Life Alterations

8-21-08

I would like to make an editorial statement. This article was selected today by a contest judge at this site to attack as an example of "bad grammar" "weak story telling" "so vague in details it is almost an insult to the reader." This article has been repeatedly viewed by someone. Before the review it was attracting an average of 2 views per reader. It is in my folder that denotes that it is not a finished story but a piece of my writing meant for use as part of the full length biography I am working on. I have moved the piece to a new static item. I guess I will leave it here for any one who wishes to see it. If you feel there are unanswered questions or you need physical features given to the subjects to understand my dark whatever she said you can look for more finished work by me in my nonfiction short story file. As far as descriptive writing--I am choosing at this stage of my writing to focus on plot and story and content and the overall intellectual purpose for telling my stories. I feel like there is more than pretty words to make a story have interest. I also feel like once I have an outline of the biography I will be able to go over it and add the descriptions I do not need to write my plot.







I have had the opportunity living here, in the way that I have , with my mother, to do nothing but concentrate on the course our lives took, and look for causal relationships between the actions of persons and the outcome of events that have led us to our misfortunes. A breakthrough came when I determined that there were many negative consequences that were the result of losing a family member in the way that it occurred. Then I began to trace that event and I realized that Eric had continued his persecution of my mother and I through his sweetly worded assaults on our self images and efforts to break us apart as a family unit.

I have begun to believe that Eric was acting in a deliberate campaign to break me down and get me to have an incestuous affair with my sister.

In 1975 I had returned to Polo with my mother and resumed my life where it had left off.

I resumed music lessons with the same private tutor, attended the same grammar school, and rejoined the same Lutheran church which was still under the same pastor.

I had become a very good fighter in California and had several opportunities to show it that year. This culminated in a psychological evaluation and decision to hold me back for one semester at the end of the term when I was mobbed by an old adversary I gave him a vicious beating. To make matters worse, when I was called to have a conference over the matter, I kept insisting that he deserved it, because he "was FUCKING with me." A kid who had started bullying me in the second grade and continued through the third had approached me after school hours with two younger kids in tow announcing "Now you're going to get it DeWall!" and declaring themselves to be an army.

I took Kendall by his lapels and racked him into the school. I told his army they would be getting some if they hung around and they ran.

I then beat Kendall like a drum until he was laying on the ground and I was telling him to get up.

When he said he did not want to I started kicking him.

I went to school the following day expecting nothing to happen since it was on my "free" time. It had been after school hours.

The principal told me I had put him in the hospital and I realized too late wanted me to show some remorse. I asked for more details of Kendall's injuries and discovered he had no serious damage. He was taken by his parents for evaluation after he went home and complained to them. He had been harrassing me over a ring my mother gave me for my birthday in California. The first time he had aproached me was in the 2nd grade, to invite me to join his cub scout troop, and he showed me his bear ring that held his neckerchief, and tried to motivate me to join by telling me I could have one like his if I did. The ring my mother gave me was something a craftsman on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley had made for her. It was a lion face cast in silver holding my birthstone in its teeth, a green gem. Kendall, now, in the 6th grade, kept aswking me in a belittling way, what is that ring for, and then saying it looked stupid. While I was beating on him I held it up to his face so he could get a good look at it and said "Do you want to know what this ring is for?" I did that a few times and Kendall made out that it caused him some additional harm somehow. The principal wanted to know how I would feel if I had gouged his eyes out with the ring by mistake in the fight. He pointed out how dangerous it was for having sharp fangs and the stone. This was a gross overstatement. The setting was completely rounded of any points and accidententally putting an eye out with it was no more likely with its surface than any other ring. After exciting me with all this talk and not seeming to care about the gang attack that started the fight, he wanted me to breakdown in fear of the possibility that I could have hurt him.

It was also the year that I graduated from catechism school. And it was not without its hazards either. Over a dispute in class incited by an ethics question, my pastor felt the need to have a special closed door graduation for me to avoid the brawl he knew to be coming. A kid who I had boxed and bested but never busted for fighting with because he was not a treacherous bully, jumped up at me, in front of the pastor and challenged me to yet another duel. The pastor probably over-reacted in this instance. But he said that my answer that started the fight had been the right one and that I knew more about this stuff than most of these little menaces and gave me my Bible. My adversary's answer was the one that showed racial bias.

I have strayed from my point about what I thought my sister's husband was doing to describe my character at the time his plot began. The summer between my 6th and 7th grades my sister returned home ostensibly because she wished to rejoin us as a permanent thing. She was studying yoga and had the feminist manual OUR BODY, OURSELVES and she invited me to watch her as she performed her daily routine of saluting the sun "in the nude." The next time I tried to spend time with her while she practiced her yoga she slammed the door on me with hostility. She was then hostile towards me on several more occasions. Once she kept me away from the restroom for an exceedingly long shower and when I complained and asked if I could just pee she accused me of just wanting to see her naked. I think these were mental conditioning tactics. I was supposed to have a fixation of my sister's "hot bod" from the flashing and then a trauma from the the rejection and denial of "pleasure." Thus causing me to be confused about my socially unacceptable impulses and begin to crave acceptance for my deviant desires. And I think Eric was the one who was doing the planning.