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    Reflections, It Shouldn't Hurt To Be a Child
    Reflections, It Shouldn't Hurt To Be a Child
    Reflections, It Shouldn't Hurt To Be a Child
    Ebook121 pages1 hour

    Reflections, It Shouldn't Hurt To Be a Child

    By Marc Allen

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    About this ebook

    Reflections, by Marc Allen, is a poignant story of a young boy growing up in an abusive environment surrounded by witnesses.

     

    Follow along with Marc as he explores his memories of his mother, father, siblings, extended family, and friends.  Or, as Marc refers to them -- witnesses.  The ones who failed to intervene on his behalf.  Some believing Marc somehow deserved the maltreatment they had witnessed.

     

    Marc invites readers to follow him to discover how he learned to stand tall.  And, how others can too!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherReMarcAble Entertainment
    Release dateMar 2, 2021
    ISBN9781393310549
    Reflections, It Shouldn't Hurt To Be a Child
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      Book preview

      Reflections, It Shouldn't Hurt To Be a Child - Marc Allen

      Legal Notes:

      Autobiography, the people at Merriam-Webster define this as: a biography written by the person it is about.  And fiction is defined as written stories about people and events that are not real, or something invented by the imagination or an assumption of a possibility as a fact irrespective of the question of its truth. 

      Memoir: a written account in which someone (such as a famous performer or politician) describes past experiences. Fable: a narration intended to enforce a useful truth."

      Maybe we should have a category called Faction, fiction based on fact.  Or fact mixed in with fiction.

      Introduction

      I did not intend for this to become a book ...

      When I started writing this, my only intended audience was me.  However, after a few people peeked at my writings, I was encouraged to share them with others.  In all honesty, I did not think there would be much interested in what I had to say regarding my childhood reflections.

      Perhaps my idiosyncratic stories might help others overcome some tribulations of dealing with their childhood retrospectives.

      I recognize that some memories of the events described in this book are different from my own.

      Sometimes truth and fact are not always black and white, and memoirs are people’s recollections about events in their lives. We all know that people can remember situations and conversations differently without purposely intending to deceive anyone.

      This book is a recollection of events. I am relaying them to the best of my knowledge. Some identities have been changed or are composites.  Therefore, I would have to say that it is somewhere between Fact and Fiction.  Let us call it Faction. Moreover, I will leave it up to you to guess which is which.

      As I said, I did not set out to write a book about my childhood. Instead, it came after attending a writers' workshop, and it was suggested we each start keeping a journal. Going home that night, I was excited about the possibilities of having a new hobby.  I discovered I could write as easy as talking; however, my second journal entry did not come easy. Reading and rereading my first day's entry was nothing short of boring. It started out about my day. I quickly filled my page about how I had worked on my S.U.V. in the morning, progressing to attending the evening workshop. The only notable event of my day was meeting Elizabeth, the author, who conducted the workshop. She is one of those people you meet and immediately think, I want to be like her. Not necessarily being an author (I didn't know what that meant); instead, I mean, when I grow up, I want to be like her as a whole - she fascinated me.

      Putting my journal to the side, I found the desire to write was building up inside of me, and I kept thinking I was still missing something. A few days later, I was afforded an opportunity of a one-on-one with Elizabeth. She suggested I write about my childhood (to get comfortable with writing). That night, I went home and must have written 4000 or 5000 words down on paper. I wrote for so long my hand hurt, even more than from working on my cars. I also noticed how tight I had held the pencil. So tight, the next morning, my hand was still sore; however, after reading my story, I did not mind. It didn't escape me how I had written more in one night than I had previously in my whole life. I loved it! Who would have thought stumbling upon Elizabeth's workshop would bring me so much joy? Not me.

      To Elizabeth - without you, I do not think I would ever have started writing - you are truly inspiring.

      Backdrop

      Life changes events - we all have them. One of my first life-changing events might have saved my life. That was the day I became big enough to stand up and protect myself. From that day on, I knew nobody was ever going to use me as a punching bag. A promise I made to myself, and to this day, I have managed to keep. Still to this day, I am discovering how much taken someone's childhood will affect the rest of your life.

      Another life-changing event for me was losing my brother Pete. While the first event made my life much better, watching Pete being killed altered my life in more ways than I can ever describe here. The repercussions of Pete's absence weighed heavily on Henry, Lucy, my siblings, and me.

      Growing up fast?

      My last memory as a child: I wish it was you, dead on the road, instead of your brother!  The first time Lucy spewed these words to me was the last day of me being a child, and the last day, Lucy deserved the title of Mom.  For quite some time, every rant seemed to end with that same statement that still resonates in my head.  It is hard to forget something like that.

      Being older does not make you smarter.

      Pete, my brother ...

      For many years, each night when we went to bed, Pete shared his thoughts, dreams, crushes, and goals. Always ending with Pete asking me, don't you have any dreams? Usually, just before he would fall asleep.

      The truth is that I only wish Pete well and hoped all his dreams would come true. Through Pete, I was able to learn what love was. We were only 14 months apart, but he was much more than a brother - he was my best friend. In my whole life, I have never known anyone quite like him.

      Pete was so different than me. Full of dreams, full of life, and overflowing with love. Pete loved like he invented it. Each crush or past crush (which never really seem to go away). He loved them all.

      Pete believed in love at first sight – weekly!

      The name Peter means stone or rock; however, I think it should mean passion. I have never known anyone with so much passion. Pete had a passion for science, for girls, for the environment, dreams, and life. But then, in a heartbeat, he was gone. I lost the one thing in my life that seemed to matter.

      He would always talk about when we get older. When we are older, we will have a cabin; when we are older, we will live next door to each other; when we are older, we will marry sisters; when we are older, we will be happy.

      When Pete died, a big part of me died that day as well. Never a day goes by without Pete being on my mind.

      At first, my thoughts would revolve around - Why Pete? He was the one with passion, with dreams, and the love for life. Me, I never had dreams—literally.

      In my whole life, I never remember having a dream, not even when I was sleeping. When Pete woke up, he could not wait to tell me about what he dreamt about. For the longest time, I just thought he had a highly active imagination. I only wish I would have committed it all to memory.

      Sometimes, Pete's

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