MY “NO ROOM IN THE INN’ TRIALS BEGAN DECADES AGO

VIEW: TRAILER – NO ROOM IN THE INN

The trials of life started for me at an early age. Of course, I didn't know what I was going through had a name. Looking back over my life, I can testify there were plenty of them that helped in shaping the person whom I became.

When I was six months old, a drunk driver hit the side of our car, killing my mother. The invention of seatbelts or car seats came years later. Since I was in my mother's arms, the impact tossed both of us out of the car.  I was in the hospital for a few months with blood on the brain and had a few surgeries to relieve the pressure. Due to the operations, I have scarring on both sides of my head. 

My father later remarried, and we had a new set of rules in the house. One was we had to wave goodbye to the ice cream truck as it drove by our house. Another one was that a butch haircut (crew-cut) would help save on the cost of living. These types of financial decisions became a source of my anguish for many years. Don’t get me wrong. I am not complaining or blaming, just sharing a story from my life. Besides, I wasn’t the ideal child to raise.

My peers, who I thought were my friends, called me a scar head. These were my bullies of yesteryear, which we find in such behavior today. Once again, no name just the pain. I could have been on all the talk shows blaming everyone and maybe authored a book on the subject. Events in my entire childhood didn't help in building my self-esteem.

My mom told me to tell everyone that the Indians Scalped Me. Such a statement was politically correct in the '60s; however, it did not protect me from the onslaughts of my enemy-friends. Ridiculed continuously devastated my life for many years to come. One time I ran away was because I did not want to cut my hair.

I remember being in the sixth grade and trying to join a club within my school. The night that they were to vote me in and or vote me out, I was so excited that I would be a member of this elite society. Before the vote, they asked me to step outside so that I would not be in the room during their evaluation of me as a potential member of the group.

Back in the room after the vote, my excitement was so high because these guys were those kids that tormented me daily. Maybe I had some friends after all. However, to my dismay, they had not voted me into their group. Discouraged, hurt, and crying within my heart, I was a broken child. The adult leader in the room decided because of my reaction to call for another vote. So, uplifting my self-esteem to the point that I knew I had it in the bag! Anyhow, if the leader was on my side, how could they repeat no?

TO BE CONTINUED

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