Memories of our own, childhood years, how this young boy, became, a man, the day he stood up, against, his own, father, translated…
Back when he was younger, my father was almost to the point of, abusive, harsh, disciplinarian. He’d often used physical measure to punish us, the time I remembered the deepest was how I got strung up by the beams of my home, with my hands tied behind my back, and beaten up by him; and sometimes, my mother would be, beaten alongside us too.
And, just like all those, tragedies, with, too many, reasons, too many, excuses, and, with the erosions of decades of time, almost everything had been, forgotten in details; but, the heavy, burdensome fragmented memories would still, surface back up from time to time. At around ten years of age, when you weren’t as tall as mom, you’d, fearfully stood by her side, watched your father eat his breakfast, as he’d, grilled your mother. You can’t remember what he was so angry about, just that he’d, picked up an empty bowl, and, thrown it at your mother, who’s no more than three meters away from where he’d sat.
Maybe it was, instincts, reflex, maybe? You’d, moved your feet, turned to the side, extended your arms, and, everything happened, lightning, fast, like with help from above, you’d, magically, blocked that bowl that came flying toward your own mother; the bowl was like a fly ball, after hitting your arms, rolled on down, a couple of times, and, halted, unbroken, on the, floors.
You’d not cried out in pain, and was, shocked, and glad, that the bowl didn’t, get, shattered. Perhaps, your father, in the midst his anger too, was, surprised, couldn’t believe, how the fast ball he’d, thrown, was, caught, by the kid who’d, never, practiced any catching skills, and, gave him an, out!
Afterwards, you’d never asked what was going through your mother’s, mind the. The awful memories, ought to be, forgotten, just like you’d longed that you could, wanting to know, what you did was right, or was it wrong, in the moment it’d, occurred.
Many years later, you were, married, and your wife told you, that your mother, who wasn’t at all, talkative, had, mentioned it, many times to her in private, almost once every time they saw each other. And mom was, smiling, with that sense of, comfort, “Ahhhhhhhh, that young boy…was…certainly, an, amazing, catcher all right!”
So, this, is a young boy’s action, to protect his own mother, from his own father’s, abuse, and, it must’ve been, a very, difficult childhood, to grow up in an environment so volatile, when you don’t know when your fathers are going to come home, and blow up at your mothers, and yet, this young boy stood up, and SHOWED his father, put an end to the father’s, hurting his own, mother.