Chapter 7
The thud of the ball pounding the core of my mitt again roused me from a private oasis of thought. Quickly looking up, my face must have reeked with startled Surprise. Tanners last hurl had buried itself dead center in my glove. His bursting smile and shocked façade let me know I was not the only one taken by Surprise. Tanners large blue eyes abruptly dilated and a massive grin took residency on his face. His obvious delight melted me and I Struggle mightily to retain my leaking tears. This type of excited beaming rarely appeared and recently seemed to have dwindled in its brightness.
Those who sadistically tormented and dehumanized him stole it away. Their repeated spastic replications and teasing prosecutions dashed the delightful beam.
Recently several sons of our local religious leaders hypocritically joined the jeering infestation.
It was one of those perfect spring days. The type that begins to forgive winter for its icy harshness and gives hope that summer will actually return in all its radiant glory.
With the promise of balmy days ahead I began pulling a few weeds which had made their unwelcome appearance. Tanner had re-inflated a warn and weathered basketball and began to lazily dribble around the driveway. From the side yard where I labored I could hear the steady thump, thump, thump of the ball. Abruptly the echoing thud of the rubber ball hitting the pavement ceased. It was replaced by a forced grunt. I knew the sound well, it was Tanners distress signal. Its Like hearing the eerie scream of an emergency apparatus. Your not sure where its headed but you know trouble lies ahead.
Tanners verbal agitations had me gawking around the corner looking for source of his stress. My searching eyes found him Standing at the driveways end. He was absolutely still except for his arm which twitched and repeatedly ticked downward. He tried to speak but his tongue was hopelessly knotted. It mixed and mashed the flaccid tones of coherent speech. Sinfully turning his forced words into garbled grunts.
The mounting intensity of his spastic thrusts and garbled groans had my own alarm bells going off. Abandoning my chore I moved closer scanning his surroundings as I approached. Following his fixed stare past the drive and across the street I located his snickering agitators. The troublesome trio of troublemakers had me reeling with astonishment. Perplexed and caught unaware I could not decide whether to cry or screech. I was totally unprepared for the nauseating sight my eyes beheld.
On sidewalk opposite tanner three familiar figures stood. I knew them instantly, they were former friends of tanners. Soon After the dastardly beast captured my son they abruptly abandoned him. Now fifteen feet from their former playmate they maliciously mocked and spurned him. Each jubilantly plunging his arm downward as he mimicked tanners hijacked speech.
The wretched and appalling scene quickly ended as the boys became aware of my presence. Rising consternation must have shown upon my reddening face. For as I walked toward the cowardly crew they scattered like frightened rabbits. Watching them scurry away I thought of their families. Sadly I knew each of their parents, some intimately. I could not fathom how behavior such as this could exist. without first having its foundation formed within the protective walls of their homes. My mind burned with confusion, I knew of the religious inclinations of their fathers and mothers. Regrettably two of the fathers served as leaders in our local congregation. Despite growing resentment , I desperately tried to maintain my teetering Faith.
Hearing Tanner speak my name the gusting angst began to resign and was replaced by insufferable anguish. I struggled to turn around and face my wounded son. My heart had been brutally abused. I did not want him to know of the personal hell that now consumed me. For I also knew that to him this type of sarcastic savagery was normal, mundane and altogether typical.
Within the silence of my hemorrhaging thoughts I cried out. Pleading for an answer I ask, why are we like this ? why do we persecute the weak ? why do we lack empathy for the downtrodden? Why do we not suffer with the suffering ? Within the intolerable darkness of my agonized thoughts my faith further dimmed.
Being Personally acquainted and knowing each boy by name had intensified the insult. As before I had not expected their pious upbringing to make them perfect. Nevertheless I had expected better things of them and found my self bitterly disappointed. Enclosing tanner within my arms, I determined to inform their parents. I hoped it would change their injurious course. Moreover, I also believed it an appropriate response to such mindless spiteful actions.
Retiring from the front yard spectacle I was still fuming. Opening the glass screen that shields the heavy wood door of our home I sought to curve my fuming wrath. Swinging the big door inward I breathed deeply while crossing the threshold and entering the house. Clopping across the wood floor of the entry I moved into the kitchen and sought and found the phone. Feeling perfectly justified in my ire I then contacted their Fathers with the intent of setting up a private meeting. Like the sons, I knew them well and soon had personally called each of them. Rapidly responding to my pleadings, I received a promise for a future hearing on the matter.
Arriving at the previously agreed upon date and time I was escorted to a small office tucked neatly into a corner of the spacious church building. The cozy quarters held a few chairs a desk and a small file cabinet. After cordial greetings parlayed by a firm hand shake the aforementioned men motioned for me to be seated. After Crossing my left leg over the right I loosely folded my arms. As their stare weighed heavily upon me I was given full opportunity to bring forth my grievances. Fighting back my surfacing emotions I regurgitated the chilling detail. Parlaying unto them the spastic replications and verbal taunting committed by their boys.
Initially I was greatly encouraged by their agreeable lip service. Eagerly they spoke, convincing me that the issue would receive their do diligence. Solemnly they Promised after thoroughly exploring the tawdry accusations a follow-up meeting would be forthcoming.
Regrettably my encouragement was premature and bitterly short lived. soon it was replaced by tremendous Discouragement. After several days I Received a phone call concerning their deliberations. During that short conversation a second meeting was scheduled.
Arriving a few minutes early I waited in the long hall just outside the office. Looking out Thru the glass doors from which I had entered I noticed large black clouds forming in the distance. Their ominous presence told of a gathering storm. Little did I know the same hostile environment awaited behind the offices mahogany door. After a few minutes the wooden door slowly creaked open. the same welcoming hands as before firmly shook mine. The group seemed somewhat unorganized and an uneasy feeling swept over me. During what appeared to be a rather hastily put together conference they began expressing tremendous sympathy for Tanner and our family. In the same breath, they expounded enthusiastic support for my aforementioned concerns. Feeling somewhat comforted by their verbal massaging I began to relax. Then In what appeared to be a complete and staggering reversal they suggested tanner needed serious mental heath counseling. The suggestion immediately galled me. Even if it were true it failed to resolve the weightier matter at hand. There was no mention in their stinging words of their own children’s obtrusive behavior. Nor the feeblest attempt to mend the fences of shame they held in my mind. The resulting despair has been such that now only by motions do I attend their church meetings.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Chapter 6
Chapter 5
In little league baseball the individual teams are named after professional baseball clubs. This year Tanners team is the Red Sox after New England’s Boston red sox.
The coach of the team is John Pettis. John is a longtime friend, He and his family once lived in the neighborhood. When they moved across town it left a vacuum that was never refilled. Always maxing out on life he constantly involves himself in various forms of activity. Being a habitual doer and giver he Selflessly volunteers his precious time and talents to numberless community causes.
John Is one of those rare people who naturally gravitate people toward him. Enthusiastic, purposely positive and ultra dependable, in a time of moral murkiness John is a beacon of hope.
About 6 ft tall with a slim athletic build his rugged chin and wire rim glasses perfectly frame a infectious grin. Five years ago John and I enlisted into the local volunteer fire department. Joining the department together we developed a fraternal bond that quickly extended beyond fire and rescue.
As a baseball coach John truly excels, Each practice and game he devotedly treats the boy’s as he would his own. His loving encouragement combined with an intimate knowledge of baseball created the perfect atmosphere for learning. With this marriage of encouragement and experience he helped the boys quickly grasp the basics of Americas past time.
John is also part of the local little league organizational board. In that pungent den of mangy malcontents John saved Tanner from the ravenous wolves of baseball hell.
At the beginning of each virgin season the board meet to elect new officers and recruit qualified and willing coaches. Once this preliminary chore was completed a try out date for the eager youngsters was agreed upon.
When the big day arrived Tanner began to wither. I could see it in his disposition as he nervously gaited from the car to the practice field.
Watching him I wished to God that I could take his place. That It was me being constantly bombarded with not so silent whisperings. That the stabbing words from hateful tongues and thoughtless lips would pierce my heart not his.
Yet once again I was completely helpless. Assigned the back seat as he drives through life solo, the most I could do now was watch and pray.
Pausing momentarily Tanner turned his head in my direction. I am unsure if he sought fortifying reassurance of himself or to assure my frazzled nerves. Nevertheless finding my eyes the corners of his mouth turned up and my soul was buoyed.
Realigning his glance toward the field, he scrambled off joining the swelling mass of wide eyed young men. I chuckled to myself as I watched the gathering swarm, each boy purposely Strutting his stuff as he warmed up. Occasionally vainly Gawking over their shoulders to see if they had caught the gaze of a clip board toting coaches.
Leaving the car I secluded myself within the shade of a towering elm. Leaning against the aging giant i watched as John huddled with the other coaches. Then breaking their conference they proceeded to test the skill of each boy by putting them through a series of basic baseball maneuvers.
Though they tried unsuccessfully to mask their glee it was evident the coaches secretly marveled at the athletic prowess of a few gifted youngsters. Then sorting through the remaining boys like a pan hander sifting river sand for gold they jotted notes and graded each boys performance.
When the last fast ball slapped leather, pop fly was corralled and line drive thudded into afternoon shadows the boys trudged off from whence they came. Each I am sure, innocently carrying with them secret dreams of stardom.
The coaches, heads in their clip boards carefully reviewed the marks they placed next to the names of each boy. To me it seemed they were Cleverly attempting to turn simple school yard pick-me into some sort of algebraic equation.
Tanner hindered by the omni-present beast Had performed each skill awkwardly yet in my mind adequately. However, In the end found himself languishing on the bottom of each coaches wish list.
Trudging off the field he quietly slipped into the passenger seat of the car. Having retreated before him now I studied his withdrawn domineer. He was very subdued, gone was the encouraging smile and hopeful veneer, Replaced by heavy silence I was not sure what it meant.
After several days I received a phone call from John. His tone was low and uncharacteristically jaded. After a protracted pause he began to erupt releasing his thoughts like air from a overfilled balloon.
His words stung as they hissed into my ears. It was hard to believe they could actually be true. But the rising elevation of his speech squashed any real doubt.
Apparently the aspirating tutors (coaches) and the organizational board had met earlier that afternoon. It all began with a friendly hand shake and polite greeting. After tenuous evaluating and prioritizing they commenced drafting of boys to their teams. It was unanimously agreed that each coach would begin by choosing one player. Once this initial pick was completed the process would repeat itself until all the boys had been drafted.
John explained that the first boys chosen were those thought truly special. who’s exceptional athletic ability seemed to exceed their childish years. Among the coaches, Their names were spoken with a sort of reverence befitting someone or something of greater stature. Civility quickly eroding and Perspective blurred as the draft proceeded into the next phase. With the names of the anointed few now off the table. The coaches carefully waded through the great sea of average. Soon that vast throng of young men was also depleted. Leaving one solitary boy, one scrap of paper with the letters T-A-N-N-E-R scribbled upon it. The last pick fell upon Mark Jackson, His face reddened as the eyes of the group fell on him.
The once lighthearted joking quickly subsided as Mark began questioning why he should be forced to draft tanner. His inquisitive banter continued as he probed Tanners abilities and inquired whether he should even be allowed to participate. These explosive incendiary words nearly incited a backyard brawl as Johns blood began to boil. Mark resumed his provocative comments suggesting he had some how been bamboozled. Remarking that the other coaches statically rigged the draft so Tanners lot would fall with him.
John’s raw emotions began to overtake him, The usually vibrant voice on the phone sputtered then grew quiet. I could feel the pain in his extended pause. I clearly recalled his fraught words but my mind refused to believe them. Like steely knives each one gouged and tore until my soul was utterly shredded.
Clearing his throat John began where he had left off. Though disgusted and angry over the unexpected events that transpired John sought for reason among the group. Bordering on begging, he pleaded with the men to soften their hearts. None would, each man adamantly refused, rebuffing Johns efforts to resolve the impasse.
Sportsmanship at it worst was repulsively on display. In skirmishing over who would be forced to pick my son they inexplicably abandoned charity for something far less of value.
Cringing at the sickening display of immature bastards posing as men John’s fury could no longer be contained. Carefully scanning their hardened faces he lifted up from the chair. Face to face he Scathingly swore an oath before them. In his wrathful pledge he Promised Tanner, my brave boy who did nothing to these men. Despite the beast who relentlessly dogs him he sought Nothing, Nothing except a fiery desire to be like their own young sons. No conspiracy existed, no trickery had been contrived, he only wanted to play. To play baseball.
In his firm decree John vehemently vowed for long as he was able to coach. Tanner, regardless of his inequities would play for no team but his own.
John was silent again as was I. Though Personally offended to a degree I thought not possible, desperately I tried to understand. These men were not savages nor neophytes. They must know of the injurious nature of their remarks. Was it possible that in their egocentric way of thinking winning trumped humanity.
Wounds such as these heal eventually. The bitter pain eases and soon is forgotten. But the scar remains and serves as a reminder. A token of the trauma wrought upon my tender seed by a sadistic gathering of pitiless men.
In little league baseball the individual teams are named after professional baseball clubs. This year Tanners team is the Red Sox after New England’s Boston red sox.
The coach of the team is John Pettis. John is a longtime friend, He and his family once lived in the neighborhood. When they moved across town it left a vacuum that was never refilled. Always maxing out on life he constantly involves himself in various forms of activity. Being a habitual doer and giver he Selflessly volunteers his precious time and talents to numberless community causes.
John Is one of those rare people who naturally gravitate people toward him. Enthusiastic, purposely positive and ultra dependable, in a time of moral murkiness John is a beacon of hope.
About 6 ft tall with a slim athletic build his rugged chin and wire rim glasses perfectly frame a infectious grin. Five years ago John and I enlisted into the local volunteer fire department. Joining the department together we developed a fraternal bond that quickly extended beyond fire and rescue.
As a baseball coach John truly excels, Each practice and game he devotedly treats the boy’s as he would his own. His loving encouragement combined with an intimate knowledge of baseball created the perfect atmosphere for learning. With this marriage of encouragement and experience he helped the boys quickly grasp the basics of Americas past time.
John is also part of the local little league organizational board. In that pungent den of mangy malcontents John saved Tanner from the ravenous wolves of baseball hell.
At the beginning of each virgin season the board meet to elect new officers and recruit qualified and willing coaches. Once this preliminary chore was completed a try out date for the eager youngsters was agreed upon.
When the big day arrived Tanner began to wither. I could see it in his disposition as he nervously gaited from the car to the practice field.
Watching him I wished to God that I could take his place. That It was me being constantly bombarded with not so silent whisperings. That the stabbing words from hateful tongues and thoughtless lips would pierce my heart not his.
Yet once again I was completely helpless. Assigned the back seat as he drives through life solo, the most I could do now was watch and pray.
Pausing momentarily Tanner turned his head in my direction. I am unsure if he sought fortifying reassurance of himself or to assure my frazzled nerves. Nevertheless finding my eyes the corners of his mouth turned up and my soul was buoyed.
Realigning his glance toward the field, he scrambled off joining the swelling mass of wide eyed young men. I chuckled to myself as I watched the gathering swarm, each boy purposely Strutting his stuff as he warmed up. Occasionally vainly Gawking over their shoulders to see if they had caught the gaze of a clip board toting coaches.
Leaving the car I secluded myself within the shade of a towering elm. Leaning against the aging giant i watched as John huddled with the other coaches. Then breaking their conference they proceeded to test the skill of each boy by putting them through a series of basic baseball maneuvers.
Though they tried unsuccessfully to mask their glee it was evident the coaches secretly marveled at the athletic prowess of a few gifted youngsters. Then sorting through the remaining boys like a pan hander sifting river sand for gold they jotted notes and graded each boys performance.
When the last fast ball slapped leather, pop fly was corralled and line drive thudded into afternoon shadows the boys trudged off from whence they came. Each I am sure, innocently carrying with them secret dreams of stardom.
The coaches, heads in their clip boards carefully reviewed the marks they placed next to the names of each boy. To me it seemed they were Cleverly attempting to turn simple school yard pick-me into some sort of algebraic equation.
Tanner hindered by the omni-present beast Had performed each skill awkwardly yet in my mind adequately. However, In the end found himself languishing on the bottom of each coaches wish list.
Trudging off the field he quietly slipped into the passenger seat of the car. Having retreated before him now I studied his withdrawn domineer. He was very subdued, gone was the encouraging smile and hopeful veneer, Replaced by heavy silence I was not sure what it meant.
After several days I received a phone call from John. His tone was low and uncharacteristically jaded. After a protracted pause he began to erupt releasing his thoughts like air from a overfilled balloon.
His words stung as they hissed into my ears. It was hard to believe they could actually be true. But the rising elevation of his speech squashed any real doubt.
Apparently the aspirating tutors (coaches) and the organizational board had met earlier that afternoon. It all began with a friendly hand shake and polite greeting. After tenuous evaluating and prioritizing they commenced drafting of boys to their teams. It was unanimously agreed that each coach would begin by choosing one player. Once this initial pick was completed the process would repeat itself until all the boys had been drafted.
John explained that the first boys chosen were those thought truly special. who’s exceptional athletic ability seemed to exceed their childish years. Among the coaches, Their names were spoken with a sort of reverence befitting someone or something of greater stature. Civility quickly eroding and Perspective blurred as the draft proceeded into the next phase. With the names of the anointed few now off the table. The coaches carefully waded through the great sea of average. Soon that vast throng of young men was also depleted. Leaving one solitary boy, one scrap of paper with the letters T-A-N-N-E-R scribbled upon it. The last pick fell upon Mark Jackson, His face reddened as the eyes of the group fell on him.
The once lighthearted joking quickly subsided as Mark began questioning why he should be forced to draft tanner. His inquisitive banter continued as he probed Tanners abilities and inquired whether he should even be allowed to participate. These explosive incendiary words nearly incited a backyard brawl as Johns blood began to boil. Mark resumed his provocative comments suggesting he had some how been bamboozled. Remarking that the other coaches statically rigged the draft so Tanners lot would fall with him.
John’s raw emotions began to overtake him, The usually vibrant voice on the phone sputtered then grew quiet. I could feel the pain in his extended pause. I clearly recalled his fraught words but my mind refused to believe them. Like steely knives each one gouged and tore until my soul was utterly shredded.
Clearing his throat John began where he had left off. Though disgusted and angry over the unexpected events that transpired John sought for reason among the group. Bordering on begging, he pleaded with the men to soften their hearts. None would, each man adamantly refused, rebuffing Johns efforts to resolve the impasse.
Sportsmanship at it worst was repulsively on display. In skirmishing over who would be forced to pick my son they inexplicably abandoned charity for something far less of value.
Cringing at the sickening display of immature bastards posing as men John’s fury could no longer be contained. Carefully scanning their hardened faces he lifted up from the chair. Face to face he Scathingly swore an oath before them. In his wrathful pledge he Promised Tanner, my brave boy who did nothing to these men. Despite the beast who relentlessly dogs him he sought Nothing, Nothing except a fiery desire to be like their own young sons. No conspiracy existed, no trickery had been contrived, he only wanted to play. To play baseball.
In his firm decree John vehemently vowed for long as he was able to coach. Tanner, regardless of his inequities would play for no team but his own.
John was silent again as was I. Though Personally offended to a degree I thought not possible, desperately I tried to understand. These men were not savages nor neophytes. They must know of the injurious nature of their remarks. Was it possible that in their egocentric way of thinking winning trumped humanity.
Wounds such as these heal eventually. The bitter pain eases and soon is forgotten. But the scar remains and serves as a reminder. A token of the trauma wrought upon my tender seed by a sadistic gathering of pitiless men.
Chapter 5
Chapter 5
loading another hopeful pitch Tanner summoned me back from my wayward thoughts. His reddened eyes foretold of Increasingly Frustration. Unfortunately this served only to fuel the ravenous beast and his quaking worsened. And though his muscles fidgeted like a disobediently child his heart refused to succumb to the ogre. Drawing a cavernous breath and Tightly squeezing the ball, he reared back before jettisoned another wild tormented pitch.
Fighting back against the dejection creeping into my thoughts his determined look became a foul ball. With all my soul I wanted to believe in him, I wanted to imagine he could achieve. Yet, relentless trepidation over the possibility of a crushing failure froze my faith. Apprehensive and fearfully, I wonder what would happen if righteous dreams collapsed. Would his already battered confidence melt away from the scolding heat of failure and evaporate like dew when morning fades?
Wandering threw the weeds to recover another wayward throw I was stricken with grief over my dilemma. I reminisced of a simpler time when Tanner was very small. I keenly recall gently cuddling his fragile body. He seemed so untouchably pure, innocent of all earthly guile. In his radiant eyes, I swore I could see an unspoiled glimpse of eternity.
frequently I curiously lie on the floor with him while he busied in childish play. Becoming Very Inquisitive, I wanted to see the world from his level. Scampering here and there youthful exuberance permeated his every being. From my crouched vantage point it appeared to me that each member of his tiny body had its own agenda and In vain tried to separate itself from the whole. How quickly he slipped from childlike innocence into a bustling twelve year old. Bringing with it all the complexities, twist and turns of pre-adolescence.
And though with my eyes I beheld his physical features morphing still it seems like only yesterday I joyfully entertained myself watching him wrestle and race.
Kneeling back in the rusted dirt behind that tattered base an overwhelming parade of memories filled my mind and moistened my eyes.
Then as quickly as they had exploded flashing days of yesteryear into my thoughts They waned and faded like the last gleaming sparkle of fireworks on Independence Day, then they were gone.
It was times dirty dead, like a master thief working his craft he stole them away. In a twinkling , what seemed like a lifetime as I raised him became a small flash, a distant recollection, a fading blot in time.
How I now crave for the things I once feared, dirty diapers, skinned knees and chocolate face kisses. Along with the things I will always love, unexpected hugs, inquisitive talks, losing on purpose and hearing the word Daddy.
The bitter memories having taken their toll in my life now also began to wane. The good and the bad, the reckless and the exquisite all seem to have diminished. They Like my favorite pair of jeans are hopelessly faded by time. The distant echo of childish laughter is all that remains. Yet, Like the names my children etched into the wet cement on the front porch of our home. Those touching remembrances are forever engraved in the granite hall of my mind.
loading another hopeful pitch Tanner summoned me back from my wayward thoughts. His reddened eyes foretold of Increasingly Frustration. Unfortunately this served only to fuel the ravenous beast and his quaking worsened. And though his muscles fidgeted like a disobediently child his heart refused to succumb to the ogre. Drawing a cavernous breath and Tightly squeezing the ball, he reared back before jettisoned another wild tormented pitch.
Fighting back against the dejection creeping into my thoughts his determined look became a foul ball. With all my soul I wanted to believe in him, I wanted to imagine he could achieve. Yet, relentless trepidation over the possibility of a crushing failure froze my faith. Apprehensive and fearfully, I wonder what would happen if righteous dreams collapsed. Would his already battered confidence melt away from the scolding heat of failure and evaporate like dew when morning fades?
Wandering threw the weeds to recover another wayward throw I was stricken with grief over my dilemma. I reminisced of a simpler time when Tanner was very small. I keenly recall gently cuddling his fragile body. He seemed so untouchably pure, innocent of all earthly guile. In his radiant eyes, I swore I could see an unspoiled glimpse of eternity.
frequently I curiously lie on the floor with him while he busied in childish play. Becoming Very Inquisitive, I wanted to see the world from his level. Scampering here and there youthful exuberance permeated his every being. From my crouched vantage point it appeared to me that each member of his tiny body had its own agenda and In vain tried to separate itself from the whole. How quickly he slipped from childlike innocence into a bustling twelve year old. Bringing with it all the complexities, twist and turns of pre-adolescence.
And though with my eyes I beheld his physical features morphing still it seems like only yesterday I joyfully entertained myself watching him wrestle and race.
Kneeling back in the rusted dirt behind that tattered base an overwhelming parade of memories filled my mind and moistened my eyes.
Then as quickly as they had exploded flashing days of yesteryear into my thoughts They waned and faded like the last gleaming sparkle of fireworks on Independence Day, then they were gone.
It was times dirty dead, like a master thief working his craft he stole them away. In a twinkling , what seemed like a lifetime as I raised him became a small flash, a distant recollection, a fading blot in time.
How I now crave for the things I once feared, dirty diapers, skinned knees and chocolate face kisses. Along with the things I will always love, unexpected hugs, inquisitive talks, losing on purpose and hearing the word Daddy.
The bitter memories having taken their toll in my life now also began to wane. The good and the bad, the reckless and the exquisite all seem to have diminished. They Like my favorite pair of jeans are hopelessly faded by time. The distant echo of childish laughter is all that remains. Yet, Like the names my children etched into the wet cement on the front porch of our home. Those touching remembrances are forever engraved in the granite hall of my mind.
Chapter 4
Chapter 4
One crisp fall morning we occupied our normal seats in the back of the chapel in a brown brick church on sky mountain boulevard. Each Sunday as Tanners tourettes escalated we had progressively moved further to the rear of the building . Not out of embarrassment, but out of fear. The anxious gut wrenching fear that a flagrant misreading of his condition might result in a careless comment or worse.
Still as On previous Sabbath days I welcomed the opportunity to sit quietly with my family. My arm resting gently upon Carol shoulders, I reveled in the moment. Glancing down at my children I began surveying their faces. Taylor was serious as usual with a very proper demeanor. The three younger boys were inattentively squirming in their seats. Deep inside I wanted to squirm with them but instead halfheartedly hushed them. Next my wondering gaze fell upon Tanner. His face was crinkled up and he forcefully grunted as if he were struggling to perform some great task. His youthful body was tense and his arms trembled . His fingers and hands lay hidden beneath, he had literally sat on them to cover an obsessive physical tick. His eyes filled with tender tears as the unrelenting and misunderstood stares I had feared surrounded him on every side. Feeling Encapsulated and under siege an avalanche of despair be fell him. Frantically I slid into a empty chair by his side. There I Struggled to shovel Tanner free from the suffocating weight resting heavily upon him. Wrapping my loving arms around him, he quivered within my grasp. Kissing the top of his head, then gradually pulling him closer i sympathetically whispered into his ear. Hypocritically encouraging him to do what I could not, Ignore the misguided looks that now were escalating, raining upon him like fiery darts from hell.
If those painful stares were darts the harsh words that unexpectedly followed resembled an nuclear blast. They had spewed from the angry lips of an older man. Rising from his cushioned seat he now stood a few rows in front of our chosen perch. Presuming a flagrant failure of parental control he proceeded to vehemently lecture us. The venomous words he spoke were nearly as caustic as the sickening sputum propelled with them. Tanner humiliated beyond relief shrunk into his seat. The attention of most in the congregation now shown upon us. My wife could take no more, the cascading blizzard of criticism overcame her. Delicate Tears flowed and coursed down her flushing cheeks. Abruptly rising and clasping Tanners hand she made a hasty escape. The other children quickly followed carol and tanner in their pained migration.
Feeling abandoned by those within and without I Sat momentarily in the chapel. Staggered and stunned, unthinkable feelings of resentment began to grew. It was not that I expected church goers to be perfect. But ultimately I had expected more or hoped for it anyway. Now the unpleasant sensation seeping into my mind began to taint my thoughts. Discarded in a place where words like compassion , love and tolerance or often bantered about. For the first time I began to question if in reality that’s all they had been, And once spoken the words became worthless streams of vowel’s and consonants with no long term meaning attached.
Unfortunately for Tanner and I this was only the shadowy beginning of a cloud of unanticipated Disappointments. Soon a rising storm of acidic callousness and demeaning attitudes would develop. A frigid cold front of thinking moving in would deem Tanner useless and disposable. and in a violent down pour of guiltless hate would seek to wash him down life’s sewer. like discarded trash on a rain soaked ghetto street.
One crisp fall morning we occupied our normal seats in the back of the chapel in a brown brick church on sky mountain boulevard. Each Sunday as Tanners tourettes escalated we had progressively moved further to the rear of the building . Not out of embarrassment, but out of fear. The anxious gut wrenching fear that a flagrant misreading of his condition might result in a careless comment or worse.
Still as On previous Sabbath days I welcomed the opportunity to sit quietly with my family. My arm resting gently upon Carol shoulders, I reveled in the moment. Glancing down at my children I began surveying their faces. Taylor was serious as usual with a very proper demeanor. The three younger boys were inattentively squirming in their seats. Deep inside I wanted to squirm with them but instead halfheartedly hushed them. Next my wondering gaze fell upon Tanner. His face was crinkled up and he forcefully grunted as if he were struggling to perform some great task. His youthful body was tense and his arms trembled . His fingers and hands lay hidden beneath, he had literally sat on them to cover an obsessive physical tick. His eyes filled with tender tears as the unrelenting and misunderstood stares I had feared surrounded him on every side. Feeling Encapsulated and under siege an avalanche of despair be fell him. Frantically I slid into a empty chair by his side. There I Struggled to shovel Tanner free from the suffocating weight resting heavily upon him. Wrapping my loving arms around him, he quivered within my grasp. Kissing the top of his head, then gradually pulling him closer i sympathetically whispered into his ear. Hypocritically encouraging him to do what I could not, Ignore the misguided looks that now were escalating, raining upon him like fiery darts from hell.
If those painful stares were darts the harsh words that unexpectedly followed resembled an nuclear blast. They had spewed from the angry lips of an older man. Rising from his cushioned seat he now stood a few rows in front of our chosen perch. Presuming a flagrant failure of parental control he proceeded to vehemently lecture us. The venomous words he spoke were nearly as caustic as the sickening sputum propelled with them. Tanner humiliated beyond relief shrunk into his seat. The attention of most in the congregation now shown upon us. My wife could take no more, the cascading blizzard of criticism overcame her. Delicate Tears flowed and coursed down her flushing cheeks. Abruptly rising and clasping Tanners hand she made a hasty escape. The other children quickly followed carol and tanner in their pained migration.
Feeling abandoned by those within and without I Sat momentarily in the chapel. Staggered and stunned, unthinkable feelings of resentment began to grew. It was not that I expected church goers to be perfect. But ultimately I had expected more or hoped for it anyway. Now the unpleasant sensation seeping into my mind began to taint my thoughts. Discarded in a place where words like compassion , love and tolerance or often bantered about. For the first time I began to question if in reality that’s all they had been, And once spoken the words became worthless streams of vowel’s and consonants with no long term meaning attached.
Unfortunately for Tanner and I this was only the shadowy beginning of a cloud of unanticipated Disappointments. Soon a rising storm of acidic callousness and demeaning attitudes would develop. A frigid cold front of thinking moving in would deem Tanner useless and disposable. and in a violent down pour of guiltless hate would seek to wash him down life’s sewer. like discarded trash on a rain soaked ghetto street.
Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Tanner had always packed enormous expanses of restless energy. Which to us though exhausting had not seemed out of the ordinary. But After repeated consternation and scathing reports of behavioral deficiencies from his first grade teacher we were obliged to seek professional help.
Armed with what seemed like a ream of paperwork from the public school we trotted off to Tanners pediatrician. Soon much to our chagrin and the teachers seeming delight Tanner was diagnosed with ADHD (Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder). What followed was a regiment of pills and promises that to me seemed to aid the teacher more than my son.
Then last year, Tanner found himself unable to control sudden small out burst and spastic shakings. So subtle at first, Like the gradual decay of poorly kept teeth it had gone unnoticed. Then to make things worse His ADHD intensified slyly overshadowed this underlying condition. This unfortunately Caused His pediatrician to constantly misread and overlook the developing concern. In time I became Frustrated by the physicians predisposed inclinations and began searching for a second opinion. Two exasperating months later, we found ourselves wearily setting in a neurosurgeons office. Seeking answers, we had traveled to a university hospital four hundred miles from home. The polished steel chair in examination room was cold and unyieldingly. It offered little comfort as the doctor announced Tanner had Tourettes Syndrome.
Tourettes is a ravenous compulsive disorder that now affect almost every facet of his life. It robs him of many simple pleasures and joys a normal young man would enjoy. Its tentacle reach into every aspect of life. It encroaches upon his speech bringing awkward pauses and frequent stuttering between words. It constantly introduces new ticks, that flare up suddenly then disappear like an unexpected summer shower.
As a parent whenever unforeseen problems have arisen and my children have found themselves in need. Whether they were injured or in trouble my hand has always been there to relieve the pain.
However, Tanners chilling impulses often make it impossible for me to distinguish who is steering his ship. filled with unquenchable anguish I question whether his behavior is the result of his own doing or caused by an uncontrollable force. Often unable to decipher the root of the ill I am forced to the sidelines. There in unbearable silence I am constrained to breathlessly watch as an angry beast parents in my stead. I un-affectionately named Tourettes syndrome the beast because I cannot heal the hurt, solve the riddle or undo the damage it wrecks upon his fragile mind. Stricken with this indescribable torment, No word can properly express my torture. At times i find myself devastated and emotionally distraught over my inability to stop his tormenter. Desperately near eruption an unappeasable Guilt causes my aching spirit to heave.
And even though at times I catch a fleeting glimpse of rising promise still i wonder what will become of him.
As a father, it has been exasperating and difficult to watch the disorder change my son. One moment the beast has him Painfully Twisting. Seeming uncontrolled he turns thrashes and tears. His innocent eyes plead to me for freedom from the beast molesting his deeds. Then in an instant, he is calm as the surf, slowly rolling into shore. Only to chameleon once again becoming a tidal wave of muscular disagreement.
There was a day before the beast arose when life came much easier for Tanner. Though never a prince, he seemed very much like the other boys in the neighborhood. It all started with a annoying uncontrolled grunt. From out of the blue, it would arrive and no amount of effort on his part could contain the flare-up. In consequent hours, days and months since the beast arrived the disorder intensified. Burdened by inexplicable pain I have watched as Tanner practically smothered himself trying in vain to silence the demon.
In public, it is much worse as anxiety tends to increase the frequency and volume.
Tanner had always packed enormous expanses of restless energy. Which to us though exhausting had not seemed out of the ordinary. But After repeated consternation and scathing reports of behavioral deficiencies from his first grade teacher we were obliged to seek professional help.
Armed with what seemed like a ream of paperwork from the public school we trotted off to Tanners pediatrician. Soon much to our chagrin and the teachers seeming delight Tanner was diagnosed with ADHD (Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder). What followed was a regiment of pills and promises that to me seemed to aid the teacher more than my son.
Then last year, Tanner found himself unable to control sudden small out burst and spastic shakings. So subtle at first, Like the gradual decay of poorly kept teeth it had gone unnoticed. Then to make things worse His ADHD intensified slyly overshadowed this underlying condition. This unfortunately Caused His pediatrician to constantly misread and overlook the developing concern. In time I became Frustrated by the physicians predisposed inclinations and began searching for a second opinion. Two exasperating months later, we found ourselves wearily setting in a neurosurgeons office. Seeking answers, we had traveled to a university hospital four hundred miles from home. The polished steel chair in examination room was cold and unyieldingly. It offered little comfort as the doctor announced Tanner had Tourettes Syndrome.
Tourettes is a ravenous compulsive disorder that now affect almost every facet of his life. It robs him of many simple pleasures and joys a normal young man would enjoy. Its tentacle reach into every aspect of life. It encroaches upon his speech bringing awkward pauses and frequent stuttering between words. It constantly introduces new ticks, that flare up suddenly then disappear like an unexpected summer shower.
As a parent whenever unforeseen problems have arisen and my children have found themselves in need. Whether they were injured or in trouble my hand has always been there to relieve the pain.
However, Tanners chilling impulses often make it impossible for me to distinguish who is steering his ship. filled with unquenchable anguish I question whether his behavior is the result of his own doing or caused by an uncontrollable force. Often unable to decipher the root of the ill I am forced to the sidelines. There in unbearable silence I am constrained to breathlessly watch as an angry beast parents in my stead. I un-affectionately named Tourettes syndrome the beast because I cannot heal the hurt, solve the riddle or undo the damage it wrecks upon his fragile mind. Stricken with this indescribable torment, No word can properly express my torture. At times i find myself devastated and emotionally distraught over my inability to stop his tormenter. Desperately near eruption an unappeasable Guilt causes my aching spirit to heave.
And even though at times I catch a fleeting glimpse of rising promise still i wonder what will become of him.
As a father, it has been exasperating and difficult to watch the disorder change my son. One moment the beast has him Painfully Twisting. Seeming uncontrolled he turns thrashes and tears. His innocent eyes plead to me for freedom from the beast molesting his deeds. Then in an instant, he is calm as the surf, slowly rolling into shore. Only to chameleon once again becoming a tidal wave of muscular disagreement.
There was a day before the beast arose when life came much easier for Tanner. Though never a prince, he seemed very much like the other boys in the neighborhood. It all started with a annoying uncontrolled grunt. From out of the blue, it would arrive and no amount of effort on his part could contain the flare-up. In consequent hours, days and months since the beast arrived the disorder intensified. Burdened by inexplicable pain I have watched as Tanner practically smothered himself trying in vain to silence the demon.
In public, it is much worse as anxiety tends to increase the frequency and volume.
Chapter 2
Chapter 2
The street on which we lived took a winding path following a ridge directly above the historic Virgin river. It had the feeling of a country lane though neatly nestled within a hodgepodge of middle class houses and vacant lots. Between our humble two story salt box and next home on the street set one of those abandoned and forgotten weed filled lots. Each season after considerable nagging from my sons I endeavored to create a crude practice field on the unattended property.
And so as the fragrant aroma of blossoming springtime flora signaled the changing of seasons we gathered our equipment and made the ceremonial trip to the ragged field. First we humped up and smoothed out a small pile of dirt. Then after carefully surveying the brownish heap of sandy soil Tanner proudly dubbed it the pitchers mound. Next I carefully paced 40 steps along a gentle slope. Throwing down an old piece of whitish rubber I proclaimed it home plate.
Proudly Assailing the homemade mound Tanner stood with an illuminating smile. it amazed me how such a simple thing could make a boy break out into such a wide mouthed grin. Feeling the corners of my own mouth also beginning to turn up I realized how much his rising emotional state had effected my own. Quickly I snapped a
mental photograph, a memory to be used as a shield against future emotions not so jolly and pleasant.
Donning my glove i flexed the ridged leather pocket of the mitt and endeavored to work out the stiffness. Gently crouching behind the crude rubber plate I took my place as the designated catcher.
Studying my beaming son from my hunched position I marveled at how he had grown. I silently hoped he had sprouted on the inside as well as the out.
Winding himself like a overly tightened spring then quickly disentangling Tanner unleashed his fist offering of the fledgling season. With a Swoosh the ball tumbled from his fingertips then rocketed high over my out stretched glove. Watching the ball ricochet like a pinball threw the rocks and weeds I managed a settling smile. Quietly rising from my squatting stance I slowly strode after the baseball. Dodging prickly pear cactus and rag weed of every variety I located and retrieved the leather coated ball of twine. lightly tossing it back to Tanner I told him it might take awhile to shake off the rust. My age showed as I groaned and crouched back into a huddle stance only to abruptly Spring up once again. But, It was too late and I watched in vain as another left-handed fastball spiraled wildly high and wide. This time I Laughed as I stood, trying to dispel the obvious disappointed shown from his wrinkled brow.
At the tender age of 12 years Tanner stood a pudgy 5’ 2“ . Equipped with intense blue eyes and a very infectious grin he could warm even the coldest heart. The additional task of being the big brother to three such rambunctious siblings had been quite a challenge for him. Being the oldest can be a blessing or a curse and for him with six eyes eagerly watching , worshiping and repeating his every move it was a little of both. Thankfully Taylor happily sacrificed much to help lightening his burden. Today as always the boys scampered nearby occasionally pausing and intently peering as we practiced.
Distracted momentarily by their playful banter before training my sight back upon Tanner. I immediately Noticed that he had began to spastically jerk. my chuckling promptly faded and I resign from my ruminations.
The street on which we lived took a winding path following a ridge directly above the historic Virgin river. It had the feeling of a country lane though neatly nestled within a hodgepodge of middle class houses and vacant lots. Between our humble two story salt box and next home on the street set one of those abandoned and forgotten weed filled lots. Each season after considerable nagging from my sons I endeavored to create a crude practice field on the unattended property.
And so as the fragrant aroma of blossoming springtime flora signaled the changing of seasons we gathered our equipment and made the ceremonial trip to the ragged field. First we humped up and smoothed out a small pile of dirt. Then after carefully surveying the brownish heap of sandy soil Tanner proudly dubbed it the pitchers mound. Next I carefully paced 40 steps along a gentle slope. Throwing down an old piece of whitish rubber I proclaimed it home plate.
Proudly Assailing the homemade mound Tanner stood with an illuminating smile. it amazed me how such a simple thing could make a boy break out into such a wide mouthed grin. Feeling the corners of my own mouth also beginning to turn up I realized how much his rising emotional state had effected my own. Quickly I snapped a
mental photograph, a memory to be used as a shield against future emotions not so jolly and pleasant.
Donning my glove i flexed the ridged leather pocket of the mitt and endeavored to work out the stiffness. Gently crouching behind the crude rubber plate I took my place as the designated catcher.
Studying my beaming son from my hunched position I marveled at how he had grown. I silently hoped he had sprouted on the inside as well as the out.
Winding himself like a overly tightened spring then quickly disentangling Tanner unleashed his fist offering of the fledgling season. With a Swoosh the ball tumbled from his fingertips then rocketed high over my out stretched glove. Watching the ball ricochet like a pinball threw the rocks and weeds I managed a settling smile. Quietly rising from my squatting stance I slowly strode after the baseball. Dodging prickly pear cactus and rag weed of every variety I located and retrieved the leather coated ball of twine. lightly tossing it back to Tanner I told him it might take awhile to shake off the rust. My age showed as I groaned and crouched back into a huddle stance only to abruptly Spring up once again. But, It was too late and I watched in vain as another left-handed fastball spiraled wildly high and wide. This time I Laughed as I stood, trying to dispel the obvious disappointed shown from his wrinkled brow.
At the tender age of 12 years Tanner stood a pudgy 5’ 2“ . Equipped with intense blue eyes and a very infectious grin he could warm even the coldest heart. The additional task of being the big brother to three such rambunctious siblings had been quite a challenge for him. Being the oldest can be a blessing or a curse and for him with six eyes eagerly watching , worshiping and repeating his every move it was a little of both. Thankfully Taylor happily sacrificed much to help lightening his burden. Today as always the boys scampered nearby occasionally pausing and intently peering as we practiced.
Distracted momentarily by their playful banter before training my sight back upon Tanner. I immediately Noticed that he had began to spastically jerk. my chuckling promptly faded and I resign from my ruminations.
Chapter 1
TANNER
Chapter 1
In a small bustling Town located in southwestern Utah my wife Jean and I raised our five children. Four boys with one lone daughter became the nucleus around which our world revolved. The eldest son through bad luck or endowment from the creator inherited the title of big brother. Receiving my middle name as his own, Tanner DeVon Williams took his spot whether for good or bad as protector, teacher and exemplar. His gullible disciples Jordan , Justin and Jayden mere boys of 9,8 and 6 almost unwittingly had began morphing into their older brother. But the person who hung the moon for this family was sister Taylor. Like a mesmerizing desert sunset Taylor’s near embarrassment of allure, talent and brains have captivated us all.
It was late spring in red rock country and baseball fever began to peculate in the valley like a pot of boiling coffee. Dusty gloves, bats and balls began to immerge from smelly old equipment bags. Dismal seasons of yesteryear were forgotten and dreams of Yankees and pirates swirled in young boys skulls.
Tanner was not immune to the malaise spreading rapidly among his peers. He too, with grateful naivety looked forward to playing little league baseball this season. And not unlike most boys his age Tanner craved to become the pitcher. Because of course the Pitcher is the man. He is the focal point at every level of baseball. He like a heroic general controls the destiny of even the most hopeless army. How many grown men still hush themselves to sleep at night with the seductive vision of a heroic game winning strike out. How could I blame my son even with the immense challenges that dogged him, for wanting to live in the limelight of baseball heaven.
Even so my sympathetic heart often ached with compassion for my little man. I had thought I knew and understood his abilities and limitations and my only desire was to prolong his harmless aspirations. Soon enough I feared, reality with its cruel and cold hearted way would dash his innocent dream.
What transpired instead is a story so unexpected and miraculous that it could not be contained only within the minds of the few who by luck witnessed it. Such a stirring journey of a small boy who defied the odds and captured the hearts of a small town now begged to be told. Even as I take pen in hand and try to put emotional thoughts into sterile words I am choked and struggle to fight back tears. I hope this simple yet touching story will inspire others the way it has inspired me. Especially those who are left behind thought incapable of becoming average let alone great. Whose frailty or handicap are inevitably viewed as a tire shredding pot hole and not as merely a speed bump in life’s fast lane.
And so mustering what God given talent and ability I possess. In my own words I will endeavor to spin this remarkable tale of self determination, courage and hope.
Chapter 1
In a small bustling Town located in southwestern Utah my wife Jean and I raised our five children. Four boys with one lone daughter became the nucleus around which our world revolved. The eldest son through bad luck or endowment from the creator inherited the title of big brother. Receiving my middle name as his own, Tanner DeVon Williams took his spot whether for good or bad as protector, teacher and exemplar. His gullible disciples Jordan , Justin and Jayden mere boys of 9,8 and 6 almost unwittingly had began morphing into their older brother. But the person who hung the moon for this family was sister Taylor. Like a mesmerizing desert sunset Taylor’s near embarrassment of allure, talent and brains have captivated us all.
It was late spring in red rock country and baseball fever began to peculate in the valley like a pot of boiling coffee. Dusty gloves, bats and balls began to immerge from smelly old equipment bags. Dismal seasons of yesteryear were forgotten and dreams of Yankees and pirates swirled in young boys skulls.
Tanner was not immune to the malaise spreading rapidly among his peers. He too, with grateful naivety looked forward to playing little league baseball this season. And not unlike most boys his age Tanner craved to become the pitcher. Because of course the Pitcher is the man. He is the focal point at every level of baseball. He like a heroic general controls the destiny of even the most hopeless army. How many grown men still hush themselves to sleep at night with the seductive vision of a heroic game winning strike out. How could I blame my son even with the immense challenges that dogged him, for wanting to live in the limelight of baseball heaven.
Even so my sympathetic heart often ached with compassion for my little man. I had thought I knew and understood his abilities and limitations and my only desire was to prolong his harmless aspirations. Soon enough I feared, reality with its cruel and cold hearted way would dash his innocent dream.
What transpired instead is a story so unexpected and miraculous that it could not be contained only within the minds of the few who by luck witnessed it. Such a stirring journey of a small boy who defied the odds and captured the hearts of a small town now begged to be told. Even as I take pen in hand and try to put emotional thoughts into sterile words I am choked and struggle to fight back tears. I hope this simple yet touching story will inspire others the way it has inspired me. Especially those who are left behind thought incapable of becoming average let alone great. Whose frailty or handicap are inevitably viewed as a tire shredding pot hole and not as merely a speed bump in life’s fast lane.
And so mustering what God given talent and ability I possess. In my own words I will endeavor to spin this remarkable tale of self determination, courage and hope.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
