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Old 10-07-2010, 11:16 PM   #1 (permalink)
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Duece asked for A story

when I was a very little kid I loved music.the way it etched it's way into my soul.my mom sure could dance and that was also an endearing charm I had.
so when I was small my mom could not afford a babysitter for some years.when she could it was 'ol Hambone.
Hambone was the cook/dishwasher at the Bahama steak house on 36 st. N.W. by the airport.where the pink pussycat was and maybe still is,don't know.
Well, 'ol Hambone was a black man.my momma needed A babysitterthen,as she was offered A job at Mothers lounge(later to become aquarius lounge when stuie was killed in the bar one afternoon)which was on lejune and 8th st. S.W.when she was only the hostess for Mr. shelly at the steak house she was home by 11:00 P.M.at that time she'd leave poddy chairs in my brother and I's room,slide the dresser in front of the door and go to work.
she barely had enough money to pay the mortgage and the things we needed.on top of that we were born cripple,John and I.we had feet headed south when we were goin north.so we had cast for 3 years and braces for about 3-4 more.
anyway,she would leave a radio in the room.it was my voice to the world.I would sing and try to get my little crippled legs,bound in casting to move like my momma,Big Marge,as was her name.
I surely never could get it right,yet to sing and dance,making my brother laugh and smile was the top of my small fragile world.I was always the strength that held the family together,yet until I was 40,my momma never told me what strength I posessed.
so,I had my radio,I'd play WQAM,it was country,and some new stuff,elvis and such,called rock and roll.well,I liked me some rock and roll.
Now,along came old hambone,and with him came the blues.that 'ol man was my hero back then,for several reasons,the blues being #2.
he would snap his fingers,tap his foot and slap his thigh,conjer up a beat and then it would come from deep down inside him.he would start out with A guttural crunk,then a throaty raspy yawl and he'd get the motor chuggin.
that 'ol man would sing,he told stories of life with a swale of song and swagger.rich was his voice,powerful the emotion.I would cry,I would laugh I would wish stary eyed that he was my daddy,that he'd never go away.
then,the day came,this man,who later became my stepfather drove up in his big fancy thunderbird,with my mom in the passenger side.
I'll remember it well,for it was the day my life went to Hell.
ya see,it was my first day of kindy garten.and I didn't want to wear my braces,I knew the other kids were gonna laugh at me.I had on my cordovan Penny Loafers,the shoes I got to wear on the weekend on sunday to church,and maybe somewhere once in A while out in public.
my momma jumped out of the car,tellin me to change my shoes,put on my braces and I couldn't wear my favorite striped real skinny T-shirt.it was A cool shirt,I wanted to be liked,cool and this shirt by my eyes matched to the shoes would have made me the kid to set with at lunch.
well, my momma passed me,with the order to change,I balked and hesitated grumbling about what I wanted over her wish.and this short little man,not much taller than me and my 5 year old self,he put on this ugly face,and he proceeded to tell me "ju do whas ju mother tell ju to do"it scared me,as I'd never had someone talk to me in A furners tone.
from that day,the music died.
my mom married him not much after,and he came to our house.
the first night he whipped me,but good.ya see,I always had my radio next to my pillow.George and willie and ernest rocked my cradle of imagination til I fell to the pixie dust.
and he came in,screaming about the radio,he grabbed it from my bed and he turned aloose with A horse whip.he scared me to tears and beat me to fear.
and the little kid,with A crippled body,less than outside the house,who learned to love A black man in A time when he,to others was just A nigger,lost his world,I'd learned then what it was gonna be like.
I knew fear,and I knew love,and I knew loss all, within the blink of an eye.
removed from me was the innocence of the child.it was then,that the claws and fangs began to grow.
my life was not mine,I had been reduced to the animal level.
and so goes the beggining of Hell,my life no longer a child.the grooming started.don't fault the end result when it is the making of another,of one who knows no better.
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Old 10-07-2010, 11:34 PM   #2 (permalink)
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You have a style your own and an ability describe a situation amazingly. The ability to be able to produce an emotion with something as simple as text, is a skill all its own. Good stuff.
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Old 10-07-2010, 11:41 PM   #3 (permalink)
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I can see and feel every word in your story. Lord bless it you have an amazing way with words. This brought laughter and tears to my eyes ...... thank you William !
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Old 10-07-2010, 11:57 PM   #4 (permalink)
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thanks,I've been blessed and cursed with alot.
and after getting clean 22 years ago,I've remembered alot.
I say it alot,not as a badge or brag,I've lived A life,through hell and back.done things people either dream of or fear.
my ex G/F used to tell me I was a redneck hoodrat.
she's A social worker and works with gang members and kids out of jail.
I've met some of them upon her request.
you don't get hope,you share,you can't keep it unless you give it away.
I'll post another on tomorrow.
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Old 10-08-2010, 12:32 AM   #5 (permalink)
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William I totally understand, Total ghetto hoodrat here ... and life beats your asss early on, to prepare you for what I've yet to understand @ 38 yrs of age. Granted different streets opposite genders but totally understand.

I look forward to tomorrows ....

Last edited by DueceAddicTed; 10-08-2010 at 07:20 PM.
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Old 10-08-2010, 04:49 PM   #6 (permalink)
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I agree, i look forward to reading more of your story. Thanks for sharing that WW3, i felt like i was actually there with the way you put it into words.
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Old 10-08-2010, 10:39 PM   #7 (permalink)
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this one,I think I posted it awhile back,not sure.

The Cap'n
way way way back when I was about 10 I spent A many weekend on the Dania pier.we'd get dropped off by a family friends dad about 5:30 P.M. and get picked up around noonish on sunday.
for those that know,or have done it this was a ritual for lots of folks.the old mackrel guys,the bottom fishers that filled the cooler because it was how the family made ends meet.
thems the ones that nicknamed me the Cap'n,Cap'n blackeye to be 'zact.
ya see,their was this bad element of kids that came to the pier.all dirty ratted out rods and reels.the ones that would respool from when someone else that would put on new line.they stole drinks from coolers,beer and whatever they could pilfer.
now these were kids that were 15,16,17 and so.they didn't respect your line or your pole or station.whenever they caught A fish something with shoulders on it the wouldn't walk the pier down sayin "fish on,could you man your rod gentlemen".I know and learned how to do that because thats what fisherman do.they work together,rallyin for the catch,when your A fisherman and your bringin in that trophy you give and get."hey sport,do ya need A gaf line or A net".or "go get 'em killer the babys 'A screamin".
well the hoolies(hooligans)they run you down,drag your line in with them,don't care that your tackle box is open and what not they kick and drag.they never had A gaf line or A net and no-one was A gonna give them the time of day or A fish head to boot.
now,I've said that to say this.I watched these guys,many weekends doin what was the dirtiest thing you could do to A food fisherman.
their was this old man,cuban guy,Abuelo is what I called him.
He was my old man and the sea.I first saw him when i was about ocho.he used yo-yo's and paddles.the yo-yo is 'bout as it's described,it's A hoop,wooden his were.never ever were they varnished(we didn't have polyurethane back then)now these jewels were sparkly from the caressing they recieved from his old calloused grizzled hands.when he spooled the line in he lightly feathered the line with the part of the hand that runs from the tip of your pointin finger to the tippy tip of the thumb.he just rubbed that yo-yo and I swore that A genie was A gonna pop out at any time.
he also had him some paddles.ya see he only brought 2 yo-yo's from his home when he made passage to Gods country,as he called it,yet he'd fish 4 or 5 lines like A champ.never missed A beat,never missed A fish.
this old man,my friend,my idol had fished his whole life.in the old country he was an inner tube fisherman.back in the old country he said they went in the harbour and bay in innertubes.they went at night.they burned candles,had A plank for A mesita,little table.and he fished many lines he said.thats how he was known.
anyway,he had paddles also,wood cut about 18" long with whittled ends.most folks just cut A VEE,but mot Abuelo,he whittled radiuses on each end.his paddles were almost as smooth as his jeweled yo-yo's.
well,the christmas before this year we're talkin about his family saved up enough money to buy my Abuelo 2 really nice heavy spinning outfits.now Abuelo was really partial to his yo-yo's,yet one thing I had learned was he was more partial to family.so he comes to the pier,his new gear,and of course his jewels were there also.
he worked really hard at refining his skills with these new fangled fishing aparatus.and he was dang good.
OK OK,them damnable hoolies,abuelo had to use the mens room one late friday evening,and before he left he tapped my foot and said to me," mi' ijo,ojo's" and pointed to his lines in the water.ya see,he was fortunate that afternoon.he had gotten there early,and anyone thats fished dania pier knows that the NNE corner of the T was the best spot back then and he had gotten it.
well I had kinda dozed off.all of the sudden the reel buzzed for just A burst.I looked up and 3 hoolies were there.they had his pole.they hurried,reeled it in and walked back to the other inside corner on the opposite side.the spot that has produced more bait than anywhere else in broward county.they lowered his pole down,drag tight just to the water.they tied the line to the bottom rail and went back to gold hookin.
when the Abuelo came back I was scared hurt.he looked at me and walked to where his rod was,arms wilted at his side and I was aching.he knew,the hoolies were giggling.and no one was gonna say squat to them.
then I knew,again,like so many times in my life prior what hurt of another was.he reeled in his rod,and dropped it on the deck,he brought in the yo-yo's.and when he did I knew then that I had let my friend down.he molested them yo-yo's,tugging the line,throwing it on the spool.he picked up his stuff and left the pier.
I was speechless.when he was gone they goaded me.asking me what I was gonna do about the "old spics" gear.
well,I had one of 2 choices.I knew then choice #3 was for cowards.
my choices were to tell the old man or find out how to fight back.so I waited.ya see,time was against me.I knew Abuelo would use the pay phone to call for A ride,which was usually about an hour to an hour and A half.
the hoolies weren't gonna bring the rod up until they felt he would not return.
so I sat there watching,the whole time they were throwing cut stinky bait at me.calling me names,spic lover,traitor,water spiggot,spic and span.cruel words fell upon me.delivered like a sharp knife to the belly of a mutton.
it was A bit more than an hour when onea them hoolies brought in the rod.he went to fetch some tackle as they'd cut the weight and leader off when they dropped it to their spot.
so he turns from the rod,I break like Jesse Owens (my favorite runner) and grab that rod and I'm running for the tackle shack,just as hard as I could go.well,Jesse would have called me the white streak I figured,cause I was makin it to the end.and then it happened,this dirty,big hand grabbed me and spun me to the deck.I got splintered and knew it.him and one other hoolie caught me.they grabbed for that pole,they kicked me and punched me,yet I knew,I just knew my Abuelo would do the same for me.I knew he needed to believe in me and my people that didn't understand his talkins.I wanted him to know that we knew about true sportsmanship.
them hoolies bloodied me but good,yet I never gave up the ghost.I hung on to that rod because it was about life and spirit and the soul of goodness vs. evil.
well,they stopped with the beating.I got up as best I could and just about then I heard A trunk close then 2 car doors.and the pit in me grew.I ran,and this time I WAS Jesse.I turned the corner and was going down the ramp,to fast,to fast I knew,to fast.I leveled out,I knew I could not falter.the cars taillights were not showing,yet I could see the car,then I saw the taillights,the car was pointing south and I ran,screaming,crying,please God let me fix my friends shattered spirit.his gift from his family,I did not want it.for I knew,I just knew, that if'n he didn't get it I'd never see my Abuelo again.my mentor,my buddy,my only friend.
I was losing ground,I couldn't run anymore.I was in fire inside and out.I stopped,I looked up and I said God,please help me.
then these 2 bright red beacons glittered through my closed tear filled eyes.God had reached into that car and patted my bud on the shoulder,apparently he was not going to be able to leave without saying good bye.
they backed up,then they realized I was standing there.with his pole in my hand,A black eye,bloodied face and knees.
I was retching with crying,I felt these soft gentle fingers on my face,wiping the tears away,and the blood.it felt so good.I said to myself these are the hands of an angel.so,to see my angel,which I had thought would be his daughter I opened up my eyes.and it was my abuelo.
and it was then,that I knew.why them yo-yo's were so soft and velvety.
because they were loved and handled by A gentle soul.A soul that got up and walked from a terrible scene to not holler at A little boy that probably knew no better.
so,we both went back up onto that pier.and the hoolies,when we got to the T,had gotten our spot,that NNE mutton hole.
my Abuelo pulled out his fillet knife,it wasn't very big,yet the way he held it told you that you were in the presence of A warrior.
they tried to buck him.and then some of the other older food fisherman walked over.and told them they thought it was time they departed.
and it was then I found out who Cap'n was.them men told them hoolies to make room for the old man and me,the Cap'n
I was 14 years old,it was A brisk cool evening,and my abuelo had not showed up.which was strange.then I got the slam of the lifetime.I reeled and tugged,and I hollered "fish on, could you man your rods gentleman".I got that fish to slow down just A mite,it came in and it'd run.I could hear my old man and the sea,sayin to me suave' nino' suave'.
and his voice faded,then was no more.I knew their was a funeral for A fisherman somewhere.and it was then,I slacked the line,and let the Abuelo loose the hook and return to the sea which he loved and cherished.
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Old 10-08-2010, 11:01 PM   #8 (permalink)
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should be a movie
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Old 06-22-2013, 05:52 PM   #9 (permalink)
 
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wow.

i never have been one to write much, my memories of my life are not so clear to me and i have not much of an imagination to make up a story.

your words, your life.............powerful stuff.

thank you for sharing.

i must read more of them now.
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Old 06-22-2013, 06:46 PM   #10 (permalink)
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I am humbled,
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Old 06-22-2013, 09:54 PM   #11 (permalink)
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william,
you have made the crossover,
from student to teacher.

you learn,
you teach,
you learn
you teach,
you learn,
you teach,

that is the circle of life,
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Old 06-23-2013, 12:04 AM   #12 (permalink)
 
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I loved reading that story...and the way you wrote it


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Old 06-23-2013, 12:04 AM   #13 (permalink)
 
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Where did you grow up?


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Old 06-23-2013, 12:25 AM   #14 (permalink)
 
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ok, read all your stories in this forum.

each one 'touched' me in one way or another. thank you.

I barely got any chores done today......was hooked on reading.

is the book finished?
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Old 06-23-2013, 01:12 AM   #15 (permalink)
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william williamson reputation ninjawilliam williamson reputation ninjawilliam williamson reputation ninjawilliam williamson reputation ninjawilliam williamson reputation ninjawilliam williamson reputation ninjawilliam williamson reputation ninjawilliam williamson reputation ninjawilliam williamson reputation ninjawilliam williamson reputation ninjawilliam williamson reputation ninjawilliam williamson reputation ninjawilliam williamson reputation ninjawilliam williamson reputation ninjawilliam williamson reputation ninja
I got so much grief from A G/F and brother in my life that I just stopped.
I am now in A position to write it and I need to pick it up.
I'm so,proud of me, yet I let others kick me down so to speak.
I will pick it up, promise.
Surfer, yes, thank God for recovery. It is the learn, reach, teach cycle.
That somewhat how my business is attached to me. It's A recovery type program, just more of an intense program where the person sides me for 1-3 months.
I don't tell them, like treatment facilities, I show them what life is and how it looks.
Thank y'all for my motivation.
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