No Matter Karma Bit Her in the Ass … She Won


 

 

No Matter Karma Bit Her in the Ass … She Won

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee/@GeeGranny on Twitter

 

 

Artwork by Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

 

The water was still … the air quiet … not even a sea gull sang.  Something bumped her leg … not hard … and she was too young to know … the things it could have been.

 

She was afraid … the water came up to her throat.  She was ten years old … the big sister … she could do things her little sisters couldn’t do.  She thought she could.

 

The sand seemed so far … she could see her step-mother, two little half-sisters sitting there … she knew they were watching her.  She wondered for a moment ‘why?’ didn’t her step-mother call her back.

 

Her step-mother was always getting on her.  At this moment … she was too young to wonder ‘why?’ her step-mother called her half-sisters back to the shore … she just watched as they walked out of the water into their mother’s arms.

 

She saw them walk away to the big, colorful towel laying near by.  By now, she was wishing she had followed them.  She had stepped in water a little deeper than she was tall … water choked her.

 

The big sister … stood with her head tilted to her right shoulder … looking back to land.  She wanted to get back badly … she was going to panic … she was afraid.  Help me! Of course, no one heard her … the words ‘Help me!’ were only thoughts in her mind.  She felt she needed to be quiet.

 

Little by little … the little girl took step by step toward the sand where everyone was sitting … watching her.  She ‘sort-of’ wondered why no one called her name … she was too young to think any farther than that.

 

It was when she was an adult she would know … this particular flash-back always played out in her mind.  Why didn’t her daddy, step-mother call her back to safety?  She knew when older … looking back at this memory … she would never have let a little child wander so far out … into the ocean … unless …

 

Children are very innocent … trusting.  They don’t know when someone is always evil … especially when that someone smiles as they hurt them.  They smiled … so, that meant they didn’t mean to hurt them.  No one smiles at a child … then, abuses them … do they?

 

The little girl learned better … her step-mother appeared to love her in front of other people … then, threatened her if she told any differently … especially to her grandmother … her step-mother was afraid of her husband’s mother.  Her husband’s mother was wealthy, held the purse strings …

 

Something black rose out of the water close by … she was too young to know what it was.  She was feeling fear … of what, she didn’t know.  She stood still as the little waves of water rocked against her chest.  The shore seemed so far away … everyone seemed tiny.

 

One foot in front of the other, the little girl walked toward the only people in the world that was her … loving … family.  Still … no one called out to her … no one come to help her back.  She had to do it alone.

 

Soon … the water only came up to her knees … she wasn’t afraid now.  She splashed out of the water … her step-mother seemed angry at her.  “Gloria Faye!” she called.  “Get over here, sit down … you are grounded … you can’t go out in the water again!”

 

No hugs, no smiles … only angry eyes flashing with fire.  The little girl did as she was told.  She didn’t mind being grounded this time … she didn’t want to go back out into the water.

 

She sat on the towel watching her little half-sisters play in the waves.  Laughing, squealing each time a wave splashed them … her step-mother was constantly telling them not to go too far … something bad could happen to them

 

For a moment, the little girl wondered why her step-mother let her go out so far.  Soon, it was forgotten … life happened.  As she became older … she would play back the ocean scene in her mind.  Why?

 

One day the little girl grew up … as she became older … her grandmother told her about the insurance policy she’d taken out on her as a little baby.  Her aunt promised her if anything ever happened … she’d make sure she got it.

 

Life happened … unknowing to the little girl who grew up … her aunt died at the same time … she, herself … was fighting the battle of her life .  Who was calling her husband to know what was happening … telling her husband not to tell her grandmother?  It was her step-mother …

 

As life sometimes happens … things don’t turn out as they should.  The little girl who grew up … who fought for her life and won against cancer (non-Hodgkins lymphoma) … began to visit her grandmother.  Her grandmother seemed shocked to see her … she had been told that her oldest granddaughter was on Death‘s bed.

 

One day not long before the grandmother died at 100 years old … the little girl who grew up, won the battle with cancer … went to visit her dear grandmother.

 

Her grandmother seemed nervous … she looked at her, said … “I’ve made a terrible mistake”.  The little girl who grew up … didn’t question her … she hugged her grandmother, told her everything would be alright.

 

Later, she found out that her grandmother had died … her step-mother and father and half-sisters got her insurance policy.  Her step-mother had kept up through her husband about her battle with cancer … feeding her grandmother lies.  Her grandmother took her policy … cashed it in … gave it to them.  Also, someone got enough to pay for a house.

 

Oh … not only that … her grandmother cashed in the life insurance policies on the little girl who grew up to fight cancer … plus her son’s insurance policy, and the little girl who grew up to fight cancer … her two grandchildren’s policies.

 

Her step-mother won … when the father died … everyone got his estate … excepting his oldest daughter … the one who grew up to fight cancer, won.

 

When it was all said, done … the step-mother began calling the girl who grew up to fight cancer.  She was very sick … only she would never say what with.  The little girl who grew up to fight cancer … went to see her.

 

She and her husband took the step-mother out to eat.  They didn’t really have the money to do so … they really didn’t want to go see the step-mother … but, they did.  You know how it is when … you don’t want others to think bad of you.

 

The step-mother was very thin … she sat in front of her meal … she never ate one bite.  The little girl who grew up to fight cancer … looked closely at her … she thought … cancer.

 

Not long after visiting her … she found out her step-mother was dying from … kidney cancer.  Strangely … the little girl who grew up to win her battle with cancer … grieved over a woman who had done everything to try to ruin her life.  Now … she was dying.

 

The step-mother had known all along she had cancer … made sure to take care of her two daughters, and grandson she’d raised.  She took so much from her … step-daughter’s life … but, who did she call when she was dying?  The strange thing was … she never-ever told the step-daughter who grew up to battle cancer … that she had cancer.

 

Karma bit her step-mother in the ass … she did such an awful thing to her step-daughter who loved her no matter that she treated her badly through the years.

 

Her step-daughter cried when she heard her step-mother had died … she never hated her for trying to destroy her life … took so much from her, and her son and her two grandchildren.

 

No matter that Karma bit her step-mother in the ass … her step-mother won … even if she died with cancer.  She took care of her own in the best way she knew how … she did.  She did it at the expense of her step-daughter … the oldest daughter her husband had … the daughter she pretended to love … truly hated.

 

No matter … Karma bit her in the ass … she won.

 

 

Note by this Author:

 

True story/photo owned by Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee … the little girl who was afraid out in that big ocean … the little girl who grew up to battle cancer … won.

 

It’s strange how the dots connect over time … not all is as it appears to be.  I’ve known love from my … family … in the strangest of ways.  Love that was really hate … it all began when I came into this world.  I’ve wondered … why?

 

Now … it no longer matters … why?  I have lots of things to keep me writing always … I make all my heart-aches into stories, now.  They no longer have the power to hurt me.  So, don’t feel sorry for me … each life’s events put strength in my backbone … it may knock my ass down on the ground … no matter how bad it hurts … I dust my pants off … get back up.  I have my Grandma Alma’s fighting spirit.

 

It took growing up to realize how evil my step-mother was … deceitful. She did it all under the guise of … love. I loved her. Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

Little Girl in Older Woman’s Body …


 

Little Girl in Older Woman’s Body …

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee/@GeeGranny at Twitter

 

I saw you in the distance

I cried out for you

You didn’t hear me

Mama!  Mama, please don’t leave me!

I ran hard as I could to catch up with her

No matter how hard I ran … I never did

A little girl left all alone to fend for herself

In a world of pure torment … turmoil

In a house that sat … guarded the portal of Hell

A little girl who knew only cleanliness

Pretty dresses, good things to eat … love

Had a little brother she adored

Where did he go?  Where did Mama go?

The little girl cried herself to sleep

When she woke up … it was to loud fighting

Fighting with words, fists … bloodshed

I’ll teach you to mess with me, you bitch!

Fists pounding on flesh, big thump of a body hitting the floor

Heart pounding in her little chest

The little girl hid beneath the covers on the bed

Weeping came from the other room

This was the first of many fights she would see

Sometimes, she’d be the one knocked around

She wasn’t the only child … there were more

Their Mamas went away to … to come back another day

Leaving their children behind to the mercies of the world

Leaving them in a place called … Hell

Where there were demons, and evil spirits lurking

Hiding in people she loved … she saw them peep out

Anger would turn them into a devil, possessed

Gnashing of teeth, screaming … crying

Never any happiness … only sorrow

A fight each day … someone being hurt

Blood spotted the old, wooden floor

The little girl got to her knees to look closely

She couldn’t believe the spots were blood … but, they were

Blood beaten out of someone to splatter on the floor

Curses lingered in the very air … so potent … evil

Hell’s arena … waiting for its next victim

Mama! Mama, where are you … please come back

Take me from this scary world … I’m afraid

Mama didn’t come back … the little girl stayed afraid

The little girl stayed afraid … without knowing

She began at her young age to build strength

Strength … that she would need when she became older

Without knowing … she would travel many painful roads

Without knowing … she became stronger

Without knowing … she would be facing the unthinkable

The little girl grew up scarred to her soul

Yet … she survived it all with strength she didn’t know she had

Today that little girl still lives in an older body

Older body of an older woman who remembers

Who looks back at a little girl who was sweet, loving

Mistreated, abused in many ways  … the older woman smiles

She smiles a sadly, thinking … my, my … I’ve come a long ways

I’m fortunate to still be here … a little girl in an older woman’s body

Strength I didn’t know I had … has made me a survivor

A survivor of many things … too many to count

I’ve made it to be … old

Next thing you know … it’ll be time to die

A little girl in an older woman’s body

Taking her last breath … as a child

Going to her maker … weak as a newborn baby

To be made new … an angel now

To come back to watch over you

As you gain strength you didn’t know you had

Good can come from bad things

It doesn’t seem like it could

It can …. and it will all in time

Life is good … sadly, it can be bad … too

We have to make the very best of all we go through

Lead the way for others … show them they can survive

After all, that’s what life is truly about

Love, caring … being strong when others are weak

With the strength you never knew you had … until you needed it

 

 

Author’s Note:

Poem/photo written, owned by me … Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee.  I am that little girl.

 

3 is the Number … Just Before Hell Breaks Out


3 is the Number … Just Before all Hell Breaks Out

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee/@GeeGranny

 

 

Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

 

Have you ever been bullied?  Where someone thinks they can just totally intimidate you with words, actions?  Do you let them?

 

As a child growing up I learned young that ‘I’d rather die and go to Hell’ … than to be bullied … especially by a big-ass, blonde-headed woman.

 

Through time it seems those types of women wanted to always ‘beam’ in on me to take their anger out … make me a whipping post, a scapegoat.  Imagine their surprise when they encountered my reaction to it.

 

I grew up being beaten, slapped around … whipped with a belt and the buckle, and even with a piece of wood from the stove wood.  I was mistreated … and it was always a woman who did it.  Mentally, physically …

 

Only one man ever hit me as a child … that was the one time my father did when one of my … sisters … lied on me about using his razor.  He hit me so hard in my face that he made up for never hitting me … and I was devastated.  I ran away from his home to never return.

 

Getting back to women abusing me.  I finally got to an age where I just couldn’t take the screaming, the pain … the Hell I was forced to endure.  I was fourteen when I fought back.  I didn’t want to but, one of my aunts had made gashes in my upper arm ( I still have the scars you can see … and the scars mentally you can’t see ) …  the pain was so great that it triggered something in me.

 

That was the last time she ever touched me … I never hit her back but, I jerked away from her, looked her in her eyes and I told her to never put her hands on me again because if she did … it would be me ‘whipping her ass’.  Isn’t that so ugly?  It was the only way I could make her stop … and it worked.

 

I had so much anger, hate in me that I would have died before taking anymore abuse.  At that moment I would have fought to the death.  Thankfully, she saw something in me that made her stop.

 

Maybe she saw me hold my ground finally … for the first time.  I didn’t want to fight anyone … much less someone I loved with my very Heart.  I was mistreated so badly … but, they were my family and … I still loved them with my Heart.  They were my family, regardless.  They were all I had.  I didn’t want to fight … but, they sure loved to.  They did.

 

Back then, anyone could just hit a child … back then … anyone could ‘do anything to a child’ … whose parents didn’t protect them.  I was one of those children.  I had to fight to survive … I didn’t want to … all the kids fought, all the adults fought … I lived in Hell … and Hell-raising was the way of life.

 

Through time as a teen-ager it seemed every once in a while I’d see a big-ass, blonde-headed woman … for some reason that type of women instinctively hated me … and I’d think ‘oh no, just watch her beam in on me and try to force me to do something, or want to push me around’.  Sure enough, it would happen time after time.  No matter how nice I tried to be, how I tried to just not get in a confrontation … it would happen.

 

Have you always had that ‘one type of person’ who never liked you no matter what you did … they always look alike.  I wonder if it has something to do with karma in your past life … I smile here, but … it’s just too strange.

 

I was always afraid (they were always bigger than me) … I knew they would tear me apart.  I could see the hate in their eyes and sense they wanted to hurt me.  I never knew why … I got tired of being abused and I began to bluff them.

 

I would hold myself straight, put Hell in my eyes and meet them head-on … I would pray they wouldn’t kill me.  Even if I was afraid … my attitude was that ‘I’d rather die, go to Hell … than to have them push over me, treat me badly’.  I meant it … the rage would make me so angry at seeing yet another big-ass, blonde-headed woman who wanted to push me around.

 

When I began to do that … it seemed they would become afraid of me!  I was tiny … they were so big, mean.  The thing was when they looked into my eyes they saw something that let them know it wasn’t going to be just simple bullying me.  I was prepared to die first.

 

That’s what happens to a child when thrown into a mean-ass world … they are either going to fight like Hell or they are going to be hurt mentally, physically.  I got my share before I reached the point I couldn’t take anymore pain like that.  I had to get big enough to hold my ground.

 

I was a loving, caring child before I was dumped into Hell.  After that … I began to have a ‘chip’ on my shoulder the older I got.  That ‘chip’ lasted into my twenties as I matured, coped with all I’d been through.  I always tried to help myself to think in a positive way … I didn’t want bad things around me.

 

The last time a big-ass … blonde-headed woman tried to bully me physically … I ‘fixed her ass’.  I give people 3 chances (unless I can’t for a reason) to realize I’m not going to take their abuse … then, all Hell’s going to break loose.  The number 3 plays a big role in my life … you wouldn’t believe.

 

No, I don’t walk around trying to be a … bad-ass … I’m a soft, good, kind person … caring.  Even the nicest person has limits … I have mine.

 

This big-ass, blonde-headed woman was always with her friends.  She loved to show off in front of them … she was a … bad-ass.  Whenever she saw me … she would smile.  She knew she could use me to show off to her friends … she was so mean to me.  I was always nice to her.  She was so much bigger than I … I knew she could kick my ass … tear me to pieces.

 

She would walk to meet me so, she could hit me hard on my shoulder, pretending to be nice while using a honey-sweet voice.  Oh, that woman would shove-hit my shoulder so hard that I would almost cry out.  I would almost go to the floor.  She would say in her honey-sweet voice, all the while knowing what she’d just done to me … “hello Gloria, how are you!”

 

She never knew she was riling me up … making a white-hot rage build up in me.  I would smile back at her, tears in my eyes, and speak softly to her, and say … “hello, Virginia“.  She’d laugh so big, go back to her friends … they would all laugh their asses off at me.  I would feel so bad … and my shoulder would hurt from her abuse.

 

The second time it happened … I saw her beaming in on me … grinning.  Oh, how she loved intimidating me … she laughed so hard.  She made me go to the floor the second time she came down on my shoulder.  I got up … smiled at her and walked on.  The fire was burning brightly in my soul … and I knew the next time … all Hell was going to break loose.

 

The third time, I waited for her to come hurt me again … of course, she was so eager to. She did, went back to sit at the table with her friends to laugh, talk loudly.  I took a deep breath knowing I was some kind of angry … I knew I might just die for what I was going to do … but, it had turned into an ‘either live or die’ situation to me.  I wasn’t going to take anymore of her ……..!

 

I walked calmly across that floor … beaming in on her.  I began smiling big … some of the women smiled at me.  Old Virginia turned her head to look, saw me.

 

I went straight up to her, and said ‘hello, Virginia!’ took my right hand and shoved, hit her hard on left shoulder. I mean I hit ‘harder than hard’ … and I meant every bit of it.  I wanted to hurt her back.

 

The force knocked her out of her chair … her smug expression disappeared.  She got up … and I knew I was getting ready to die.  I faced her down ready to do battle … I was amazed that she smiled, spoke to me in a normal voice.  She sat back down, pretended she was talking about something.  I walked on … I saw people look at me differently.

 

They had mistakened my kindness as a weakness.  They just didn’t know I didn’t live at my Grandma Alma’s for nothing … I didn’t live in Hell and not know how to Hell-raise.

 

I just didn’t want to have to be ugly … that’s why the number 3 is important … it’s my hope that I’m left alone … because the number 3 is just before … Hell breaks out.

 

 

Note by this Author:

 

True story, photos are written … owned by me … Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee.

 

The number 3 has always been a significant number in my life … it’s the number just before Hell breaks out.  It’s strange how the number 3 was the number of years I fought cancer … and other important things in my life.

 

Someone triggered this past memory today … when they tried to intimidate me.  I tried to stay nice … I did stay nice.  It went no farther than … number 2.

 

I’m Gonna Tell My Mama!


I’m Gonna Tell My Mama!
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

(Photo is of a Timex watch my Grandmother Lola gave me when I was nine years old … I wore it at Grandma Alma’s … fell one day onto some rocks, knocking the breath out of me … scratching the face of the watch. I still have this watch.   Photo/story is owned by me, Gloria Faye Brown Bates/Granny Gee. Story is true … )

What a sweet child! You have the most beautiful smile. How pretty you are!

The little girl stood there, smiling sweetly. She basked in the compliments just as a pup lies in the sunshine, enjoying the warm rays.

She felt happy, loved. These old women cared about her. They came every Wednesday night, Sunday morning to pick her up to go to church.

They knew she lived in Hell, probably was a sinner … and they were trying to save her. They told her Jesus loved her, and she was going to Heaven one day.

The little girl thought about Heaven; she wanted to go. Why, one could walk on beautiful golden bricks, dress in white dresses, eat foods that wouldn’t stain them. If there was something wrong with one’s body … they could go to Heaven, and it’d be fixed!

She wanted Grandma Alma, George to go to Heaven. She couldn’t get them to go to church. George was blind … he might would have a hard time seeing in Heaven, anyway.

Grandma Alma wouldn’t be able to walk on those shiny bricks, either… she was paralyzed. So, maybe they didn’t need to go to Heaven. They weren’t sinners, anyway.

The old women seemed very interested in her … so, she must be the biggest sinner of them all. She knew she was a mean, little girl. She was told that all the time since she came to Grandma Alma, and George’s.

She was being hit all the time … if the grown-ups weren’t hitting her … she had to fight all her cousins next door. The strange thing was … she loved them very much.

She didn’t think they loved her at all. So, many people were hurting her … she was only one person. It wasn’t like that … ‘before’ she was thrown there, in ‘Hell’………

The worst thing about it … was she ‘looked like her daddy’! Whenever anyone became angry about anything … if she happened to be standing around … and they saw her, they would scream at her, “you look just like your damn daddy”!

Sometimes, a hard slap would follow the words. She’d cry over being slapped for looking like ‘some daddy’ she’d never met. Who was he? What did his ass look like? Was he mean? Did he like her?

She hated him! She wanted to look like her mama … oh, everyone always said her mama was just absolutely …. beautiful! She was always compared to Elizabeth Taylor.

She vaguely recalled a strange man coming to visit her beautiful mother, sometimes. She would peep through the crack in the bedroom door, see them holding each other tightly, kissing.

The man looked ‘familiar’. If the man ever spoke to her, she never remembered it. That man was her father … he still loved her mother … it was her … he’d come to see.

He would drive an hour to come ‘visit his daughter’. The little girl never recalled him acknowledging her … in her mind, she always saw her mother, and the father … holding each other, kissing.

The old ladies took her to prayer meetings in people’s homes … usually other … old people. They always loved her … they’d pinch her pretty cheeks. They loved her curly hair, and oh my … wasn’t she a … sweet child? Faye didn’t feel worthy … she was getting in more fights at Grandma Alma’s.

So, many kids … her cousins. Someone was always angry … ready to fight. When they would see her at that time … they wanted to beat her up. She never had to fight, until … ‘she came down here’ … came to Hell … came to Grandma Alma, George’s.

She would always smile sweetly, instantly think if they only knew … how awful she was. She had recently learned to hate people … hate her mama; hate her cousins … aunts, uncles. She had learned to hate … everyone. She’d learned anger … now, she was ‘mad at the whole world’…..

‘Before’ age nine, she had lived in ‘Heaven’ … at age nine, she was ‘thrown in Hell’ to swim, or sink. No one gave a damn anymore about one … little girl … just sometimes.

She was slapped around, screamed at … people hated her one minute, loved her the next. When they became angry, they’d show hate to her … in their eyes, voices.

She was rapidly learning to hate back. The pain was almost more than she could bear. She had to toughen up, survive all the chaos she was thrown into.

She would hide in the little space between the old, red, vinyl couch and bookcase … in the front room.

She could hear all the screaming, cussing … sometimes, secrets a little girl’s ears shouldn’t hear.

No one would know she was in the little space, sitting … drawing on the white pages in all Grandma Alma’s books. She would sit there, getting lost in a wonderful world of creating … dreaming of beautiful clothes she’d never seen in person.

She would draw them, color them … cut them out to put on the paper dolls she would make for herself. Colors … designs fascinated the little girl. She created beauty in her young world, while … Hell broke loose around her.

The little girl was called a bastard one day by her teenage aunt. “You damn little bastard … don’t you ever come in my damn room again”! The little girl loved the record player in her aunt’s room. She would sneak across the floor to turn it on …

The little girl loved to dance … the music entered her body … made her move. She could visit Heaven for a few minutes, dancing.

One day … the teenage aunt became very angry at the little girl. She happened to come back home earlier than she’d said. She caught Faye, the little girl in her room, dancing to her record player. Not only Faye, but … several of Faye’s cousins were in there, also.

Faye was the only child who couldn’t get away fast enough. Her aunt caught her by the arm, spun her around … slapped her hard. “You damn little bastard! I’ll teach you to come into my room again! You look just like your damn daddy”! Her aunt slapped her hard, then …………

Walked to the wood box, picked up a piece of firewood … began to beat the little girl. The little girl cried until she couldn’t cry anymore. She was the worse person in the world … everyone hated her.

Her aunt threw her to the floor … ordered her to get up, and said, “Get the hell out of my room! If I catch you back in here, I’ll beat you to death”!

Faye pulled her body up off the floor, stood. Her legs were burning … she looked down to see blood on them. Not only that … her arms had blood streaming down on them.

Her little shoulders shook as she stood up, looked her aunt full in the face. “I’m going to tell my mama when she comes home … she is going to kill you”! She began to cry, uncontrollably. Her body hurt something awful from the beating … not only that, her Heart hurt … her aunt hated her! It was ‘the end of the world’….

“Tell your damn mama, see if I care”! The little girl began to cry more … turned, walked away. She walked into the front room, sat on the red, vinyl couch. Her body hurt, she was sleepy. She cried herself to sleep. She laid her head down on the thick arm of the couch, slept.

Faye felt someone shaking her, to wake up. She looked up … her teenage aunt was standing there … she was smiling a sweet smile. In her hand, dangled a watch. “Here, Faye … this is for you. It’s a Timex watch! Here … I’ve already set it for you, and everything’! She began to put it on Faye’s wrist ….

The memory of what happened before she went to sleep, flooded back. “No, I’m going to tell my mama you hurt me”!

The teenage aunt kept trying to get Faye to take the watch. No matter how much she tried … it didn’t work. Faye was going to tell her mama … her mama was going to kill her aunt for making that blood on her legs, arms.

Her teenage aunt thought her Timex watch would keep her from telling. She thought she could bribe Faye … this time it didn’t work. Faye was one very angry little girl.

A month went by … Faye’s mama came home. She always disappeared to come back weeks, months later. She ran to her before she could walk into the house.

She began crying, telling her mama about the Timex watch, and the beating she’d recieved. She didn’t see the fire in her mother’s eyes … but, she felt her mother stiffened up.

Faye’s mother went in to speak to George (her step-father) … and Grandma Alma (her mother). They were sitting, talking in the middle room (later, in Faye’s mind … she called it ‘The Arena’. This was where Hell broke out … often.

Faye heard the screen door open in the living room … she felt afraid. Her teenage aunt had just walked into the door! All hell was getting ready to break loose …

Sure enough, as soon as her aunt (her mama’s sister) … walked into the door … Faye’s mama began asking her aunt about the stick of wood she beat Faye with. She saw fear in her aunt’s eyes … sort of … felt sorry for her.

A whirlwind of action happened that fast! Her mama had run across the floor, grabbed Faye’s aunt up … began ‘whippin Hell outta her’!

They fell onto the old, dusty, wooden floor in front of where George sat in his old, cane chair. Grandma Alma sat beside him in her old, pink, upholstered recliner. “Stop! Please don’t fight”!

No one heard her Grandma Alma cry, nor saw the pain in her eyes. George sat there, blind … ‘not knowing what the hell was happening’. Faye saw … felt pain for them.

It seemed the fight would never end. Faye felt good every time her mama hit her aunt. She deserved that for hurting her. She even reached down with her small hand, ‘smacked the shit’ out of her!

Faye heard something hit the floor … two white teeth had flown out of someone’s mouth!

The fight stopped, Faye watched as her young aunt stood up. Blood was streaming from her mouth … her mama had blood on her. Faye felt sick to her Heart … she had caused this.

It was her fault her mama had ‘beat the hell’ out of her aunt. Her Heart broke … her teenage aunt hated her for the rest of her life. She lost two teeth, got her ‘ass whipped’ … because of beating Faye.

Faye was shaking inside … all the sounds of flesh being slapped, punched … made her feel like she was going to throw up. She realized she didn’t want to see her aunt cry, be hurt for what she did. She forgave her aunt right then.

Time went on, her mama disappeared again. Her teenage aunt would cast glaring eyes at her … but, she never touched her again.

One day, her aunt from next door came in … she had ‘hell in her eyes’. She saw Faye … came up to her, grabbed her by her shoulders, screaming at her for something not remembered, now.

Her finger nails made an awful scratch down Faye’s forearm. It hurt so bad … not only that … Faye had finally reached a breaking point. She had been kicked around for the past several years at her Grandma Alma’s and George … even if she died … she couldn’t take the pain, anymore.

For the first time in Faye’s life, she held her ground against her most favorite aunt. She wasn’t going to be slapping, hitting her anymore. She looked her aunt straight into her eyes … saw her aunt’s expression change ….

She calmly told her aunt, “This time, you beat my ass … the next time … I’m going to beat your ass”! Faye was fourteen years old … That was the last time, both aunts ever ‘laid a hand’ … on her.

That time … Faye took a stand, knowing she’d be ‘killed’, didn’t care. She couldn’t take anymore of their abuse. She was ready to fight back … not say, anymore … ‘I’m gonna tell my mama’!

I Wished To Be Santa Claus… Make That Little Boy’s Wish Come True… Bullying


 

I Wished To Be Santa Claus… Make His Wish Come True (Little Twin Boy)… Bullying  by Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

My attention was drawn to the tv screen. A photo of twins was being shown… the news was on. The twins were a boy and a girl. It seemed the
little boy had written a letter to Santa Claus. They were young… maybe 9-10 years old.

He didn’t ask for anything for himself. He asked for Santa Claus to help his sister… to stop the bullying of his sister. The photo showed the little
girl to be chubby; enough chubby to draw attention to her from other children. Enough so… that the bullies of the school could have a good time
making fun of her, pushing her around.

I can’t go any farther about her… I don’t know anymore than what was said above, and the last sentence I could imagine. I do know about being a
cute, little chubby girl. I don’t remember of course, how my mother let me be a little chubby girl… heck, I didn’t know I was! But… I do remember
being made fun of, when another child became angry at me.

The kids in my own ‘family’ devastated me when they would become mad at me, make fun of me. I look back at my photos as a child… I was pretty,
and a little chubby, not even grossly so. Amazing….

It hurt me deeply, even to the point of ‘wishing to die, and they’ll be sorry they hurt me like that’. It’s just a wonder with all I had to live with ‘at home‘,
and all that occurred at school… that I didn’t succeed in committing suicide. It did come to that point… I didn’t succeed, and that’s another story. But…
it happened.

A child is very sensitive… and people don’t realize how close they push a child … ‘out of this world’. I watch on the news… often, you will see a young
child that… succeeded… in doing what ‘I almost did’. Bullying… made fun of… made to feel less than… made to feel worthless… and when it comes from
not only from their classmates, and peers…. combined with an awful ‘home’ life… it’s scary.

I know… I was ‘that child’… I know how a little abused, bullied child is made to feel… how when all the other kids, plus… your family makes your world
‘the end’. I remember as a little girl when my whole world ‘went to hell’ because of things I didn’t understand…. divorce, me being thrown into ‘hell’ where
the whole world was dirty, scary… rats, roaches … things I’d never known about, even seen.

I remember going to school after surviving hell each day at ‘home’…. I’d ‘survive hell’ in school… only to come ‘home to hell’ each evening. Never any peace… always afraid, nervous, trembling. I was learning to fight to survive… I made it until I was thirteen… and I ‘broke’. But, the good thing is… I survived that, too,
to only go to another ‘hell’… to my father’s home. A beautiful ‘hell’, everything clean, wonderful, nice…. but, I was the only one there… who wasn’t wanted. I
learned I was just a ‘step-daughter’… I was treated just that way. I could go on and on… but, that’s for more stories… later.

Back to the twins… the little boy cared so much about his sister being hurt. That means his precious, little heart hurt each day to see the ‘hell’ being pushed
on the closest person to him… his twin. How sad is that? How beautifully sad… is that? It touched my very heart… I wished to make all the bullying go away
for that child…. that precious, little girl. I wished to be ‘Santa Claus’ and make that little boy’s wish come true.

 

I Came From Such Ugliness… I Could Have Looked Like A Monster If I Had Become What I Lived As A Little Girl…


Monster… Monster… Monster… Monster… Monster… Monster… Monster… Monster… Monster…

I Could Have Become A Monster From The Ugliness I Lived In As A Child… A Monster… Monster

Gloria Faye Brown Bates… yes, I loved ‘me’… I loved being me.  I loved being pretty… and being a good person at the same time.  I was fortunate… I looked like anything at all… I could not have been a ‘Gloria’ at all.

 

Now… I am ‘this me’… below.  No longer so young, beautiful… full of life, as healthy.  I live with pain every day of my life.  That’s okay… my pain threshold has grown more, since Tommy died.  Both physically, mentally.  There’s not a day pain doesn’t reside in my body.  It’s a part of my life; it will be always.

 

I ‘didn’t go crazy’ like I heard some people say.  ‘Something didn’t  happen to my mind’ like some of you thought; said without any empathy that my child had died.  If it was your child… I just laughed to myself… something would happen to you… because to you… your child is more important.  ‘You would go crazy’.  I feel I am stronger… so, no matter who you are… I don’t wish that for you.  You just don’t know… so, how could you know better?

 

 

 

 

 

This me… who has permanent sadness, grief etched in her eyes that began when she became a grieving mother.  No matter how much I smile, laugh… I can run, look in the mirror… it’s always there.  Tommy, I love you.  I miss you.  My only child… is gone.  My eyes are… bittersweet… good and bad, happy and sad… all mixed together; pain and grief… all with a bittersweet smile.

 

Yes, grief and sadness have found a permanent home in my eyes.  That’s okay… when someone looks into my eyes… and remembers they never knew that expression ‘before’… they will know they are witnessing love for a child who is now gone.  They will remember Tommy.  My eyes will never forget Tommy… the day when my eyes are closed in death… grief will already be in them… for the sadness of it all.  For the sadness that Tommy died, the sadness that any of us die after making it through the obstacles of life, after the knowledge learned from life’s lessons.  It ‘seems’ like our lives are… wasted, in that respect.

 

If you think I look ‘ugly’ now… I don’t care… I’m thankful to ‘look like anything at all now’.  I’ve found my love for living again… I don’t focus on what you think.  I don’t have time… life isn’t about that.  I’m not a little girl any longer… I don’t have to put up with negativity… I have the choice to turn my back on you.  You got your pleasure from seeing me ‘down’… I don’t have to put up with you… now.  I’m old enough, now.

 

Those people… so, so many more than I could possibly count (this one blog in no way reflects all the people who have become special to me…. all these, and more), who care, have shown concern, gave encouragement… now, you are the people I’ve grown to love.  I love people I don’t know the names of, people I have never met… yet, you all have touched a place in my heart.  You are the people who matter.

 

When I looked so bad… you still liked, cared about me.  People who knew me before Tommy died… saw me afterwards, quit liking me because I looked bad… I was no longer anyone.  Guess what?  They were right.

 

I really was the ‘walking dead’.  So, I understand… I understand… I might would have walked past you, too… snubbed you, whispered behind my hand with a gossipy gleam in my eye, too… never simply walking up to you, say I sense something bad has happened, I’m so sorry.  I care.  I might would have been this kind of friend to you, too.  Or, I may have been glad your child died… so, you had nothing, anymore.  If you did this to me… you did… I can do it to you.  I might would have… In truth, I’m not like that, never want to be… I care too much.  But… I know who was like this to me… in my grief, I saw, heard you.  Just saying…

 

Things have a way of coming back full circle… it might be your ass ‘it bites’…  I’ll be watching… but, not with happiness because it did.  I have a big heart… a forgiving heart.  I just… remember.

*******************************************************************************

I Came From Such Ugliness… I Could Have Looked Like A Monster If I Had Become What I Lived As A Little Girl…

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

 

This morning I looked for a scar, but… couldn’t see it.  I’m going to look closer; I know it’s there.  As I think about what caused it… I could feel the sensation in that spot.  Strange, I can’t see anything… I thought surely I would see the scar there.  It’s there… I just didn’t want to really see it.  I don’t sit, dwell on the things I talk to you about.  So, don’t think when I quit writing… I’m going to go back to thinking about them, stay depressed.  I’m okay.  I write about these things… it’s okay.

 

Don’t feel sorry for me, sad for me.  I’m here… I made it here.  :))) Everything is going to be alright.  I’m not looking for pity, sympathy… so, don’t feel that for me.  Life prepared me to be ‘this strong’…

 

I write; I’m a writer, this is what I write about… I have to pull these things out from the past, examine them, gently open them up… to take the story out.  Sort of the way you do an oyster… to retrieve the special pearl inside.

 

I don’t mind you feeling sadness, anger, happiness… I do that when reading things others write.  We all have to feel things… if we are to read them.  We have to feel, see them in our minds.  It’s how we understand things; it’s how we entertain ourselves when we read.

 

Suppose I wrote about wonderful, beautiful things all the time… all a bunch of soft, white, pure, wonderful fluffy… lies.  You’d become sick of reading ‘me’… you wouldn’t be interested in reading ‘me’.  It would be the same way with acting… someone would be thinking, ‘hey, you have to put real feeling there’ if you want someone to pay attention.

 

I’m the same way… give me real feelings any day!  The ones who don’t want to know ‘real life’… please go back to your soft, wonderful, safe life where everything comes to you on a silver platter… if anything painful comes toward you, you have someone to catch it just as a ball player catches a ball in his ball glove.. before it strikes you.  I’ve never known such… my life has always been full of struggles… even when… I had everything.

 

Sometimes, Skip will say to me… if you say a ‘dirty’ word… you’ll take away from being ‘Granny Gee’.  No, I won’t.  I’m real… and I’m ‘me’ before anything else.  Granny Gee is the special name Tommy gave to me before he died… I don’t claim to be a ‘perfect Granny Gee’.  I don’t pretend to be other than I am.

 

Just remember ‘I’m not a perfect Granny Gee’… I am Granny Gee, because Tommy called me that for my grandson.  It’s a special, magical name when one person ever says it… that’s my grandson, Taban.  Only when he says it… does it begin to have meaning; I feel Tommy. When I hear it… I can hear the most special little boy… saying it.  That’s ‘what the name Granny Gee’ is all about.  I don’t hide behind it, pretending.  When I ‘tell you like it is’… it’s me… Gloria ‘Faye’ Brown Bates.

 

I don’t use excessive ‘bad’ words… that’s not me.  There will be several words from time to time… because I thought them.  I still think ‘bad words’, sometimes.  ‘Back then’… oh my, the whole world was full of ugly words.  I’m lucky I don’t cuss every breath I take… I don’t.  But… I will use several dirty words from time to time.  Life isn’t all perfect… it might be for you… it honestly isn’t for me.  I don’t complain. If it bothers you… I know you’ll go on from here… to your wonderful world.  I wish it to be only more wonderful for you.

 

Lately, as memories surface in my mind… my body ‘feels pain’ from the past where it was abused when being a little child.  Thankfully, as I became older… I could ‘bluff my way’… scare anyone who thought they could walk over me.  I would somehow, project the illusion that I could be a force to reckon with… in my mind I became ‘the force’.  It worked almost every time…

 

‘If’ I had to back up my position… I stood my ground.  I didn’t look for situations… I only wanted peace in my life.  I could have held my ground… but, not against a strong man.  But… when it came to a… woman, it was different.  I began smiling, speaking softly… and if I raised my eyes to look directly into theirs…

 

Peace and quiet was all I wanted in life when I began to have a choice.  Sadly, I married too young; in a marriage with a young man who didn’t know how to settle down.  He was always gone… always with other women.  My heart never knew peace; I cried a lot… I went so far as to end my life.  I was too young, too naive.

 

I had gone from all the screaming, gnashing of teeth, hatred,noise in my life… to what I wanted… ‘peace and quiet’… only I had all the quiet I wanted… but, no peace.  Sometimes, I wanted to go back to Hell… where it was noisy, hell-raising.

 

I had lived in town all my life… now, I was fourteen miles from any town… living in the country in a nice home… but, I was alone all the time.  A teenage girl left alone for the first time in her life.  In an isolated place… in the countryside… away from the night lights, sounds she knew.  Away from people…

 

I cried in silence, all alone.  No one really knew… no one came around… excepting the friends of the young man I had eloped, married.  They knew when he was away… they knew, because they went with the same women.  They all did the same things.  They were all… friends.  Young men do those things whether a young wife likes it, or not.  It’s a part of life… my life.

 

When the husband is away… their best friends want to come play… usually, young wives played.  Why I had to be different, I don’t know… I kept hearing that little girl from the past calling me a ‘whore’… I wasn’t a whore.  I … should have been.  I ‘missed out on everything’, not only that… being good brought me much… loneliness.  I can’t say that I didn’t… daydream… I would be lying.  I just had this ‘damn’ sense of right, and wrong.

 

The older I got, the more thankful I was I stayed ‘true’… it felt good to have a good conscious; it felt good to know I didn’t have to hide something… like that… should I say ‘so much like that… that tried to come my way’?  I never told anyone… I never told my young husband that his friends wanted to keep me company, keep me from being lonely, play with me… while he was off playing.  Why would I?  I never told anything…

 

They came on pretense of looking for him.  I became afraid… I never told anyone.  I was a big-little girl now… I was used to keeping my fears to myself.  I had to watch out for myself…

 

 

 

Not only that… if I did tell someone… I ‘knew’ something bad would happen.  There would be flesh pounding flesh, cussing, blood… my stomach would shake thinking about it.  I couldn’t cause trouble like that.

 

The little girl inside me, knew that much.  I had become a holder of many secrets… I never thought about telling anyone… anything.  Why would I?  If I saw things even being older, such as a wreck… or something unusual… I ‘forget to tell it’.  Who cared… anyway?  :)))

 

No one wanted to beat, whip, hit me as I grew into a teenager.  Well… maybe twice, three times… when I became an adult it happened.  I became a tigress whenever I felt threatened… and fought like a bear.  Didn’t matter if I lost… I didn’t lose… the little girl learned to ‘fight like hell’ when she had to.  I’d forget… I was a person… I would become ‘the fight’…  ‘I happened’… if, pushed.

 

I knew everywhere to strike… because as a child… I learned.  I was the victim.  I knew every place that would ‘hurt like hell’… those were my targets… only if pushed.

 

Three times… I allowed 3 times, hoping someone would come to their senses, realize they needed to leave me alone, or just forget me.  When they crossed the line the second time… I would become upset.  I would know I was going to have to take action, I was going to make someone respect me; I wasn’t going to take it.

 

I would become ‘twice as angry’… because I never looked for hell-raising (I’d had enough growing up)… I never looked for trouble.  I minded my own business.  Sometimes… trouble came looking for me in form of ‘always some big-ass, blonde-headed woman’.

 

Through the years, it was always a ‘big-ass blonde-headed woman’ who would be drawn to me… drawn to try to bully, dominate me.  I always recognized … ‘the one’.  I ‘would know’ somehow… it was going to happen.  It did.  Maybe they sensed I grew up ‘hating women’… my life was full of dominating women who bent others to their will.  What these big-ass, blonde-headed women didn’t know… my will wasn’t going to be broken… by a ‘damn’ woman.

 

Usually it was a fat, blonde-headed woman, taller than me… sometimes, once in a while it’d be a tall, slender blonde-headed woman.  From the time I began to ‘be out in the world’… as a teenager onto in my thirties, I ‘met them’ in my life.  Always… ‘big, mean… wanting to find someone to pick on, verbally/physically abuse.

 

Now… how was it they ‘knew to come for me through time’?  How?  I never figured that out… if someone has an opinion, I’m interested.  I didn’t wear a sign saying ‘hey blonde-headed woman … come kick my ass’.  I never bothered ‘them’.  So… I wonder ‘why?’  They could be across a big room… their eyes like bees flitting here, there… until… they beamed in on me… like I was nectar, be drawn to me… naturally, wanting to be mean to me.

 

In my mind, I began to be taller… hoping they wouldn’t do it.  Do it… they would begin … I would try to keep my eyes hidden from them… to not cause them to be more aggressive.  Didn’t work.

 

I understood as a child the ‘why?’… but, as I grew older… ‘these women’ would be strangers; I’d never have any contact with them.  The anger, hatred inside me… would rise to the surface… they would back off from me.  My eyes lit up from inside, with a fire from Hell.  I didn’t dare to let them see my eyes.  I didn’t want to challenge anyone. If I looked up, and they saw my eyes… it was time… and I was ready to live… or to die.  At that point, it would no longer matter.  Time stood still…

 

 

 

 

When they saw my eyes… ‘when I finally had to lift them to look directly… in theirs’… I think, they ‘saw the Hell’ in them.  They saw ‘I had nothing to lose’… they’d underestimated the little, short girl who seemed so nice, so… easy to use as a scapegoat.

 

The young girl who wanted to be good, go through life smoothly without Hell constantly nipping at her heels.  I think they knew they’d get more than they bargained for… they wanted a ‘simple ass’ to intimidate, to use as a whipping post… nothing as … complicated as, I.  My question was ‘why’… I was always ‘the one’ …they singled out?

 

This is not saying I’m a ‘bad-ass’… I was all ‘girl’; I didn’t like bad things… I had a horror of blood (you wouldn’t believe how I had to become ‘strong’ when I first began working at the emergency room!).  I sure didn’t have a death wish, nor did I ‘want my ass beaten’… I’m sure any of them through time could have crushed me.  It was simply… ‘I wasn’t going down without a ‘helluva’ fight’.

 

I didn’t live in Hell for nothing.  I wasn’t a survivor from… not surviving anything.  I wasn’t a fighter for not… fighting to just get to grow up.  I fought for the right to just exist… not bother anybody, mind my own business.  People through my young life heaped any, everything on me… to hurt, crush me… until I became old enough.

 

Does this photo show you anything about me… that would make people be that way to a little girl.  I’ve sat, looked at the few photos that survived the house fire… trying ‘to see’ something about me as a child… that would make people mistreat a little, innocent girl.  Look at it again, below…

 

 

 

Through our married years, Skip, will mention my eyes when I feel angry.  He says he has never seen anything like it… he knows it’s the Hell in them… I came from Hell… my eyes reflect it.  It doesn’t mean I became a ‘devil’ or evil person… I could have been, I was taught well.  I do have a bad temper… I am a positive person… thank-God.

 

They must have seen that I was ‘willing to die, than to let them run over me’… and that, I wasn’t going to run from nobody.  They forced the ‘ugliness’ to come out of me, when I always tried to never feel it again.  I never wanted to be mean… never.  I’m not… but, I’m going to hold my ground… I will give 3 chances first, before doing so.  Sometimes, I … might not.

 

I never felt good after inflicting physical, verbal pain on anyone… strangely enough… I never found the pleasure others found when inflicting pain on me.  I was …different.  I ‘felt’ the pain of other people.  I sensed, saw what no one else saw, chose to ignore.  Why did I have to be different?  Why couldn’t I have been a ‘full-blown hell-raiser who thrived on the blood ripped from another’s skin?’  I could have been… there have been times I remembered ‘wishing someone would get their ass tore up… glad that they did’.

 

Whenever someone inflicted pain on me… I never felt it from that moment on.  I became a whirlwind… when the whirlwind slowed down… so, did I.  I would look around… and see evidence that ‘all hell broke loose’… then, I’d remember.  I became… I ‘was the whirlwind’… I was ‘the Hell that broke loose’.  I wasn’t proud of it.

 

The only times in my life I couldn’t win…. was when my father slapped me with all his might, in my face… when my stepmother began hitting me in the face after he walked out of the bathroom.  Respect for both… loving them… stopped me.  The shock they created in me… paralyzed me.  I’d never seen, suspected they hated me… that much.

 

Another time I couldn’t win was as a young girl… I told a lie.  The guy had been seeing other girls… telling me what he, and the girls did.  The details were in depth…  I sat, smiled …. with all my being, I pretended it didn’t hurt me.  It was devastating me, my insides.  He turned to look at me, asked me if I’d ever cheated on him… anger made me lie, and say quietly, “Yes, I did”.

 

I was in instant shock when he began slapping me, then… choking me.  I was shoved on my back, he jumped on top of me, hitting me in my face, my head.  He was killing me, he was choking me, I struggled to breathe; the pain… I went unconscious.  When I come to, I heard crying… who was crying?

 

The guy was holding me close, crying.  He knew I was dead… I began to remember; I felt hatred toward him.  With all my strength, I began to get away.  I was hurt too badly to cry… I made it to the bathroom… where in the mirror I saw a monster staring back at me.

 

 

 

 

 

I didn’t know ‘me’ anymore.  I looked like the ugliness I lived in as a child… I was the ugliness, now.  My eyes, my face were swollen beyond recognition… my hair was all out of place.  My throat had marks on it… I cried inside.  I was battered, beaten the worst I’d ever known in my life.  I slid to the floor, I could no longer stand up for the pain in my body… my heart. He came to help me up… I kicked weakly at him, I tried to tell him how I… hated him.  He couldn’t hear my cries… they were deep in my soul.  The pain…

 

The next day, both my eyes were black, blue.  I’d never had a black eye, even in Hell.  I did that time.  My throat was bruised… my thoughts were… ‘I’m too embarrassed to let anyone see me, they’ll think bad of me.  I have too much pride for someone to know that he would dare to hurt me. They’ll think I did something really bad for this to have happened to me… I’m ashamed.’  I never told anyone what happened to me… my mother saw me.

 

 

 

My mother’s eyes, oh… my mother’s eyes.  Her voice… when she saw me she spoke softly… though her voice was soft… it sounded like a scream to me, like… “what happened to you, what happened to you!!!”

 

Tears filled her eyes… as I looked her in the eyes, reminded her of the rails around the deck of where I lived…. “mama, I climbed up on those rails to walk around on them, you know how high that deck is!”  She never asked me again what happened… I never told her until twenty five years later… what happened.  She looked at me, told me, “Faye, I knew”.

 

The secret is to ‘become what you want to be’ in a good way.  Whenever I did, life was wonderful.  Sadly, as I became older… it became harder to hold onto the vision/image in my mind to ‘stay what I wanted to be’.  When young, it’s easy to pretend, to see your dreams… fun things happen.  As life, illnesses, deaths, bad things happen in abundance… it weakens a person… this person.

 

Life… the pain, grief of life made me forget; took me on many paths farther from what I wanted to be… most.  Look at me… you can see the difference.  So much has happened in my life… I’m so fortunate to be here, today.  I’m happy with ‘what I have left of me’… I could have not had… anything.  I wouldn’t have known life anymore… I would have become… death.

 

I’m proof… that if you don’t hold onto your dreams, let life pry your mind off your vision to be… you will be a shell of yourself… just as I am.  That’s why I’m always chasing myself in the mirror.  My long-time readers know about this… new readers have to go back in my blog to … know.

 

Your thoughts, words will reflect what you wanted most in life… but, ‘you won’t be’… like me, you’ll just be ‘chasing a dream you let go of’.

 

If you are young, reading this… dig those heels deep into the ground… hold onto your dreams, never lose sight of them… don’t let life pry your mind off them… stay determined to accomplish what you want in life.

 

This is my advice to a young person… one of the secrets to making your dreams come true.  I can only hope for a comfortable life, hope life won’t be harder as I grow older, hope I stay at least as healthy as I am.  It’s almost … too late for me.

 

Sometimes… you ‘can see me’… just as I do.  You will maybe see I was once a very attractive woman.  When I ‘see me’ in my mirror… I run for my camera.  I try to capture ‘me’… I smile if ever I do.  It means the world to me.

 

 

 

I recognize ‘myself’ when I can find me; I love ‘me’.  :)))  Skip laughs, calls it ‘vanity’.  He always thought me beautiful… he even says that ‘now’.  I think because he is biased because I’m his wife, loves me.  I don’t nod now, agreeing with him, ha!  I do smile at hearing love in his voice, though.

 

After all… that’s the main secret to life… love, caring… not one’s looks, or material things.  I won’t lie and say they aren’t important… truthfully, they are… they do help one in life to go places, have comfort.  I treasure anything in my life that brings me comfort, happiness.  I’m always thankful, grateful.  I think that’s another secret to life… be very grateful.

 

I was never vain… maybe I was at one time… but, I honestly was a ‘good vain’.  I did fall in love with myself, thought I was the prettiest girl ‘I ever saw’.  I was thankful everyday… because I came from such ugliness.

 

I was fortunate, I could have looked like a monster if I had become… what I lived as a little girl.  When all is ugly in our environment… if we see something pretty… we all focus on it.  I did… and I was pretty.  :))) I loved to look at me, dress me, hear me.  It was a good vanity… I finally had something special that was ‘mine’ in my life… ‘me’.

 

Yes, I could have looked like a monster if I had become the ugliness I lived, come from… as a little girl.

 

If all unseen scars were to pop up to the surface on my skin from all inflicted on me… yes, I would look like a monster from the ugliness people ‘who loved me’… inflicted on me.

 

That’s okay… I’m completely opposite.  I love, care… though, I can still ‘hate’.  Remember … I told you I’m not perfect at all.  I can still be mean, ugly … I never mean to be.  It’s in me… I lived it, it was taught to me.  It’s something I have to battle all my life… and I do.  :)))  I’m still a very good person… and I mean to stay that way!

 

The monster below… is what I could have been!  :)))

 

 

 

Instead… I’m a ‘good monster’…

 

 

 

Ha! Ha! Ha!  See, I told you I’m not perfect… I can be silly, mean… too!  I forgot to tell you all through time, that Skip has a nickname for me…. he calls me ‘Monst’…. I wonder why I forgot to tell you?  :)))  :)))  :)))

 

 

 

Smug… a smug monster… :)))

 

 

 

Oh, where did my pride go?  I would have never let anyone see my face ‘looking ugly’!!!  I’m old, senile now… that’s the only excuse I have now.  When I do these ‘silly things’… you can know I miss Tommy.  I used to send ‘goofy’ photos to him while on the road… to make him laugh.  It almost guaranteed a phone call from him… every time.  Now… it doesn’t… work anymore.

 

So… ‘you all are here’… :)))

 

You all mean the world to me…

I hope you like the ‘monster’ that I am; that… I have become.  I could have been a ‘real-scary monster’… I couldn’t… I would have scared myself!

 

Rambling On About… ‘Everything’…


 

Rambling On About … ‘Everything’…

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

The man walked alone, head down.  His clothes were tattered, torn.  I saw that his shoulders carried an invisible load… they were stooped low.  Whatever it was… it was heavy.  I couldn’t see it, but, knew it was almost more than he could bear.

 

We drove by him twice, then… once more.  We were sitting in luxury… we were in a new Kenworth tractor-trailer.  We had everything to make our trip nice.  Not only that, I had colors in our sleeper that affected our mood. We had the nicest …of everything.  It meant so much….

 

I made our bed with the prettiest comforter, pillows, bed covers… all matching in the softest, most wonderful colors.  On the floor were matching, soft rugs to put our feet on when we got ready to go to bed, or to get up.  The inside was like a motor home

 

We had a beautiful color tv with weather button; our cellphones, refrigerator.  Our closets, shelves were filled with our clothes, toiletries; food.  We didn’t have a shower … that would have made all perfect.  We had plenty of water, though.

 

We always carried soft, fluffy, colorful towels, bath clothes to use… if we needed to wash our face.  We took our showers daily at modern truck stops.

 

Truck stops with every convenience… safe haven; home away from home.  I know many truck stops… I can still see them in my mind when I think of my favorite ones.

 

One appreciates a shower so much when they wait for one… once you get into the private shower room… it becomes … Heaven.  Oh, I love my showers… I love the beautiful scents of soap, lotion, powder, and my perfume!  I love to be around shower rooms… the wonderful scents in the air!

 

I love to be clean; I love to have clean, shiny hair… and I love to put perfume in it.  When the wind blows… I love to close my eyes, breathe in the beautiful scent!  Sunshine, wind on my perfumed hair… I love it!  Heavenly, when on just showered skin; hair…. ‘clean’ is the best feeling in the world.

 

When I was a little girl, bath time was wonderful.  It was normal, happy… I can remember seeing photos of my little brother, and I… in the bathtub.  Sitting there with little innocents smiles on our faces… playing in the wonderful, warm water.  Heaven… I guess the photos of us as little children… died, too.  I never saw them, ever again.  I wonder where they were buried?

 

No one thought to tell me that I would never know another warm, comforting bath in a ‘normal’ bathtub… when they threw me into Hell.  I was nine years old… I looked for the warm water in Grandma Alma and George’s old, dirty, porcelain ‘claw-foot’ bathtub.

 

How could I know… it wasn’t any there.  No matter how many times, how much I would fill that old bathtub up… warm water never came.

 

I remember filling the old, porcelain tub up… the water stayed ‘cold’.  Not only that… I couldn’t understand ‘why’ there was dirt, bugs in it.

 

The first part of my life didn’t have dirt, scary things to jump, bite, or fall on me.  I never saw dirty things.  My bathtub ‘at home’ was spotless… the bathroom warm, inviting.  I didn’t know what little nine year old girls …know today.

 

The first part of my life until I was nine years old… I ‘was’ a little princess.  I wore beautiful clothes, shoes… my dresses were the best.  When I became nine, I never understood ‘what was happening to me’… while my clothes changed, my shoes changed to shoes that had ‘little nails’ sticking up in them… to eat my heels until my shoes always had blood in them.

 

My shoes would smell like blood… do you know any children who wear… bloody shoes, today?  I don’t.  I don’t think they use those ‘nails’ in shoes, ‘now’.  I lived in town… walked home from school in those shoes.  I learned to keep my tears to myself… inside.

 

I think maybe little nine year old girls ‘today’ are more mature.  Parents raise children to know ‘everything’ now… ‘back then’… in my situation… children were ignored until, they became a pest.  They were ‘slapped off’….

 

Today, a nine year old child probably knows better to handle such things… to get help… to think ‘how to get out of such’… I’m betting a nine year old ‘now’… would figure out ‘why there wasn’t any hot water’…

 

 

 

No one gave children ‘back then,’ credit for knowing anything… nor did they try to teach them (in my situation).  A child’s mind is like a sponge… oh my… the knowledge they can absorb at such a young age.

 

I look back at the ‘waste’… the waste of ‘my little girl mind’, a mind that was hungry to ‘learn everything’… I feel anger, even now.

 

Shame on people who waste a child’s mind, when they want to learn; they are capable of learning many wonderful things.

 

When I was a child… the older people loved to tell a child that they were meant to be seen… not heard.  They knew children couldn’t possibly have anything … important to say.

 

Some of my most interesting conversations ‘today’ are… with a young child.  I sit in amazement, awe at what comes out of their mouths… I could listen all day!

 

I was so… innocent; so… unknowing anything.  No one bothered to explain the ‘whys’ of the bad things that began to happen in my life.

 

I have wandered on to tell you the ‘whys’ of loving my showers, appreciating them with my heart;  I was taught the hard way as a little girl… to learn on my own… about them.  I never… forgot.

 

I never wanted to be dirty… I loved my clean, nice clothes.  I was just too innocent to know ‘why things weren’t like always’… I just didn’t know, wasn’t aware of ‘what had changed, nor had the knowledge to make it all better’.

 

In school, I learned from other little girls… classmates… that they had begun to ‘look down’ on me.  Do you have any idea how embarrassing, hurtful… that is? When at one time… you were ‘just as good’ as they was?

 

How it feels to stand there while 4-5 little girls stand around you, giving you gifts of soap, wash cloth, little comb and brush?  Even as a little child…. I felt my face get red, I found that I couldn’t ever look ‘them’ in the eye… anymore.  They told me I was dirty, I smelled.  Can you imagine being told that as a little girl?

 

Thank-God they did… thank-God I was ‘me’… I always seemed to try to learn as quickly as possible to do things… I always had to learn the hard way.  Sadly… the damage was done… I could never be friends with those little girls again.

 

Even now… when I see them, I… don’t like them.  It’s all I can do … to smile at them.  They hurt me deeply; yet, if they hadn’t… how would I have learned one of my most important ‘Life’s Lesson’?

 

I have them to be grateful, thankful to… I am.  I still don’t like them… isn’t that awful?  I see in their eyes today… they still think ‘they are better than me’… yet, I ‘know’ they aren’t.  :)))

 

I am big enough to say ‘Thank-you’, though.  I still don’t like them…. no matter what… I still don’t like them.  I just ‘tried to’… in my mind.  Nope… I still don’t.  I still see them as ‘those little do-gooder girls’… yet, they helped to make an important difference in my life.  How long would it have taken for me to learn… if they hadn’t?

 

Skip and I sat in that big, pretty Kenworth tractor-trailer… the air-conditioner cooling our skin.  We had stopped to get fast food; our bags were full of ‘good stuff’… we also, had the biggest cups full of our favorite drink.  Life was good… we had everything.  We had plenty of food, money, and we were comfortable.

 

We have always been people-watchers… sometimes, someone will get our attention.  We feel the need inside… to do something good for them.  We will… if we can figure out how to do it in a ‘good’ way; a way to not embarrass, hurt someone.  At one time or other in our lives… we’ve known how it feels to want, to need… wish for things.

 

The man was still walking, as we circled the block.  We were in Yuma, Arizona.  We knew he was a homeless man, a man down on his luck.  He was very thin, his clothes hung on his body.

 

Whatever I couldn’t see with my naked eye… on his shoulders; was weighing him down.  It was heavy; very heavy.

 

This time, I told Skip to stop just ‘in front’ of him.  I took things from Skip’s bag, put it with ‘stuff’ in my bag.  I grabbed one of the big drinks, sat all on the floor until I stepped out onto the top step.  I took all, and walked back toward the man.  I smiled so, he wouldn’t be alarmed.

 

I asked him if he was hungry; he was very hungry, he said.  I asked him if he minded if we shared our food with him… that we really had ‘too’ much.  The man smiled, how warm his eyes were… how pretty his eyes were!

 

Sunshine… special light came from them to touch my soul… yes, I was doing the right thing.  I didn’t want to embarrass, hurt him.  Thank-God!  We all ‘know’ when things are … okay.  This was!

 

I handed him the bag of sandwiches, french fries, pie… and as I handed him the big drink, I told him we hadn’t drunk from it.  He didn’t care… he was happy to have it.

 

Just before I turned to go… there was something folded small in my hand… I pressed it into the palm of his hand… between it and the cup of drink he, held.  I told him, “Take care”!

 

I looked back into his eyes, I smiled again… I felt the warmth of his smile again.  Why… it was like being near a heater with a glass door… seeing the soft flames burning… feeling the warmth all the way to my …bones.  I hugged him gently…

 

I walked quickly to the tractor-trailer, I heard him yell, “Thank-you”!  I smiled… I was so thankful to give him something to enjoy eating… too.  We went our way… the man had something to eat, and for a time… he could still eat.  Hopefully, someone else would ‘come along’… to help him until one day… he could do better.

 

I looked into the huge rear-view mirror, hoping to see him as we drove away… somehow, it seemed his shoulders ‘had lifted’… maybe, it was my imagination.

 

Can you see now… why I would write about homeless people I became aware of, in our travels?  I never got to be as close to them as I wished; or if I was… there was ‘never enough time’… I sat many times, on a bench, in the tractor-trailer… or at a place where I could watch them.

 

I was fascinated, saddened all at the same time.  I wanted to go, felt the pull… to go to them; explore their world.  Thankfully, Skip was there to stop me.  I was so naive… innocent of the dangerous world they live, sleep, wake up in, every day of their life.

 

Skip is my hero; he has saved me from many situations through time.  I have a curiosity; not only that… I am distracted by colors, drawn to be closer to be near them.  Colors are ‘dangerous’, sometimes…

 

I don’t know ‘everything’ about homeless people; their secret world.  I’ve only seen the ‘surface’… but, somehow… I ‘know’… I don’t know how, but… I just know…  I, also, know ‘if I really knew what I suspected’… it would be almost unbearable for me to know.

 

What do I mean by that statement?  I mean, if I knew how truly bad their conditions, treatment from the stronger homeless people; people from the ‘outside’ who use the ‘weakest’… I wouldn’t be able to stand the pain I’d feel in my heart.

 

Just like… I ‘know’ thousands of innocent animals are abused, mistreated, killed every day.  Killed by ignorant, cruel, terrible people… sometimes, by well-meaning people.  Same way with children… innocent, trusting souls, not understanding… never getting the chance to understand.

 

I have to look away from things, try not to see all I can’t change.  I know I can’t save the world… I really used to think I could.  I just knew I was going to make a positive difference… I didn’t.

 

People, animals, children still live, die in awful ways… by mean, cruel people… from their hands.  Hands that should gently touch another living soul to reassure, to comfort… to give the message that everything’s going to be …okay.

 

Thank-God, I am writing.  Writing to get the sorrowful feelings inside me… out.  I don’t only feel grief for the loss of Tommy; I feel grief for so much… like dogs being thrown together, forced to fight until one dies… someone making money if their dog kills the other.

 

I feel grief when people take two homeless men, promising them food, beer, wine… if they will fight each other while being filmed.  All that blood… the sounds, screams of pain… I can’t bear it.

 

I grew up hearing such awful pain, the sounds of flesh being beaten, the moans, and cries … oh, the blood… the blood.  Sometimes… I saw … my own blood.

 

A vision comes into my mind at this very moment… as a little girl… seeing all that blood on an old hardwood floor… the sounds of someone being beaten.  Can you imagine a little nine-year old child witnessing such?

 

Hearing someone struggling to breathe as they are being choked, trying to breathe while their nose is pouring blood… teeth on the floor; no longer in a mouth where they belonged.

 

Always women ‘fighting like hell’ to be ‘Queen of the hill’… to show someone who is ‘boss’… always in the Arena… the room Grandma Alma, George sat in.

 

They always had a ‘show’ to watch, listen to… they never wanted it… it came to them, anyway… uninvited.  At any time, their world would ‘go to hell’… it was ‘hell-raising’ time… no matter, they only wanted peace, quiet.  No matter that little children were present, scared to death, trembling from fear.

 

Seeing, hearing someone beating a young woman… my mother. The sounds… the blood… I can’t bear it.  The pain…. the crying, begging.

 

As a little girl, I witnessed, and was ‘victim’ at times… I would be sent to school to act as if everything was ‘alright’… only to be mistreated there, looked down on, made fun of; bullied.

 

I remember a boy to this day who bullied me almost to suicide when I was forced to ride the school bus for a time… we lived in town.  He would inflict physical pain on me… I was his scapegoat for a time on that bus.

 

His name was Dallas… I still see him, now.  I don’t like him; nor do I smile, speak to him.  I’ve told you many times, I’m not perfect… though, I try to be as good as possible.  I still have negative feelings toward ‘some’ people… he is one of them.  The ‘do-gooder girls’… though, they did me a big favor.

 

Dallas was a very unusually cruel boy to be so, young.  He would hurt me on the bus… when I’d get to Hell (home at Grandma Alma, George’s) …. something would happen, a fight or someone would become angry… I’d be hurt physically… again.  I had just been physically, verbally abused by him.

 

The white, hot anger burned inside me… but, so did my heart; my heart was full of … love.  I cared.  Suppose I hadn’t had the heart I did/do?  I grew up to be a good person… I learned to forgive… but, it didn’t happen overnight.  I was twenty-eight years old when I began learning ‘real’ forgiving, letting go in my life.

 

Writing my scary books… my hero, Victoria Fairchild… is my way of having someone who will ‘take care’ of people who are truly ‘bad to the core’.  People who harm, abuse, mistreat weaker people, animals.  Since it’s fiction… and scary… I can make anything happen… and… it will.

 

Sometimes… the world needs a ‘good-bad’ person to make all better… sometimes, it takes ‘bad’ to make …good happen.  Victoria Fairchild is… that person.  She is a ‘good-scary’ character… there’s nothing she… won’t do, to protect someone, or an animal.

 

 

Victoria Fairchild is my main character.  She will do anything it takes to help her ‘homeless people’; anybody who is helpless, weak, at the mercy of mean people.  She will do what it takes to help abused, mistreated animals…

 

Victoria Fairchild … doesn’t play games; she takes care of business.  When she’s good, she’s good… but, when she’s bad… she’s very, very bad.

 

The only thing is… she has met up with ‘more than her match’… how it’ll end… no one knows; not even I know.  As I write, the story just ‘begins writing itself’…  :)))

 

Book 2… The Saga Of Victoria Fairchild… will be longer than the first book.  The first book was just an introductory to her… I hope you like my main character; my hero… Victoria Fairchild.

She’s really a very good person… very, very good…. and hopefully, no one will find out how…. very, very bad… Victoria Fairchild can be.

 

Today… I’ve been writing, talking to you just like I would… if we were sitting outside at the patio table, kicked back with our big, old glasses of ice-tea with lemon slices.  Sometimes, I’d let you talk… then, I would talk.

 

We would talk about ‘everything’… it’s no fun to talk about any ‘one thing’… we might begin a conversation on one subject… come back to that subject… after talking about many other things… in between.  :)))

 

The sun would touch our skin with warm, not hot… kisses.  The wind would gently blow our hair as the sun made it shine, glisten in the sunlight.  We would smell the scent of honeysuckles floating on each breeze that came by.  I know I’d be enjoying having my shoes off, my toes playing with the sand beneath them.

 

Sometimes, while we are sitting there… deep in thought we won’t need words.  Words aren’t needed at that time… birds singing, the soft motor of an airplane… the sound of music from a radio in the distance, dogs barking far off … all are ‘just the right sound’… We might would close our eyes at that time… we are really just ‘kicked back’… being ourselves.

 

What a wonderful time I had listening to you… I hope you enjoyed listening to me ‘ramble on about everything’…..

 

 

People Trust Faces Of Human Monsters, Never Knowing…


Gloria at age three … when she was a little precious, innocent girl … she was becoming to learn there were human monsters in her ‘little girl world’… she just didn’t know the difference between the real ones, or the fictitious stories told to her.  All she knew was that the ‘boogeyman would get her’ if she continued to be ‘mean’.  They got her … anyway.

 

 

 

 

People Trust Faces Of Human Monsters, Never Knowing

 

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

I was just reading a post on someone’s blog… I read something that struck deep inside me.  I ‘always knew this’… but, how does a child put to voice ..words he/she doesn’t have in their possession?  How can a child learn such at that young, tender age?  They can’t.

 

Little children haven’t learned the words needed to tell the people who are their parents, caregivers, protectors …. ‘help me … Grandpa or, Uncle So and So, or Aunt Jane… they are touching me, they are hurting me.  Or, the pastor’s son is hurting me… or Katherine’s boyfriend’ is ………………………… the list goes on, and … on.

 

I sat here thinking about the post I read.  Basically… what I read was …. children don’t have to be afraid of the scary bedtime stories, or the boogeymen that’s going to get them if they are mean.

 

I went on to read ‘what I always knew, lived as a small child’.  A child has to be more afraid of the ‘human monsters’, than the fictitious stories of boogeymen, monsters that ‘get mean little children’.

 

I felt a sickness in the pit of my stomach when I was reading that… why?  Because, though I block so much in my mind … my memories are still there when I was a little girl.

 

I’ve put many layers of protection over them through the years, because of what happened to me… I still feel the sickness, nervousness in my stomach.  Just think what it would feel like… had there been no layers there……

 

I can’t help but, to look inside my mind at this moment… to ‘see faces’ on some of the ‘human monsters’ I met as a little, innocent girl-child.

 

You would think this is an easy thing to do … it isn’t.  There have been so many years that have passed … I’m not feeling the best ‘inside’ for the moment, because I have traveled back into the past.

 

The first person I can see in my mind was a close family member whom I loved.  I may have been between age three- four … who knows how long it went on before my ‘little girl mind’ began to become aware of him, to …. retain memories of things I didn’t know the words to.  If I didn’t know … how could I tell?  I wasn’t old enough to know right from wrong.

 

This person was one of the people who took care of me, my little precious brother… I could say he lived with us.  I don’t want to say that … I don’t want to remember.

 

He was there, when we took our baths in the bathtub.  My little brother and I would sit, laugh, play in the warm water.  The bubbles, oh how I loved the bubbles as a little girl … how I love the bubbles as a big girl.

 

He would dry my little brother off with a big, soft towel.  He put pajamas on him, and then, they were gone.  My mind says he took him to bed, came back … to … dry me off.

 

I won’t think any further that, only … I remember so strongly through all the layers, through these years … how he took my little hand in his, pulling it to do things … a little girl hand shouldn’t.

 

My head feels so awful at this moment, my stomach feels shaky, I ‘will let go’ now, of this memory.  It is upsetting me … there’s more ‘there’.  I feel the need to cry… I won’t.  I choose to go on, now… I just can’t take it.

 

Another partial memory forces itself on me… being at the bed, him pulling my little girl body, my little girl hand….. somehow, I was trying ‘not to see him’ … was my little girl hands trying to cover my face?  Or is it my ‘big girl’ eyes trying not to see ….

 

So, how did I know this family member was doing the ultimate in child abuse, child molestation when he ‘did the things he did to me’?  Did it not count … when it came to me?  Was it only important when it ‘happen to other children’?  When I was a little girl, ‘was I supposed to be molested, and it be all right’?

 

I don’t bother to think about these things, excepting … when I’m faced with a reminder that ‘touches something deep inside me’.  The post I read, made me feel ‘uneasy, uncomfortable, sick’ inside.  It triggered the memories of the ‘human monsters’ I began to meet as a little, innocent child.

 

In my mind, little memories began to swirl, dance forward for me to ‘see’, then… swirl off, teasing me … to try to get my attention …. to invite me back to the past …to remember.

 

I think for now, I’ll stop.  My mind keeps pushing me to remember an uncle…. who babysat ‘some of us little children’.  When I think of him now… I think how wild animals do when they prey on a herd … they separate, isolate ‘the victim’ they’ve chosen.

 

I, ‘being the victim’, remember trying to stretch tall enough to look out the window of the pantry.  I could hear all the others screaming, laughing, running, playing outside.  

 

I was inside this room, my uncle (I didn’t know what ‘uncle’ meant… I was still around three-four years old) … handed me a cookie, laid me down on the floor.  I didn’t want to stay there, I wanted to run, squeal, play with the others.

 

I was always terrified of him whenever he appeared after that, as I grew up.  I remember freezing in place when I saw him.  I can’t remember what else happened in that pantry… why?  I don’t want to.

 

I just wondered something … I was being abused, molested not by ‘one human monster’.  Did they not know that another human monster was doing such to a little child so early in age … that little girl had met two in the short span of her life … would it have stopped the other, thinking ‘this is too much to happen to one so young, I won’t add more on her’?

 

These were ‘my first encounters’ with human monsters.  I went on to meet many, many more before I grew up.  All the human monsters I met …. had wonderful, loving smiles.  They were well-thought of, they were ‘somebody people trusted’… they could never do any wrong.

 

I grew up being afraid of ‘hands’… hands reaching out to me.  I always backed off from people who wanted to reach for me, to hug me … as a young girl.  I felt anger…..

 

Of course, through the years, I didn’t stay like that.  I learned to be hugged, not to stiffen until ‘it was over’.  I will hug someone now, when I could never do it before…. to show caring, comfort.

 

I learned to do that when working in a hospital.  That experience taught me a lot of things about life … not only that.  I saw the results of ‘human monsters’ in other people’s lives.

 

I always ‘reached out’ to hug, if I didn’t hug them… when they saw my eyes they saw ‘caring, that I felt deeply for them’.  I cried for them, they never knew.  I cared for them, more than they saw in my eyes.

 

Everyday, people trust every person ‘who is supposed to be a pillar of the community, a professional, a family member, a babysitter’… just every person who smiles kindly, charms … who seems to be wonderful people.  There are a lot of ‘these people’ who ‘get by with doing things they shouldn’t’.

 

How else could they do it, if they weren’t trusted?  To blend in, making the right sounds, looking the part … is how they prey on the weak.  They never let their dark sides show … if they did, they’d never be trusted around a child, be in prison, or … dead.  Some people won’t tolerate their children being preyed upon … much less … touching them in ways they shouldn’t.

 

People trust faces of human monsters, never knowing… especially when that face is either kind, handsome, pretty, charming, a face that looks so, so ……….. clean, good, wholesome, so angelic.  Why someone who looks like that can’t do any evil… how could they?  They ‘don’t look the part’… you know all evil things ‘look dark and ugly, repulsive’……… don’t they?

 

People trust faces of human monsters, never knowing…..

Link to post I read to trigger my story for today…..    http://advocatemmmohanaksharaalu.wordpress.com/2013/01/04/be-ware-of-child-abuser/comment-page-1/#comment-1302