Creative Non-Fiction, Kind-Hearted Critiques, Please . .

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  2. I was so pushed into silence sometimes that words were not in my vocabulary.   Necessary words were always there but regular words, words needed to answer simple questions disappeared from my vocabulary.   I remembered learning more words from that show of the little girl that was actually a robot.    Out of my silence, I began to speak a little like a robot till I figured out it was okay to speak.  

  1. My little brother, younger brother was like a son to me.  He was born when I was a teenager, so I saw him as ‘my baby’, even though he was not my biological baby but he was my brother.  He was the second baby that I had held in my arms.  The first one was one of my nieces (at the time, she wasn’t my niece because I wasn’t married yet). So, I guess the baby that I held, that I babysat for was one of my ‘soon-to-be-nieces’.   And then, when I was a teenager, my brother was born into the household.  I loved that little boy, and I protected him as much as I could protect him from a monster.  I failed.  I failed.  I was crushed to hear that he had committed the crime of suicide when he was an older guy.  I failed.  But, more importantly, he failed.  He failed to survive the bully, the monster.  He let the bully win.  He committed the crime and he let the bully win.   My niece is gone from this world.  She couldn’t make it.  She left.  I think that her heart failed.  I really can’t say because I will protect her privacy.  This is the net, after all.   Her heart was meant for another world it seems.  Two babies, I held them, different years, different places, different people.   I remember the babies.  I’ll always remember them.  Always.

Held ..  I can think of different things when I think of this word, ‘held’.   I held  my brother, hundreds and hundreds of times.  He was such an adorable, beautiful baby.  He was so smart, so cherished.  He was my brother. I watched him , taught him, laughed with him, walked with him; I saw him grow.   In the house, alone, he would look at me, and I would sing to him.  Funny, he never sang back and he never sang along.  And me, in your youth, I never realized that until this very moment that I write this.    But , I know, I know he loved it.  He loved to hear the words, the songs, the melodies, and the messages from those very cool songs.   He grew, so wanting to be involved in the music industry, so wanting.  He tried to start his own DJ business.  He tried, even as a young lawyer, to get involved in the entertainment business as a lawyer.   I loved him; I love music.  I shared my love of music with my younger brother.  And he loved music also.  He loved it so much.  One of the things that his leaving has left me was a cd, a cd that had almost all the songs that I had sung to him in his lifetime.   “He ain’t heavy; he’s my brother’ .   and on, and  on, and on .. ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’  my verison – Judy,  his version- IZ,  our version, IZ .  I had no idea, before he died, that he loved the IZ , “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”.  Life is odd, isn’t it?  He committed the crime of suicide, and then his music died. 

For me, the music lives, and for me, there’s nothing in this world that can ever take the music away from me.  Sometimes a gift from God comes in the strangest ways, in ways that you probably could not imagine in your whole lifetime.   He failed.

Let me tell you something.  There’s no such thing as failure in life.  There is only failure in suicide.  No matter how much you want to argue the point, the failure is in suicide.

Dear JD, I loved you so much and I still do.  But, honestly , Bud, you failed.  You let the bully win .  And you failed.   Dear readers, know this and know it good and well and know it long as you breathe.  There is no failure in life.  There is only failure in suicide.  Don’t you dare let that bully win.

Breathe.  Breathe and keep on keeping on.  Be the success that you were meant to be before you were even born.  Just breathe.

I reclaimed my birthday month because it belongs to me. And it will always belong to me.  Because birthday months belong to success and not to failure.

Happy Birthday Me!

Natalie Grant sings a song called, “Held” ..

  1. From one of my cats, I learned that sometimes, in life, the most horrible thing that can affect your life is your own fear.  This kittencat was afraid of a simple plastic bag.  The creature was terrified of plastic shopping bags.  He equated them with long, long car rides which he didn’t like.  So when he saw a plastic bag, he thought that he was going to be swooped up and put inside the car for that inevitable long car ride.  The kittencat ran through the rooms, and hit straight into the wall but kept on running after he took the hit.  His unstoppable body flew right up the side of the wall and didn’t stop until he had almost reached the ceiling.  And then he dropped.   Not to worry,  he dropped skillfully, and elegantly and landed on his feet, until, until he saw the next plastic bag entering the kitchen room.  Fear will kill you long before anything in reality can kill you.  For sure, my kittencat taught that to me. His fear was so real , so very real.  As he ran like madness away from the little plastic shopping bag that was fill with grocery goodies, his fear took over every muscle and every brain particle in his body, just like my fear takes over me entirely as I see the monster fifteen feet away from me.  I succeed.  Decades and decades later, I succeed.  I am no longer terrified of monsters.  Yet, that little remembered-fear kicks in sometimes, and sometimes, I can’t move a muscle. Remember Jesus. That’s all. Just remember Jesus.  He was with you in the beginning. He was with you through it all.  He will and does remain with you through every second of your every present moment.  He will not fail.   I am free. I am happy.  And I am free .   Thank you kittencat for the practical lessons.   Thank you, Grandfather for the spiritual lessons.  In your life, readers, find someone that will teach you the practical lessons and the spiritual lessons, and you home free.  You are free. 

This entry is not finished yet ,so I have it scheduled to be printed at a later date.

Published by artfromperry

ARTFROMPERRY I take photographs and tell stories with photographs, . Everything in these photographs is exactly as it is supposed to be. Blurred, from a distance, sharp or not, colors varied from the average. These are not photographic mistakes nor anything to be corrected. These are exactly as I want them to be seen. As a pastime, I produce and direct television programs in parts of New York City, NYS USA

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