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From living nightmares ,to dreaming in real life (part 1) by Mr.Tod A.Parker For a long time I was afraid to dream . Dreaming meant going to sleep. Sleep meant there was a chance I d be awaken to the abusive shouting of the step man ,or if I did fall asleep he would appear in the nightmare and wreak havoc there. And as if that werent already enough , countless times Id awake from theses dreams only to have the step man re-enact it No wonder I was the only kid that liked school. It was school where I found my escape from the abuse. Not talking about it ,but engrossing myself in books .Mostly fiction at the time. The words on the pages would just come to life and fill my mind with images of people laughing and going out . Simple things like playing in the park or speaking were strictly forbidden at home and the penalty was rather severe. I would always be drawn t o books that told stories of the wrongly accused, loners, drifters, innocent outsiders who were dealt a bad hand but still persevered. These stories became inspiration. The people in those stories were my heroes. I looked up to them and wanted to be like them . In fact I would dream of the day would come where I would be able to escape the prison of my abuser and do the simple thingslike have friendsgo to the park . But for now books would do .It was the only link I had to the outside world. It was just enough to teach me to imagine what life was like if those words jumped off the pageNow if I could only be that person who was living that life..And I would drift off to sleep..and dream It was in the dreams that I began to live. You see I guess somewhere along the way my mind set up a self defense mechanism to protect me from the abusive horror I was surrounded by. It was just enough to keep me from becoming the worst kid possible .I never had a single run in with the law. I always was respectful to my elders. Never spoke back. I hardly knew I had a voice I really was a good son.( Or at least step son) And an excellent servant .I was trained to do regular house chores at around age 6 . My daily chores included cleaning the small apt that we lived in .I wasnt allowed to go outside, so I hardly knew what it looked like until the step man would drive us somewhere .Upon our return It was back to stand in the corner for me where I would stay for hour and hours on e nd. I had no knowledge of a sense of time or day of the week except for what I may have caught Walter Cronkite mention while I was forced to stay in that corner. PINK HOUSE WITH A WHITE PICKET FENCE

It was around the mid 70s that I found out there was an outside. I really had been locked in the house for along long time. So when we moved and I went to a diff erent school I had to walk. Wow I could see the trees and sky , people. These simple things that are taken for granted were so precious because remember, I had only read about the blue sky or the trees. I would dream of some distant place and time place where there was no step man But that seemed impossible. I had to wait on him and his children hand and foot because by now I was nothing more than a well trained servant .As I became older(11) my resp onsibilities grew We were in a bigger house So I had more chores to do Feed water and clean up the dogs Clean ,dust vacum , bathrooms and clip the overgrown grass every weekend with the hand-held grass clippers. As well as tend to his other children . Sometimes I would get so upset seeing the step man pick them up from school and drive past me in the inclement weather while I had to walk . By the time got home from school I was so frozen , but I had to immediately start my chores and homework. The step man kept me so busy w ith housework and being at his beck and call till 3am,that I never completed my homework The teachers thought it was suspicious .I couldnt tell them that the step man k ept me from doing it No interaction with people meant no library. So often I would get an assignment which called for research in the library but the step man ref used permission. So I would get an F. This enraged the step man. Through no fault of my Id created a situation where he would hi t me . Hard. Several times. Knocking me to the floor where I would cowl in fear trying to get away only to h ave the belt buckle sting as it hit me across the ear. Then reaching his hands around my throat , I remember what fear and terror combined with helpless ness a nd despair was ,knowing that the very next thing he would do would be to punch me in the face..Then darkness. By the time I opened my eyes and I was forced to return to the room. A few momen ts later he would call me again and have me clean the blood off the buckle and c arpet and continue with my chores . I would look at the scars on my neck and try to figure how I would hide them. T he welts on my back from the belt would surely raise suspicion when I had to cha nge for gym. The suspicions would raise questions. Questions would lead to inves tigations. Upon my being questioned about my bruises I shut down. I knew that i f I told, the step man would kill me. I believed him. The school LABELED at it a s me being defiant. I knew better than to tell what horrors I was living with if I wanted to survive. These were not dreams . These were living nightmares. This is what kind of world I lived in for 18 years.

I had to learn how to dream of day where I wouldnt have to stay in a locked room or be someone elses servant . I had to dream of the day where I wouldnt be on t he receiving end of his fist, belt ,open hand across the face or any other obje ct he could find to inflict pain. So I dreamed of the lives of the people in books that I had to sneak in to read . To be continued. Related articles Welcome to my dream . (todtv1.wordpress.com)