students from the ninth grade presented to the audience. They took a pause for a few minutes, and then announced the winners who would attend the formal presentation at the Optimist Oratorical Society. I was one of the two winners selected to represent the school. I was stunned. This was the first time I had won anything at school in my entire life. Mom was more excited than I had ever seen her, almost jumping around, and she took me out to dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant, Salvatore’s, to celebrate. This was certainly a lot bigger event than I expected and, down deep, its results were earth shaking for me. There was actually one thing I could do better than my classmates could, and it was public speaking.
Going on to the real presentation at the Optimist Oratorical Society was also fun but nowhere near the thrill of what had I learned when making the presentation in the auditorium. We all walked away with little trophies from the final presentation and, according to the Optimist Oratorical Society, we were all winners. However, I feel like I was the biggest winner of all because I got a small but brief glimpse of the highly competitive world that I was preparing to enter. Speaking before that group did not have to do anything with how tall, attractive, or tough I was, it had to do with how hard I worked, trained and spoke plus my surprising newfound courage in participating and winning. I did not know it at that time, but this event changed my attitude toward life forever, thanks to Sister Mary Elizabeth and Sister Helen.
Well, all good things must end and, before I knew it, I was back in my normal world of unpleasantness and violence.
Chapter III – Thirteen, the worst year of life
It is January and I am 13 years old. I am getting older but I am still the shortest and smallest boy in my class, as well as shorter than most of the boys in the lower class. I am not getting any taller, but there are things changing in my body and I do not know why I have so many overwhelming physical and emotional feelings. I thought things were going to get better as I got older; instead, they seem to be getting worse. I have this constant ache and warm glow in the middle of me and, as usual, my penis gets stiff all the time. Then there is that desire deep inside of me, for something having to do with females. In addition to the ache, I still have that awful pain that I wake up with every morning that goes from the middle of my thighs to the middle of my chest. I know that pain is from the fear of what I have to face that day in bullying, violence and more pain. Maybe it would be better if I just did not wake up. Life is uncertain, scary and pure torture.
Now it is just another morning, I have to get through another day until about four o'clock. If I do not have to stay after school, I will be working out in the basement, doing my paper route, then have dinner and finally be home safe, for the evening. The thought of walking out the front door of my house and immediately having to confront Rick, Donald or any number of the people that want to punch me, hurt me and call me names is frightening. It seems that death would be preferable to having to face all this pain and fear.
After what happened to my father, I definitely will not kill myself, as he did. I am determined that I will make things work somehow because I will do whatever I have to, no matter what it costs me. In spite of my determination to have a real life someday, I still have that familiar feeling that I do not have long to live. If I just go by what I am experiencing right now, a life full of fear, intimidation, preaching, people grabbing me, people yelling at me, punching me, pushing me, bumping me in the hallways, and hating me, I do not want to continue to live. However, I have another smaller feeling deep down that, life can be whatever I make it to be. I just have to make it happen, as my father could have, in spite of his personal pain.
Well, if I do not
Going on to the real presentation at the Optimist Oratorical Society was also fun but nowhere near the thrill of what had I learned when making the presentation in the auditorium. We all walked away with little trophies from the final presentation and, according to the Optimist Oratorical Society, we were all winners. However, I feel like I was the biggest winner of all because I got a small but brief glimpse of the highly competitive world that I was preparing to enter. Speaking before that group did not have to do anything with how tall, attractive, or tough I was, it had to do with how hard I worked, trained and spoke plus my surprising newfound courage in participating and winning. I did not know it at that time, but this event changed my attitude toward life forever, thanks to Sister Mary Elizabeth and Sister Helen.
Well, all good things must end and, before I knew it, I was back in my normal world of unpleasantness and violence.
Chapter III – Thirteen, the worst year of life
It is January and I am 13 years old. I am getting older but I am still the shortest and smallest boy in my class, as well as shorter than most of the boys in the lower class. I am not getting any taller, but there are things changing in my body and I do not know why I have so many overwhelming physical and emotional feelings. I thought things were going to get better as I got older; instead, they seem to be getting worse. I have this constant ache and warm glow in the middle of me and, as usual, my penis gets stiff all the time. Then there is that desire deep inside of me, for something having to do with females. In addition to the ache, I still have that awful pain that I wake up with every morning that goes from the middle of my thighs to the middle of my chest. I know that pain is from the fear of what I have to face that day in bullying, violence and more pain. Maybe it would be better if I just did not wake up. Life is uncertain, scary and pure torture.
Now it is just another morning, I have to get through another day until about four o'clock. If I do not have to stay after school, I will be working out in the basement, doing my paper route, then have dinner and finally be home safe, for the evening. The thought of walking out the front door of my house and immediately having to confront Rick, Donald or any number of the people that want to punch me, hurt me and call me names is frightening. It seems that death would be preferable to having to face all this pain and fear.
After what happened to my father, I definitely will not kill myself, as he did. I am determined that I will make things work somehow because I will do whatever I have to, no matter what it costs me. In spite of my determination to have a real life someday, I still have that familiar feeling that I do not have long to live. If I just go by what I am experiencing right now, a life full of fear, intimidation, preaching, people grabbing me, people yelling at me, punching me, pushing me, bumping me in the hallways, and hating me, I do not want to continue to live. However, I have another smaller feeling deep down that, life can be whatever I make it to be. I just have to make it happen, as my father could have, in spite of his personal pain.
Well, if I do not
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