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Man in a Box
When I was about 6 years old, I witnessed an event.
It was a Christmas Eve and we were window-shopping which is a popular term we use in the Caribbean for shopping without money. My big sister who was 10, my brother 8, and my younger sister 5, all stood with amazement watching the events as they unfolded.
It was around 6 pm, when a group of about 8 teenage boys decided to play a terrible prank on one boy. They seemed like they were buddies at first, but what they did to him was a sharp contrast to what friends do to each other. They threw a card board box over him. The box was big enough to hold a 32 inch TV. When he was fully covered, they kicked him around. I heard his screams as the box inched closer and closer to a ditch. With one final kick, he fell into a ditch. He emerged in tears as they walked away in laughter.
To this day I remember the event clearly. I watched that young-man grow up to become a waiter. He was a respectable man. He is no longer the man in the box.
As I reflected on his life, I realized that witnessing the event, I had become the man in the box. I was trapped at age 6 trying to make sense of an event I had no control over. My own life circumstances were like a series of boxes in which I yearned to escape.
In one box was the rat and cockroach infested one bed apartment we were living in. There were gaping holes in the concrete foundation and the building leaned to the left. We were 3 months behind on the rent and facing eviction.
In another box was domestic violence as my mom struggled in her relationship with an alcoholic boyfriend. He had another girlfriend who on several nights forced her way into our apartment and shattered the light bulb with a broomstick before turning it on my mom.
Yet another box was waking each morning and heading to school without a proper breakfast. Some day’s breakfast was a glass of sugar water. When we did have powdered milk, it was considered a full breakfast.
Today as I face the onslaught of new boxes, I feel more equipped to handle the challenges of living in a box. My box is a sanctuary of prayers. In it I transform from the image of a man falling from a cliff to a man dancing on the edge of the cliff while inhaling the refreshing mountain air.
In our greatest life challenges, we can find peace hidden somewhere in the pinnacles of our thoughts, or we can embrace defeat buried in the rubbles of our imagination.
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Thank you so much. |
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Powerful story and wonderful conclusion...have a very blessed weekend! |
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Thank you very much. You have a wonderful weekend also. |
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'we were window-shopping which is a popular term we use in the Caribbean for shopping without money.' We used the same expression in the Bronx!!! :O) As a gay teenager in the Bronx I was determined that what happened to other gay kids wasn't going to happen to me--and being put in a box and kicked into a ditch was mild compared to what happened there--I have spent the rest of my life stopping it from happeneing to other kids. Though we weren't hungry for food or material things in our upper middle class home we were starved for affection, attention, recognition--from that background and the events of my teens I grew concerned for and about others and found peace that way. It's within everyone's grasp only if they would reach for it. |
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You are such a wonderful inspiration to the world. Keeping standing in the path and in the fight for justice. |
That must have been so hard, growing up in that environment. I've read this 3 times and it is impressive. We never know what event will make an imprint on a small child and be carried throughout their life. I hope you only find strength and peace, hope and lots of happiness in your present and future boxes. Great post writer!