Kicked not Shaken (Click to see Link)

Anger was a real part of my growing up. Neglect or just not paying attention to the responsibilities of having raising babies. Shaking me when I was a baby; I don't know if that happened. Mama did throw thinks as as when we were older; four or five. She lost her temper before my grandmother took us in, I know. Maybe it was the drinking that made everyone so mad. My daddy did not actually beat us; it was more a really good whooping. His anger was focused toward my mother most of the time. She was an easy target because of her mental condition, I guess.

Being kicked very hard with a work boot is the most terrible pain I have ever endured. It was always right at the anal area that the kick landed. I guess my dad and uncle knew that or it just happened to land on that part of the body. Daddy I think did it out of shear loss of control. I can't imagine anything I could have done bad enough to be kicked that hard.

Mama on the other had did not whip us that I can recall. She did throw things at me on occasion. The great abuser that has left me unsure of anything that I am in life was my grandfather. He did not live very long after we moved from upnorth. He to me should be in a special Hell. I read the story that Shoalanda published byTiffany Potts Evans today and the thoughts of People in Hell came back to me once again. Really could God put even small sinners in the same place as them. "There's a special Hell for people like that." I have said it many times.
That makes me wonder too, when we die do we find out who really didn't like us. What if you secretly hated someone? Would they know what you thought when we get to heaven? No, because all is going to be perfect in Heaven. I just answered my own question.

I have not always done the most angelic things in my life, but I know that God watches me. I know that God takes care of me above all; above just watching.
I wonder if he was watching the times in the barn and under that tree. I wonder did he see when grandmother left me alone. I wonder did he take care of me so much because of the pain and scars. I owe making it thus far to God. I just really hope that he took care of the sin that man committed. I did not die, but I am a little not so well inside.
Ok, we did not have guns at Grandmother's house. Hunting was something that really was not done by the men there. As the grandson's reached their teen years getting a gun for Christmas was not out of the question. The gun that shot out the back storm door was either a Christmas gift of my cousins or was purchased at one of the times Uncle Keith was working and saving money. Probably the later, because he is the one that shot the gun.
Uncle Keith had great problem with us living in the house with Grandmother. His main personality was selfishness and jeolousy. He really did not appear to like anyone of us. He always wanted to fight with someone. My daddy was his favorite target to pick a fight with. He may have chose Daddy because he was really not into confrontation. Well he did not confront anyone he knew was going to rare back up on him. Uncle Keith would have times take the stand that he was sick and tired of Daddy using their mother as a meal ticket and a place for his wife and kids to live. This day he was really fed up with it. He was probably jeolous too. He and his wife and boys lived in his sister's farmhouse, so what was the difference, anyway. He had not purchased or rented his own home either. His sister's husband gave more to her brother's than anyone would to the two drunk-most-of-the-time-men.
Uncle Keith was none the better than Daddy except he did not live with his mother. He never thought about it that way. It was all about how Joe Abe took from Grandmother. Uncle Keith had been sober his usual couple of months, AA and all, but like each time he feel off the wagon once again. This day he rode the wagon to woop Daddy's ass. He came in the front door looking for a fight. The livingroom of the three bedroom little brick house was very small. There was the couch that Daddy laid on for weeks. Two end tables under the front window. On one end was the wood heater and on the other end was a chair, radio and round table. The round table top was not connected to the legs. It had a table cloth hiding the real appearance of the table. All of the pieces of furniture that were in the living room that day were flipped and knocked around during the fight. This fight was so much more than just a fist fight, the two middle aged men were rolling around like cowboys in a saloon. The fight had gotten so intense that my grandmother had rushed us to the barn to get away from it. This was not typical. We usually just went out in the yard. As we all stood in the shead that was built on the side of the barn I realized when I heard the gunshot that maybe Grandmother knew that Uncle Keith had the gun in his car. There we stood, my little brother, Mama and Grandmother in the cold addition to the barn. The shot had came out the backdoor of the kitchen. I could see that the door was open when the shot was fired. It still was hard not to think the worst. My first thought was Oh, my God, Uncle Keith has shot Daddy. I ran as fast as I could from the barn to the house. Screaming just those words. When I got to the back of the house Daddy was sitting at the kitchen table grinning and Uncle Keith was holding the door open for Daddy to shoot the gun threw. The both of them had quit fighting and were just messing around shooting the gun. They are playing around and we are hiding from them. This is something I am sure they both thought would be funny, scare two kids, Grandmother and Mama to death.