa. I found out a few years ago that Ronnie and Melissa had gotten married, and I would have never put the two of them together.
                                                                          My school also held dances, as all school did. These dances were to help us socialize and interact with one another. I never went to these dances; I was so afraid of stepping out of the shadows to ask my childhood sweetheart to go. After all I was Stinky and Knock Knee, and I had justified this decision to myself. I told myself no girl would want to be seen with Stinky; so I never ask them, never danced with them. To this day I have never had a dance with a woman.
                                                                      I was so mixed up, and afraid of woman on a personal level that I was past forty before I had my first kiss. I think you could also figure what else I still have not done with a woman, this all stems from my war with the shadows. Have I been offered the chance; yes, I have more then once. It’s almost like I have this idea I am not worthy of a woman’s gift. I have been in one relationship; oh God I love Chrissie Jean.
                                                                                                                      She, after a phone call she had with my sister, was in tears. This had to do with her past, and my sister looking out for her brother. Chrissie told me as she sat there in tears, that she was going to live with her mom. She told me she didn’t want to come between me and my family. I said to her, I know about your past, I know what you have done. I know what it was that others have done too you. I told her that I wanted her, not for her body, nor for her sex. I took my finger, touched her forehead as I said to her; this is the lady I love, this is the lady I want.
                                                                            Later that night, when we went to bed, she kept touching my leg with hers, wanting me to make love with her, but I didn’t know how. Not the act of sex, but the joining of to people in love. How does someone except love in this way, when all they ever knew was silence. Just hours earlier Chrissie Jean was in tears, now she wants to make love with me, Stinky, but I could not go from the tears she was shedding to making love with her. My thoughts were I cannot do that to her, so I acted as though I didn’t know what she meant by her touching my leg, and rubbing the way she did. In looking back maybe that was what the two of us needed; to hold each other, to make one another feel alive.
                                                                                                      Why am I telling you this? It has to do with the learning process; you see Chrissie Jean was beautiful, five foot, blond hair and the works. As I got to know her, and her past, I learned she was as handicapped as I. It  stems from her beauty, and the way others lusted for it, but she was handicapped just the same. Our relationship ended a few weeks later, and I wondered was it because she never accepted me because of my handicap, or was it her handicap which also included an addiction. We were in the process of getting our first place together, and I gave her rent money; after I arrived home from work she said she was going to take her friend home, and that was the last I saw of her.
                                                                                                                                          You may be asking yourself, why I am writing this story. I have a friend; we meet through the internet a few years back. After we got comfortable with one another I told her of my Cerebral Palsy, and she ask me if I ever wrote about it. At that time I did not, and from what I had told her of it she kept bugging me to write about it that it may help others. I just wasn’t interested in writing about my Cerebral Palsy; by this period in my life I sort of came to terms with it. I just accepted I was different and would always be so. I accepted the fact I would always fight the silent fight alone.
                                                                                                                               
                                In grade school I reasoned if I stayed in the shadows, and not bring attention to myself, I would be left alone. That is what I did; I went into the shadows and I was left alone. I am still in the shadows, my life half spent, and I am still left alone. In those shadows I learned to fight the silent fight; the lonely silence still echoes for that little boy who wanted nothing more than to left alone. This little boy was granted his wish of being left alone. He fought his war in silence, and he still is.
                                  Some people don’t like the way I approach the battles of life. An example of this is what I do for a living. I build houses, and no I do not mean I am a contractor who pays others to do the work they say I do. I am one of the ones that he pays; I am one of the guys who put on a nail bag and a hammer. With the way I walk everyone that works with me think I am there as window dressing. I have to prove all over again that I know my job and I can do it as good as they do if not better. This attitude of mine has driven me to the point where I could outwork anyone I worked with. Guys do not like to be shown up by the handicapped follow, and when the handicapped follow does not humble himself, they get mad.
                                                                                                              When I started having seizures around the age of eighteen, I took this same attitude. I went to war against my epilepsy; I made it my mortal enemy. I told that son of a bitch I will beat you, I will destroy you, and that I did. I told myself, and this I said outload that I will win this battle as I have won others, and I am proud to say I kicked epilepsy’s ass. I was taking one pill three times a day for fifteen years, and one day I woke up and I knew that this battle was over. I stopped taking my medication, and a few weeks later I was still seizure free. I went to the doctor one time after that and he said I was free of Epilepsy. I will win my war with Cerebral Palsy also, in some ways I have already won part of that war.
                        This friend who asks me if I ever wrote about having Cerebral Palsy got me to think on a lot of things from my past. Like what is it like being handicapped, and what it is I should write about if ever I were to do so. I came upon an incredible insight, while thinking about all these events I wrote I discovered there are different ways a person could be handicapped. Like me, I have a physical handicap where others may have an emotional handicap. I have been asked in the past, “what is the worst thing in being handicapped”? For me the worst part of my condition is my mind does not know that my body is handicapped.
                                                                                                          I have one battle yet to win, and that is the echoing silence. I am waging that war as I write this story, and I will win that war also. I may have Cerebral Palsy, and I had Epilepsy, but what I do not have is a handicap. I won’t allow myself to have one, and neither do any of you good people reading my story. Take it from one that knows there is nothing to stop you from doing but yourself. If you allow yourself to be handicapped, shame on you. Stand up, look that bastard in the eyes and tell him to back the heck off. Ask him; do you want war, I will give you war, and I fight no hold barred.


Years later


                          I am now trying to relate to you the outcome my battles have had on me. I have been told by my best friend, Dave, that I wear my emotions on my sleeve; that I could be read like a book. I would say there is a bit of truth to this, but like most, reading the surface only tells you so much. For someone who met me for the first time they may think I may be a handicapped middle aged white man collecting SSI. Of course they would be wrong in this impression of me. They may think I do nothing involving hands on work, and of course they would be mistaken again. Some may think because of the way in which I walk that I am the type of person who would take the easy road offered just because I am handicapped, and of course they would be wrong.
          I had folks ask me why I don’t collect SSI with me having Cerebral Palsy, and having had Epilepsy. They say if they were in my shoes I would collect SSI, and live the easy life. I know people who want a disability just so they could collect SSI, and I wonder to myself why. If I were to collect SSI for my Cerebral Palsy I would be admitting defeat; I would lose my war. One day I may have to lay my battle flag aside, but until that day arrives I will carry on with my war.
                                                                                                                                              My earliest memories involving Cerebral Palsy are like a badge of honor. You see I was born in Edgemere, Baltimore County, Maryland in the mid 1960’s. I am the tenth of eleven children, six brothers and four sisters.  If you were to look out the back door of the house where I lived on Ruth Avenue to the right you would see my Uncle Peck’s house, and he was dad’s older brother. Looking straight ahead you would see my grandmother’s house where she lives with my Uncle John. To the left lives uncle Joe whom I am named after, and behind him lived my Aunt Mary. Within three or four blocks were my two other uncles and one aunt, and they were Uncle Bill, Uncle Sammy, and Aunt Rose.
                                                They are my dad’s brothers and sisters, and they had a good many children of their own. Among them was Joe, Eddy, Cindy, and Lea who were my uncle Joe’s kids; uncle Joe was my dad’s youngest brother. They along with my younger brother Dean, my sister June, and I were all around the same age. We had a wonderful childhood in that we were each other’s partners in crime so to speak. We did everything together, and at this time we were ten years old or younger. What I am trying to get at here is something I think all kids do at this age. You know when you were a kid and you had a wreck on your bike, or you slid on the ground or in gravel. You would be proud of yourself for having a scab a few inches in size. You would brag to your partners in crime that you had the biggest scabs, and you would wear this scab like badge of honor.
                        Well that is how I was with my Cerebral Palsy at that age; an age when we knew no better. I remember one of the gang bragging about something he did, this was my cousin Joe, and I came back thinking, well I have cerebral Palsy, beat that. This was my badge of honor. I was around five years old at this time; before the name calling, and before I knew my badge of honor was a bad thing in the eyes of others. This I guess you would call my age of innocence; a time when I had Cerebral Palsy and not a handicap. It wasn’t until I messed myself in school that I learned I had a handicap. Until that moment all I had was a badge of honor.
                                                                                                                          During this time it was as though I lived two different lives; my home life, and my school life. They were as different as night is from day. At home I was raised by the same principles and standards as my brothers and sisters were. My parents never said to me because you have Cerebral Palsy you cannot do what your brother had done. They brought me up as their son; not there son with Cerebral Palsy. At home I was a part of the whole; where as in school I lived in a world of shadows.
              I remember mom and dad fighting with the school system because they wanted to send me to a special school, for special children. You are going to have to forgive my language about what I am about to write [special children]. This is the one thing I absolutely hate, and yes, I mean hate. I despise people that use that term; to me that is like calling a black person a nigger. Am I a special person because I have Cerebral Palsy? No I am not? Am I a special person because I am afflicted with something other call a handicap? No I am not? You tell me why I am special for Cerebral Palsy!!
                                            During the last presidential election we all saw Sarah Palin however that bitches name is spelled on TV telling us how there will be someone in the White House looking after [special People]. She has a child, or is related to child she called a special child, saying she knew what it is to deal with them. She knows what it is that {special people} need. Well, Sarah, I was labeled special and I will tell you that your child is not a special child for you to raise. You have a child to raise. This is what my mom and dad fought against all those years ago. Was their fight because they didn’t want to admit to the public that their son was different, or was it because they wanted to stand strong for their son, not the son with Cerebral Palsy? Their reasons do not matter in that their fight was passed on to me. Their reason had no effect on me, but the fight that they fought did. I saw them fight because I had Cerebral Palsy, and from what I saw, I knew I had a war to fight. It had to be fought by me; there was no other that could fight it for me, this was a war I had to wage.
                                                          With what I dealt with through having Cerebral Palsy, and seemingly having no one to help me had its effects also. I got to the point where I will not accept someone’s help to easily. A few years ago, Sheetz opened a new store in my area; my brother and I would stop there in the morning for coffee and gas on our way to work. One morning we stopped, my brother pumped gas, and I went in the store to get us coffee and pay for gas. As I was walking across the parking lot, there was gentleman standing on the sidewalk leading to the store. He watched me walk across the parking lot, and as I approached the double doors, he went ahead of me and held the door opened for me.
                                                              Seeing this man standing there, holding that door was like turning on a light switch. I came to a stop a few feet in front of him, watching him holding this door opened. I reached for the other door and opened it, and I stood there still as stone, looked this man in the eyes. I said not a word. I just stood there until he let go of his door and he walked away. 
        Did this guy do something wrong? Did he do something to intentionally wrong me? No he did not. What he did was act like I needed his help so I showed him in my small way I did not need his help. To me, he was one of those little bastards that called me knock knee and stinky, trying to make amends in adult life for what they did as a child. Is it fair of me to put that on this man? Where was he when I was a small boy? Where was he when I was being teased and treated like crap?
              I remember growing in Baltimore as a youth, and my brother, sister and I would get in trouble over the usual childhood antics. My mom was the one who would correct or punish the three of us. Depending on what we did mom would whip us, and my brother and sister would start crying before the belt hit their behinds. I on the other hand, would not, and no matter how many times mom would whip me I would not cry in front of her. Why would I do this, I often wandered? Was it because I did not want to show weakness? Was it to show mom I was strong of mind?   
        I often wondered why it is I fight this battle; because in the end that is all I do. I fight these little battles each and everyday, and for what? When my fight is over, what will I get from winning this war? Will I be able to walk straight? No. Will I be accepted by others? Maybe. Will a woman ever see me as someone they would want to be married to? So far, the answer is no. Would I have been better off being a coward and taking the hand of the special child label? If I were to take that road in life, would I have gotten what we all crave in our own little world: a woman who loves me, a family, and just being satisfied in where I am?
                                                                                                                  It seems in this war I fight, I made a huge mistake. I left no room for the rewards of the fight. Which brings about the question where do the rewards fit? While I fight these battles, you went off and lived your life. You fell in love, were blessed by a small child. You went to college where you learn what you wanted to do for a living; where you went to parties with your friends. You bought a house you call your home, you lived your life.
                                                        I never went off to live my life; I went inwards and fought the silent fight. While you went to get married I went inward fighting another rejection from a woman who says we could be friends, nothing more. While you were off to college, I went inward fighting to prove I could do what other did. While you raised your children I was trying to break the silence of the war I fight. While I fought this war to show I was not handicapped, I handicapped myself in a far worse manner. I am coming to believe that the war I am waging, I will never be able to win. I may not lose this war in the sense that I will not give in or give up, but I will never win in the sense that I live normal life.
                                                                                I have struggled with my perceptions of other people all my life, is what I see in others people truth or a lie. This is a subject all people deal with in one manner or another. Everyone has a shadow lurking from the past, and whatever their shadow involves sometimes interferes with what they see in others, or what they perceive what others may be thinking. Say you were involved with something, where your name appeared in the news paper, and everyone in your community read what had happened. Each time you go out in public, you noticed these different people watching you, sometimes they turn away, and sometimes not.
                      After awhile you want to know why. Are they interested in me, or are they watching because of what they read. You will after a time form thoughts of your own, focusing on what was written about you. You will take the truth of what was written; who would know the truth of what was written in the newspaper better then you. These thoughts are unique to the individual involved, like a gentleman who holds opened a door for a fellow he saw limping across a Sheets parking lot, or a lady who wants to be a friend.
                                                                                        For instance, when I was in the third grade, another situation came up concerning my not being able to hold myself. I remember wearing a bottom up shirt, and a pair of pants that were white with red and blue strips on them. I hated those pants, it was as though I was wearing flag made into a pair of pants. I ask my teacher if it were ok to go to the rest room, so I started walking the hall toward the restroom. This restroom was a way away from my classroom, and before I reached the restroom I had to stop and try and hold myself. To me regret I was too late, and I messed myself about twenty feet from the restroom.
              I thought to myself after I reach the restroom no one else knew what I had just done, and I was in the restroom. So I came up with a plan to hide the fact I just shit myself yet again. Without going into a lot of language describing the personal areas of the body I noticed the messed stayed in my underpants. So I washed up with wet toilet paper as best I could and flushed my underpants down the toilet. I felt like the shit I just flushed down the toilet, but at least no one else know.
                I went through the rest of the school day with no underpants on, and one no said a word concerning this. When I got home from school that day my mom ask me what I did at school, and she had that knowing look. You know when your mom or dad asks you a question they already know the answer to, that knowing look. I don’t remember what I told her, but she knew what had happened.
                                        From what I remember these many years later is little concerning what mom had done when I got home from school that day? I don’t remember if she busted my butt, stood me in the corner, I remember nothing of what she did. What I do remember is her telling me the school called her and said that they pulled my underpants from the toilet. I cannot put into words how this episode made me feel other then to say I felt like the names I was called. I felt stinky, I felt like knock knee. After all what good is an eight, nine, ten year old kid whose knee knocks and shits himself.
                                      I remember another episode involving restrooms, although I didn’t mess myself this time; it was still another belittling time in school. This time I had to go so bad I was literally running through the halls trying to reach the restrooms. I got to the restrooms in time so as not to mess myself, but the restroom I ran into was the girls restroom. Needless to say I got into all sorts of trouble for this.
                                                During my years of grade school, the first through the sixth grade; after reading my story one may think it would be the boys that were the worse for the name calling. Although there were boy among the many, for the most part it was the girls that were by far the worst. I think this was where my trouble approaching woman on a personal level had its birth. With one after another put off for whatever reason this fear of woman grew ever worse.
                                                                                   
                                    There are two ladies I know who I think beyond beautiful, and kind. I talk to then at least once a week, they treat me with kindness and respect as I do them. I wrote a poem for the two of them talking about something I joke with them about.

Smile
I still see the two of you, and inside I smile
Always at the same place, and those times when stress show
I still see the two of you, and inside I smile
On the surface the two of you have no equal
Standing there in your work outfits, and those time of stress
I still see the two of you, and inside I smile
Those times when I see you there at your work
I will speak to one or the other of you
I still see the two of you, and inside I smile

Sometime I feel the fool telling you in those small ways I do
When I see the two of you I just light up inside
Those times I see the stress; you remember I asked you to smile
I feel at times like I’m imposing on the two of you
Like I am crossing some invisible line
When I see the two of you I just light up inside
I have made up my mind though regardless of how I feel

Name Deleted
I asked you the other day if you were mad at me
The reason was because of that sweat tea I brought you
You remember that day I brought it, and like a coward I hurried on my way
The reason that was; I felt a fool for crossing that line

Name Deleted
One day I told you that you were a beautiful woman
Three times That day I said to you that you are a beautiful woman
You smiled; oh God that smile of yours just melted me
For telling you so; I felt I was crossing that line

Well I came to a decision
I made up my mind I will no longer feel the fool
Why should any man feel a fool in being honest?
Why should I feel this way for telling the two of you; your beautiful
Am I crossing some invisible line?
Maybe!

So smile for me for you beauty flows in that smile

                                                                     
You can see part of what I am trying to explain here, this is one of those shadows in action.