Into the Darkness You Shine

I was born on October 2, 1984 at Cleveland Memorial Hospital, in a very small town called Shelby, N.C. My mother, Sylvia, was eighteen years old when she had me. But she had my older brother at the age of sixteen. My mother had me and my older brother out of wedlock, but she and my father, Larry, got married before my other two brothers came along. In her teenage years, she was a track runner, and from what I understand good-looking, too. My father ran track and played softball. They were high school sweethearts and nothing could break them apart. We lived in a very small house with its share of leaks, bugs, and memories. A family of six; living in a house that only had two bedrooms, one bath, and one living room. Going to school for me was unpleasant because we didn’t have the better quality things like the other children had. I often think back to a day in my first grade class when my teacher asked a question: “Class, where did everyone go for the summer?” I was flabbergasted because I knew I and my family did not go anywhere over the summer. Moreover, we did not have any money to go anywhere. So, as the other classmates answered, I just listened. “I went to Disney World.” What about you Sam? “I went to the beach.” What about you Chris? “I went to New York.” My heart was beating faster and faster as it approached my turn. Honestly, I probably was on the verge of a heart attack. Finally, the teacher spoke up “What about you Curtis?” Mm… “I went to Florida.” The next day the teacher came up to me with a puzzled face, “Curtis, why did you lie to me, for I asked your brother and he said you and your family did not go anywhere.” At that moment, I felt so sick to my stomach. But what else was I supposed to do? I was tired of getting picked at in school by the other kids. I just wanted to be normal like the other kids. That was a long bus ride home that day. At home I found myself trapped inside of a daydream about going on vacation as a family: my father chasing me along the beach; my mother laughing with joy from seeing her three sons (at the time) playing in the sand. Also, I wondered was this the life my mother wanted? I mean, she was a beautiful teenager, with dreams of her own. Maybe she wanted to be a model or a track star. But she found herself at home with three children. From that thought I wondered what my father could have become if he didn’t have children. I bet that he wanted to be a professional softball player or a track star. But, along with my mother his dreams were shattered, and he found himself working in a textile mill from the age of sixteen. Daydreaming was something I did very well, and I still catch myself doing it from time to time. There was not much to do at home, but we did have a basketball rim hanging on a tree, so my brothers and I played basketball to pass the time until dad got home or until it got dark. Other than the fact that we didn’t have much, I would consider my family normal. My mother was a typical mother: cooking, cleaning, and taking care of me and my brothers. My father was a typical father: work, work, and work to take care of the bills. But then, one day I got off the bus, and everything changed. High School Sweethearts Changed Overnight As I ran down the hill to tell my mother about my school day, I heard fussing from a mile away. I thought “this could not be my mother and father fussing.” As I approached the porch, I heard voices escalating to the point to where the neighbors could hear them fussing from their house. I opened the door, hoping that it was not my parents, but there they were fussing and fighting. At that moment I did not know what to do, so I pleaded, “Stop… stop… stop… please stop.” My father rushed out the door angrily and my mother rested on the couch with a depressed, scared, embarrassed face, because her children just saw their parents fighting and fussing. Afterwards, I went to my room and wondered if it was my and my brother’s fault that our parents were fighting? I mean to have to give up your dreams and to have to sacrifice so much to supply for children is not stress-free. After a few days, everything went back to normal, but as time passed, I noticed that my parents started to drink. Or maybe they had been drinking all along and I was just too young or too blind to notice it. It was the beginning of the third grade and my family started to decline from a normal family to a dysfunctional one. My parents' fights went from rare to regular and from regular to abusive. Therefore, my respect and love for my father turned into hate and anger. As a result of my daydreaming, my grades dropped. I would go to school and daydream about a new family that didn’t fuss and fight all the time. No longer did I want to go home to the family I had known from birth. In school, I found myself wanting to tell the counselor what was really going on at home. But every time I would find myself mere steps away from the counselor’s office, I would turn around, despite my desperate need for her help. I could not do it because my father would probably get angrier than he already was. So I just put on a fake smile day after day at school. But, deep inside, I was hurting. In time, we eventually became a family of six. It was a joyous moment to have a new brother to enter into the world! As I was watching my mother tend to her new baby boy, I could not help but see this picture that hung on the wall in the living room of a man kneeling down on a rock praying. We did not go to church, so I did not know much about praying. But, if prayer could help my family, I was desperate to learn. So, I asked my mother one day, “Who is this man kneeling down on this enormous rock praying?” “Jesus Christ.” She began to tell me a little about Him. “Jesus Christ died for you and He loves you.” “If you are in trouble, pray to Him and He will help you get out of your troubles.” From that moment, I knew who to pray to in the time of trouble. My prayer My mother told me that I could pray to you, and you would change our situation. I look at your picture everyday as I come in and out of the house. Also, she told me that you died for me and you would rescue me from my sins. My mother and father fight a lot and it’s getting dangerous. The other night I had to run out of the house, and use the neighbor’s phone because my mother was hurt. Jesus, if you are real, can you help me and my family? Thank you, Curtis Although I could not see Jesus in person, I wanted to learn more about Him. Therefore, every time a Bible movie would come on television my mother would let me know, especially, “King of Kings.” I would look forward to Easter just because I knew “King of Kings” was coming on television. Although I thought my prayers would stop the fighting, they didn’t and the fights escalated; bringing scars and bruises on my mother. Visually, I remember my mother having bruises on her back and her face from where my father would beat her. One night as he went into his rage, my mother ran in the kitchen and grabbed a knife to kill my father. I can still picture that knife in my head; it was seven inches long with a gray handle. When my mother came back in the living room with the knife, my father grabbed her and wrestled her down to the couch. I pleaded once again “stop it, stop it, stop it.” But my mother was persistent and wanted to put an end to the abusive relationship. My words did not mean much to her that night. While they were fighting, I grabbed the knife out of my mother’s hand and pleaded once again, “Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop...”