“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for You are with me;Your rod and Your staff they comfort me.”(Psalm 23:4)
The last memory I have of my mother was on my ninth birthday, June 25, 1967. She took me to a double feature at the movies. We saw Mary Poppins and Peter Pan. I went to a catholic school called “St. Paul the Apostle" on 59th st. and 9th ave. in New York City. My father and I moved to Hollywood, Florida and I started third grade at Dana Elementary School in Dana, Florida. The area wasn't developed very much. There was a highway right on the border of Hollywood and Dana that went three miles in a straight line to the beach. I used to walk to the beach or go crabbing in one of the many brooks. One morning we got a telegram telling us that my mother had died the day before. I think I cried for two weeks straight. My whole disposition changed, and, for lack of a better term, I went sort of went into shock. Looking back now I know that the pain was so unbearable that I just suppressed it, I didn't think about it I just tried to forget. When I was eighteen, I found out that all the students from my second grade class in catholic school wrote letters to me after she died, but I wasn't allowed to see them. Even this I believe was God's Mercy because I don't think I would have been able to deal with it then. My father and I moved to West Palm Beach, Florida where I was sexually molested the second time. This time it was a fireman who said he wanted to check me for ticks. I never said anything to anyone partly because I was afraid and partly because I liked it and because I was ashamed.
One day I woke up to an overpowering smell of gas. I jumped up out of bed and ran into the kitchen and turned off all the burners on the stove, and opened the windows. It wasn't until years later as an adult and a Christian that God showed me that my father had tried to kill us. After that my father put me into military school. My father never told me why he put me in military school but I didn't want to be there, I wanted to be with my father. Perhaps he found out about the fireman? I cried for two weeks. Looking back I realize that is when I became really hardened. I didn't care about anyone but myself after that. Now I realize that my father was only trying to help me because he wasn't able to take care of me. For two years I stayed in military school and I didn't want to leave. Those two years were the most stable time of my life up to then.
Next my father and I moved to New York to live with my brother. I was twelve years old and I went to public school 82 right across the street from where we lived. At first the school didn't want to take me because of my unstable schooling, but the principal gave me a reading test and I passed. That year my brother got married and shortly after my father and I moved to Durham, North Carolina. We lived in a little efficiency apartment on a little street called Vesson street. There was a big hill there and I used to have to push my father up the hill in his wheelchair. One time while doing this I stepped on a live scorpion with my foot. When I stepped on it I had sneakers on and it was crushed. Once again God spared me. Near our apartment there was a park that I used to go to. There was a small boy about seven or eight years old I met who had the same birthday as me. On my thirteenth birthday I went to the park to play and this boy walked right up to me and smashed me in the forehead with a big rock. I dragged him to his house with blood all over me. To this day I don't know why he did it.
I had some other friends who lived a little way from us. One night I was supposed to stay at their house. Before I left that night my father asked me to make him some soup because he was sick, and I said no because I was in a hurry to go to my friends house. He also asked me to make him some tea and again I said no, and I left. The next day the police came to my friend’s house to get me. I thought that I was in trouble for something. They didn't tell me why or where they were taking me. They brought me to the hospital where my father was dying from double pneumonia. The last time I saw him alive he had all kinds of tubes sticking out of him. He died May 28, 1971. At the time I didn’t feel remorse or anything, I didn’t really care. I wanted them to leave me by myself and let me live on my own. I was already doing the shopping, banking, cleaning, and cooking, and getting good grades, so why couldn't they just leave me alone. Of course, they weren’t allowed to do that. My brother came down from New York to take custody of me which I didn't like either. I wanted to go live with my half-sister in Indiana. In New York it was my brother his wife and me and Freddy. Freddy was the one who really took care of me. He cooked for us and he used to buy things for me. Usually if I slept with him he would be nicer to me. Part of me felt disgusted about what I was doing but I was already bound by lust. I had started looking at pornography when I was about eleven or twelve. I used to just fantasize that I was with some beautiful woman. I used to feel so ashamed to be with him in public because he looked effeminate and I was afraid that people would think that I was gay. When I was about fifteen one day a friend and I were playing rummy 5000 in my bedroom when we heard a gunshot and then my brother calling my name. I ran into his room and he was lying on the couch clutching his stomach. First I picked up the gun and moved it away from him, because I figured that if he was crazy enough to shoot himself he was crazy enough to shoot me. Next I called the police and they came and took him to the hospital, and then took me to some home for boys in Brooklyn. I remember being in the back of the police car that night not knowing if my brother was going to live. I remember seeing a huge waterbug crossing the street while we were waiting for a light. It was a very creepy night. I hated the place they took me to. It reminded me of a boys home I spent a summer at in West Virginia. I remember it being very crowded and loud and lonely. I was determined to get out of there. The next morning we were supposed to go outside for some kind of trip and I had planned to bolt away the first chance I had. As we were walking out the door of the building I saw Tommy's parents walking into the building. They had gotten legal custody of me and came to get me. My brother lived and it wasn't long before things were sort of back to normal. My brother told me later that he wasn't trying to kill himself; he was trying to make his wife feel sorry for him so she would come back. Once again I felt like it was kind of my fault. It's one thing for a couple in their twenties to have a baby, but another thing to get a full grown brat. At least that’s the way I saw it.
By William A. Cotton