David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: The Day My Little Boy Ran Away

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: The Day My Little Boy Ran Away: “The Day My Little Boy Ran Away” “Suddenly my tiny hands burned as I was torn away from my fence perch while talking with our...

The Day My Little Boy Ran Away

“The Day My Little Boy Ran Away”

“Suddenly my tiny hands burned as I was torn away from my fence perch while talking with our neighbor Fritz. Earlier, I had climbed all the way to the top square of the chicken-wire fence so I could look Fritz in the eye. It was his fence and he never seemed to mind me climbing on it. But it sure enough pissed off my dad, Bushy.              

My fingers were still stinging when I heard the old man say, ”Goddammit! How many times have I told you not to climb on that fence? Get your ass upstairs.”

I knew I was going to be beaten again. Already crying, I looked back at Fritz for some redemption. He turned his back on me and walked away. I cried louder when I went inside hoping Ma would save me. She said nothing but set her beer bottle down on the kitchen table and belched. I cried louder and looked right at her. She turned her head and continued to watch television. I thought about those two adults, two grown-up people, who did nothing to save me and protect me, as I climbed the steps to my bedroom.

I heard Dad taking two steps at a time and most distinctly, heard him removing his belt. I was begging for mercy In fact, I was crying so loud all the neighbors must have heard me, and yet none came to my rescue. Dad shoved me to the floor so he could get long swings and pulverize me, not with the leather end, but with the buckle end of his belt.

My fingers no longer hurt from being ripped off the fence. Now, it was the pain of chunks of skin being torn away from my forearms as I protected my face. I felt my ribs crack when he kicked me with his work boot. I stopped crying instantly. I could not breathe. I was curled in a ball and did not care what happened next…”

Excerpt from “The Shade Tree Choir” by David Nelson

I was six years old when that incident occurred. Punishment like this was a regular occurrence until I was seventeen years old and had graduated from high school. This step toward independent living, away from the abuse, was my ticket to freedom. I left the house right after graduation. I remember it like it was yesterday. Children who are physically or emotionally abused remember many events exactly. There are other situations we force ourselves to forget. Sometimes later on in life, we remember in startling detail.

That day is clear in my mind for it was the exact time in my life that the little boy inside of me experienced genuine abandonment. Neither my neighbor nor my mother came to my rescue. That was the day the boy inside me ran away and hid. That was the day I knew I was on my own. It’s odd how one can actually pinpoint an event that has haunted him or her for life.

Fear of being abandoned is a common thread among abused children and adults whose parents were alcoholics. In my case, both of my parents were alcoholics and Ma was mentally ill with bouts of incapacitating depression.

Sadly, many adults who were abused as children have trust issues and won’t allow others to get too close to them emotionally. They may have difficulty sharing feelings, communicating openly or hiding behind a wall due to a fear of insecurity. Many formerly abused children will feel subconsciously, “If my own parents didn’t love me, then who will?”

Consequently, such individuals can have problems with interpersonal relationships. Some adult victims may try too hard to keep an attachment and in the process smother their partner. The abused person may try as hard as they can so they won’t lose their partner. They know the awful pain of feeling abandoned. Some adults waffle between the two reactions.

Each time a child is abused a pathway is set down in the brain as a life experience. The child may interpret the beatings as “deserved.” Because, after all, it’s the parent who is “all-knowing” and the one administering the punishment. The child then interprets the entire scenario incorrectly. When the child is abused repeatedly, the neuro-pathway becomes strong and leads to an inaccurate belief system. They may feel deserving of abuse, develop low self-esteem and live life being sad all the time. Some women accept verbal and/or physical abuse from their spouses – “because they feel they deserve it.”

Research shows that abused children have decreased serotonin, increased dopamine and increased testosterone. These chemical reactions have been linked to depression, anxiety and ideations of suicide. Many psychiatrists are of the belief that medications will stabilize the patient. Some psychotherapists believe “talk therapy” is the answer.

The adult may live life from the viewpoint of “I deserve to be beaten” – which translates into “I’m a failure.” Many abused children grow into adults with low self-esteem. Others take the opposite approach and spend their lives trying to prove the ghosts of the past wrong.

Those who refuse to accept that they were, or are, deserving of abuse often become over-achievers. These people will live their lives trying to prove to the ghosts of the past that they are indeed a good person and did not deserve the punishment they received.  I fall in this latter category and am thankful that I took that path. However, that aggressive lifestyle often leads to one of high anxiety and stress. I’ve written about Stress Management in other blogs of mine.

According to the National Child Abuse and Neglect Data Systems, in 2012, thirty-one children died each week from abuse, in the United States just alone. Thirty percent of States do not mandate legal representation for children in abuse proceedings. A review of relevant literature reported one research study that showed adults who were abused as children suffer from depression, anxiety, emotional behavior issues, suicide ideation and actual attempts at suicide.

My belief is that, the more we discuss the issue, the more we will help children who have been abused. Years ago it was taboo to even mention the term “mental illness.” We now know that clinical depression is a form of mental illness. I, for one, am pleased that society is finally talking about the issue. The tragic suicide of Robin Williams and unfortunately, the many school and workplace shootings have brought mental illness to the surface.

Personally, keeping the disease at bay has required considerable effort on my part. I continue to lead a life of never sitting still and having at least one major project happening at all times. I focus on that positive activity and that helps keep the doors of depression from opening. One of the problems with the disease is that people with the disease don’t look sick. That is why when someone commits suicide or kills someone, neighbors and friends are shocked.

I meditate daily, perform heavy exercises at the gym and begin each day with positive thoughts. A review of literature from the Mayo Clinic reported the benefits of meditation include:

·      Increase endorphin production (that are responsible for the all-encompassing sense of happiness).

·      Increase in a chemical called GABA (which is responsible for stabilizing moods).

·      Increase in a chemical called DHEA (which has proven to decrease depression).

·      Increase production of melatonin which is useful for proper sleep

·      Increase production of serotonin which has a profound influence over mood disorder

·      Boots HGH (a human growth hormone) which is also linked to a lack of motivation

Exercise creates many of the same benefits. Mental imagery has also been a useful tool for me. Research has shown many positive results from picturing yourself or a life event in a positive way. Elite athletes use this technique all the time. When I worked as a physical therapist I used to teach my patients the process of mental imagery. I told them every day to see or envision themselves walking again or using their hand or whatever the affliction was that I was trying to improve.

If you’re troubled by any of these psychological ailments, I suggest you speak with your physician as to the best approach for you. I simply show here what works for me. If it’s any consequence, there are numerous famous people who have suffered depression. Some of these include writer, Mark Twain, actor, Marlon Brando, astronaut, Buzz Aldrin, Athlete, Terry Bradshaw, world leader, Winston Churchill. As we know now, all walks of life are affected.

Another technique I use is to write. When I am creating, I’m too busy to dwell on any sadness. I have written books dealing with child abuse, reactions to the abuse and success despite the abuse. I wrote one book about how to manage stress. My web site is www.davidnelsonauthor.com

My life has been devoted to helping that sad little boy who was ripped from the fence and beaten; to the boy who ran away years ago seeking inner peace and to face life more fully.

I want to take him by the hand and teach him to suck the marrow out of life every day. Remember the Robin Williams movie, “Dead Poets Society?” Carpi Diem – Seize the Day. This is my mission.

For each of us the path to recovery is highly personal. Good luck with your own internal search. Peace.

Here is a link to a one-minute book trailer for “The Shade Tree Choir”

http://youtu.be/y3EWghb6qnU

Nelson Iowa Book Tour Final Schedule

Nelson Iowa Book Tour: Final Schedule

Part One: “The Shade Tree Choir- The Story Behind The Story”

This program will center on my book about the child abuse I experienced growing up in the North End of Dubuque, Iowa during the 1950s and 60s. “The Shade Tree Choir” http://youtu.be/y3EWghb6qnU has been described as, “A deep analysis of human relationships both positive and negative that contain a combination of tragic elements and subtle comedy.”

You will learn stories not in my book, coping skills and defense mechanisms I developed as a child in order to survive, my reactions to abuse, how I succeeded despite the past, how I learned to forgive and techniques I use to manage stress.

You will be exposed to stress management skills based on my years of research, practical usage and training others in my classes. The first 85 participants will receive a FREE copy of my out-of-print book, “Stress Management: Does Anyone in Chicago Know About It.”

Monday, November 3^rd, Tipton, Iowa Public Library, 5-6:30 P.M.

Wednesday, November 5^th, East Dubuque, IL Library, 6:30-7:30 P.M.

Tuesday, November 11^th, Denny’s Lux Club, Dubuque, IA, 6-8 P.M.

Thursday, November 13^th, The Book Vault, Oskaloosa, IA 7-8 P.M.

Saturday, November 15^th, Mason City, Iowa Public Library, 2-3 P.M.

Monday, November 17^th, Dyersville, IA Library, 12-1 P.M.

Monday, November 17^th, Preston, IA Library, 7-8 P.M.

Tuesday, November 18^th, Dubuque Carnegie-Stout Library 6-7 P.M.*

  *Limited Seating

Part Two: “Cowboy Comedy Show”

I am the Cowboy Poet Laureate of Tennessee. This honor, was given to me by our Governor and the General Assembly. I’ve performed across America. My web site is http://www.cowboycomedyshow.com/

I will be performing my one-man act  consisting of storytelling and cowboy poetry at the following locations open to the public:

University of Dubuque

Thursday, November 6^th, Sylvia’s Coffee Shop, U. of Dubuque, Dubuque, IA, 12:15-1:30

Friday, November 7^th, Badka Theater, 3:30 -4:30*

·      I will teach a class to the students in the Fine & Performing Arts Workshop about my work as a writer and a performer. Come join us if you wish to hear about my careers.

Wonder of Words Festival Des Moines , Iowa

Des Moines Central Library, Friday, November 14^th, Noon- One P.M.

www.davidnelsonauthor.com

Songs written about "The Shade Tree Choir"

http://youtu.be/O5I_XS6xb70

http://youtu.be/oQApYp1S9O0

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: "Farwood for Sell"

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: "Farwood for Sell": “Farwood for Sell” Corn, cottonseed or sunflower oils, lactose, salt, sodium diacetate, maltodextrin, malic acid, partially hydrogena...

"Farwood for Sell"

“Farwood for Sell”

Corn, cottonseed or sunflower oils, lactose, salt, sodium diacetate, maltodextrin, malic acid, partially hydrogenated soybean oil and sodium citrate were listed as some of the ingredients in Lay’s potato chips in the article I read on the internet while standing in line. My curiosity peaked about the ingredients when I watched the fella in front of me shovel them into his mouth. Well, most went into his mouth. Several fell to the tiled floor and were quickly smashed under the weight of his work boot. Poor fella must have been hungry. He couldn’t wait to pay for them, I guess. It was 9:08 A.M.

I had watched him snag the bag from the aisle by the beer cooler in the back of the store when I took my place in line to pay for my twenty-ounce coffee. Ten minutes earlier when I puled into the “Gas & Go” combination convenience store, gas station and diner, I knew this wasn’t going to go well. All I wanted was a cup of house blend, dark roast coffee. Then it was off to the gym for my workout.

There was not an empty place to be had in the parking lot. I parked next to one of the gas pumps behind a pickup and trailer filled with lawn mowers, gas cans and weed eaters. I nodded to the five guys standing outside the store smoking when I approached the door. To their left was a stack of bundled firewood and a sign. The sign read Farwood for Sell. Yep, not firewood – farwood; and not sale but sell. One guy was wearing a sweatshirt with the University of Tennessee logo on the front. I wondered if he wrote the sign.

My smile ran away when I opened the door. There was a line of patrons that started at the counter and snaked down one aisle, across another and ended at the beer cooler in the back. That was where my adventure began next to the potato chip fella.

I lifted my head to take a swig of coffee and noticed the “Chip Master” must have been in a hurry to get his breakfast. He apparently wore his little brother’s T-shirt to the store. The bottom of his shirt ended some five inches above what should have been a waistline. His hairy belly slopped over his blue jeans that wiped the floor with each shuffle he took toward the counter. I refused to stare at the crack of his butt directly in front of me. I turned my body to look away.

Patrons in front of me carried armloads of foodstuffs. I saw one guy cradling two bags of donuts, three bottles of water and two cans of Red Bull. I noticed people holding bottles of soft drinks, chips of all kinds, candy bars, crackers with cheese, and one apple. I stood so long I read the headline on the Knoxville Sentinel held by the woman two people in front of me.

My coffee cup was half-filled when I glanced at the lady’s butt. It was more pleasing to see than the fella directly in front of me. I smiled and wondered if stretch pants were back in style. They were gold in color and snug against her rump. She turned her head toward me to fix her hair and caught my stare.

I noticed every finger had a ring on it as did each of her toes. At first I was embarrassed that she caught me. But when she smiled and exposed her three teeth I knew she didn’t mind. My eyes dropped to her hand and wondered why she had a wad of bills in her grasp. The tattoo on the web of her hand read Mama.

There were sounds of distress from all of us standing in line and not seeming to move. There was throat clearing, heavy exhaling, coughing and grunting. People were shifting their weight from one foot to another. Some even starting shaking their heads. Yes, when I saw eye contact and shaking of heads I knew all the other folks were getting ticked at the only worker behind the counter.

Finally, I made the turn and swallowed the last from my twenty-ounce coffee cup. I tapped it against my thigh and watched. Suddenly, there was a unanimous “Oh” from those who saw the receipt machine run out of paper. The worker obviously felt the pressure from irate customers because she fumbled with the new roll of paper trying to insert it into the machine.

She snapped the lid closed and attempted to scan some fella’s package of “Goody Powder” and a coffee. The scanner broke. People burst into loud complaints. I smiled. A person can’t make-up this stuff. I had a grin exposing a full set of teeth and felt my ears move when I smiled. The employee smacked, slapped and tapped the scanner and finally it worked again. When she ended the transaction and attempted to print the receipt, the machine jammed. It was wadded up and stuck.

I thought at first it was a Sunday because I heard people talking out loud to God and Jesus. I quickly realized my error when I listened to the words after the deity comments. I laughed out loud. Indeed, I truly did. This was way too funny not to see the event in a comical way. And then it happened.

A guy three in front of me handed a lottery ticket to the employee. I have to tell you, that I don’t like waiting in lines for people who turn in lottery tickets. I no longer laughed. I said something under my breath, thinking it was Sunday.

The employee gave the ticket back to the guy and said she couldn’t scan it. Apparently, he didn’t scratch off the ticket properly. He reached into one pocket for a coin to finish removing the gray gum. He reached into the other pocket for a coin. Both times he came up empty. He slid his hand under the number twelve-gauge chain that connected his huge billfold to his belt loop. The leather case was stamped with a NASCAR emblem and he opened it looking for a coin. I ground my teeth. I wondered what the lady ahead of me would do because of her tooth loss. Bless her heart.

The employee opened the cash drawer and handed him a quarter. He scratched away with great intent. When asked if he wanted two dollars cash or another ticket, he crossed his arms and placed his hand over his lips to ponder such an important decision. My thigh was getting red from the empty cup slapping against it and my jaws were a bit tender.

“Oh, my God,” I said out loud when the guy walked around the other end of the counter. He was trying to decide which lottery ticket he wanted from the thirty-seven different types offered.

The employee handed him a ticket that read “Winners Never Quit”. He began scratching it with his fingernail before he reached the door. Finally, I was third in line and it was “Ms. Spandex’s” turn.

“Well, how much gas do ya want, Honey,” I heard the clerk ask.

“I rightly don’t know for sure. Last time it cost me forty-dollars to fill-up. But that was when gas was more. What do ya think I should do,” she asked through her tooth-less grin.

The employee shrugged her shoulders. The fella in front of me said out loud that he was twenty-minutes late for work. My right jaw hurt. The lady with the golden pants and rounded rump set the wad of one-dollar bills on the counter and began removing change from a tiny coin purse.

“Thirty-eight, thirty-nine and your dollar change makes forty-dollars for gas, Darlin’.”

I shuffled two steps forward and watched the guy in front of me set an empty potato chip bag and three bottles of water on the counter. He handed the cashier a one hundred dollar bill. I swear he truly did. 

Holding the bill over her head she asked the guy, “Is this the smallest thing you have? I can’t make change. Hang on a minute.”

She locked the register and disappeared. Over in the diner was another employee who was obviously taking a break. Our employee bent over and spoke to the guy. His lips were pursed and his eyebrows frowned when he walked behind the counter. He moaned loudly when he bent over to open the safe.

While the male employee was opening the safe, the female slurped the last of her drink through a straw and returned the empty container to the counter. She faced me and gave me a look of frustration.

The fella in front me had his arm resting on the counter. I reached over it and held out my empty cup. “How much is coffee?”

I was told it cost a dollar, thirty-five cents. I handed her two, one-dollar bills. “Keep the change. Just keep the change.”

I tossed my empty cup in the trashcan outside when I left and overheard the guy wearing the University of Tennessee sweatshirt. “Hey Bubba, look at this. Somebody spelled sale wrong on this here farwood sign.”

I shook my head.