General Music Chat

I was damn close to being in that kid's shoes once. I wasn't physically abused, but there are other forms of abuse. My father had no idea how many times I walked through the woods behind him freezing my butt off, shivering almost uncontrollably, while he refused to go back to the car so I could warm up, and thought very seriously how easy it would be to simply pull the trigger and rub my shotgun in the mud then say I fell. Explaining all the various details would take longer than I care to spend, and bring up memories I've tried in vain for 40-50 years to forget.

Why didn't I do it? It was wrong. I knew that. End of story. I laid awake at night till sometimes 3AM planning different ways to do it. And get away with it. A few times around age 12-14 or so I didn't care if I got away with it, just get the obnoxious, lying, selfish overbearing bastard out of my nightmare...

I still didn't do it. It was wrong and I knew that. I knew it at age 8 or so the first time I thought about it. I really really wanted to...I had the gun, knew how to use it, clean it, oil it, put it back together and KNOW it would work, was an excellent marksman, but again, it was wrong. You just don't kill people.

Maybe this kid just snapped, it happens. I may be the only one here who does, but I do understand where he's coming from. I came from there too.

Often a person can stand much in the way of personal abuse.
But have no tolerance of abuse of others they love.

I.E. You can say pretty much what you want about me, but mess with my family or friends you may ( or may not ) live to regret your actions.

I applaud your sense of responsibility Billy.

We could use more men like you.

I'd be willing to bet a ton of abuse to everyone the kid loves.
We are not talking about spankings or chores or verbal abuse.
We are talking about no way out.

yea, and I'd lay my money on that one too. Anyone who bases their entire life's philosophy on hating others (as all racists do regardless of color) hates their own flesh and blood.

I grew up in a racist city and knew quite a few kids who grew up to be violent criminals, some even mass murderers, because of the hatred their parents raised them in, and/or because of how those kids influenced other kids around them.

I'm lucky that I was busy at rehearsals with a band....

I was damn close to being in that kid's shoes once. I wasn't physically abused, but there are other forms of abuse. My father had no idea how many times I walked through the woods behind him freezing my butt off, shivering almost uncontrollably, while he refused to go back to the car so I could warm up, and thought very seriously how easy it would be to simply pull the trigger and rub my shotgun in the mud then say I fell. Explaining all the various details would take longer than I care to spend, and bring up memories I've tried in vain for 40-50 years to forget.

Why didn't I do it? It was wrong. I knew that. End of story. I laid awake at night till sometimes 3AM planning different ways to do it. And get away with it. A few times around age 12-14 or so I didn't care if I got away with it, just get the obnoxious, lying, selfish overbearing bastard out of my nightmare...

I still didn't do it. It was wrong and I knew that. I knew it at age 8 or so the first time I thought about it. I really really wanted to...I had the gun, knew how to use it, clean it, oil it, put it back together and KNOW it would work, was an excellent marksman, but again, it was wrong. You just don't kill people.

Maybe this kid just snapped, it happens. I may be the only one here who does, but I do understand where he's coming from. I came from there too.

Sounds like you endured quite a test... (Which i think you passed with flying colors). The thing about life, is that its really easy to destroy, break-down, desecrate and reduce all the props it throws at us. But what immense strength it takes to uphold life and its props, even as it sets out to break us down... Hats off to you man... You knew right from wrong, and in your youth you faced and overcame what many grown men could not face and overcome.

Thanks George and paperDog.

George. you said it. What bothered me most was watching my brothers and sister do without while he never did. Refused to stop and get us an ice cream cone, less than a quarter in 1965, but insisted he pay for coffee, donut, cokes and candy bars for him, me, his 3 brothers, my cousin and several local rednecks hanging around the country store the next day when we left the woods. Plus a half tank of gas to run all over the place and hunt.

Refused to get me a guitar amp when I joined my first band, 8th grade - they came looking for me at school because I was the best guitar player in school - and came home the next day with a brand new deer rifle for himself. 3 times the cost of a suitable amp I found in a pawn shop 5 years later. I really learned to hate him when I saw the price tag on that amp. He had thrown a screaming fit the night before because he was too broke to afford a "damn amp".

Many other incidents. I have no idea how many times I sat in the woods freezing all morning with ice on the ground and wet feet while he had nice dry rubber boots and refused to leave.

But watching my brothers and sister do without made me keep a shell in the barrel of my shotgun for years, just for him...I still regret not using it...but I resisted. In a way I'm glad I did, it would have been wrong, but you have no idea how bad I wanted to.

I'm not the only one it seems. I found out after he died he stepped out into a high line clearing one day hunting deer, a bullet kicked up dust about 10 feet in front of him and a second later he heard the shot. He never saw who did it, but I'd like to shake his hand someday and tell him he should have compensated for drop...Someone else other than my mother knew what a bastard he was it seems. She was far from great, she caused me plenty grief too, got me kicked out of the first 2 bands I was in and the high school jazz band, plenty other things, but nowhere near what he put us through.

The jazz band incident cost me a chance to go to college, I had been asked by the professor of music and director of bands to go to his school, after I missed a very important band trip he never spoke to me again. I knew I could never afford college, he told me just keep a C average and there were ways around the money problem. Handed to me on a silver platter...and slipped away over a camping trip...which I fought about. And lost...

It may seem cold but I don't feel sorry for this kid, I understand it, I know what was going through his head, I did everything but pull the trigger myself. I can't explain or describe it, words don't suffice. And you probably don't understand it. I can't say what I do feel, but sorry for him is not it. But I do know him in a way...quite well...that was me 40 years ago. I wish you could understand it, your pity is not what he needs, he doesn't need you to feel sorry for him. I can't explain what it is he needs, the words aren't there. It hurts...

That sucks about your old man and it isn't just you, I've heard about a lot of guys like this. My friend's ex-husband was like that, behaving like a bachelor, doing expensive sports and paying for expensive hunting trips but would raise hell with her about her spending money on the family. That's why he's her ex. Well said and perhaps you're right. But I do know he's ultra sensitive and he just needs someone to care about him and give him some love.

Chaeya